#thorlecto

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 5 & Epilogue/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch5&Epilogue: "Now: Together Again," "Epilogue" [FFN] [AO3] | ← | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow & Flora Carrow/Amycus Carrow

Rating: strong T

Words: ~5,580

Additional info: romance, cross gen, family, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch5&Epilogue: With everything in place, Thorfinn and Flora see things through. -—And, in the end….

      Thorfinn's eyes snap open when the sun's light is harsh and Flora stands over him, shaking him awake. Lucky for her, he only grabs her wrist and doesn't aim his wand at her face.

      "Rowle, hurry! Ferro's saddled his Chinese Fireball already, and his Peruvian Vipertooth is about to take flight."

      He rolls onto his left side and hustles after Flora out of the shed, just as the copper-hued dragon launches itself as promised. Ferro guffaws in the distance, and his Fireball laughs in little, fiery spurts. Then Ferro takes off, as well.

      Flora produces her broom, Thorfinn gets on, each of them donning an Azkaban guard cloak before she kicks off—only to careen to the right, narrowly missing a giant tree on the edge of Ferro's property.

      But good thing she does: This way, they avoid colliding with Ferro's adolescent Welsh Green who lags behind its playmates and melds in with its scenery.

      "Sonuva—" Flora bites down on the rest of her curse and veers the Bluebottle diagonally up and hopefully out of the dragons' line of chaos. They're buffeted by the gusts summoned by the flap of the Welsh Green's wings until Flora has them hovering even higher. "And to think," Thorfinn catches her hissing against the wind, "my mother was finally right about something."

      Yet, dangerous though dragons are, Ferro's adventure goes off without a hitch. He steers his trio of pets from his mount on the Fireball, and the three dragons glide and swim through the skies like hatchlings testing their wings. It's clear Ferro has raised them together, for the Fireball playfully puffs fire at its hatchmates and the Vipertooth pretends to nip at the Welsh Green, but it's all fun, no harm. This flight is the freedom dragons seek, in a world not ruled by men.

      Still, keeping up with dragons, even on a broom as fast as a Bluebottle, is no easy task. Flora and Thorfinn both lean as forward as is comfortable and fly at breakneck speed, north, northeast, without any discernable landmarks around them. At times, even the dragons are pinpricks against the clouds and sometimes disappear amongst them, with only the Welsh Green acting like a bright, deep viridian beacon to set Flora and Thorfinn back on track. At these speeds, Thorfinn's not certain they could feel the pull of the blood oath even if it tugs on them now.

      They must fly for an hour or more. Thorfinn's backside and legs feel numb, his mind more so. Perhaps they assumed too much, and this never was going to work. He opens his mouth to deliver the news to Flora, to point out the lazy loops the Welsh Green does half a league ahead of them—

      —but then the Chinese Fireball snarls and bellows, and it spews a blaze at some invisible thing barring their way.

      Flora slows to a hover, and she and Thorfinn watch as magic shimmers in reaction to the dragon's initial strike. Nothing comes into view, but something is there. Something tall, something large.

      The Fireball roars and sends blast after blast, and each hit outlines the object. The Vipertooth dives out of its own irritated curiosity; it strikes with its hind claws out. Dark gray stone becomes visible as chunks drop into the ocean, though their prize remains mostly hidden from sight.

      Flora dares to fly closer and, within a certain range, Azkaban fades into view for her and Thorfinn, as well. The Ministry's newest cloaking magic, of which they knew nothing, falls to literal pieces as the dragons do as Flora predicted and batter the obstacle interrupting their delightful flight.

      "Get ready!" Flora shouts at Thorfinn over her shoulder.

      Thorfinn's hold on her tightens, and she speeds up once more, flying high to avoid catching the dragons' attention.

      Sirens screech from within the stronghold right as the Fireball looses a blast that breaches the inner barrier at a portion weakened by the Vipertooth's claws. The Welsh Green lands and pokes its head in out of curiosity, but it just as soon takes off again, too docile and not interested in the carnage its hatchmates create.

      Thorfinn cranes his neck around Flora's dark hair, which whips around, hitting him in the face. Another blast or two, and suffice it to say things should be—

      "Now!" Flora hollers.

      His hand darts to the hidden button sewn into the right lapel of the guard cloak. The Portkey there teleports him instantly. One moment, he's in the sky with Flora. The next, he's inside the main entrance of Azkaban.

      Except, this time, Thorfinn Rowle is no resident.

      The emergency up above on the top floors has sent many of the Aurors running, but a couple linger here and whiten upon seeing Thorfinn and company. One wizard shakes his stupor off quickly and means to approach, but Flora hits him with a Stunning Spell hard enough that he goes flying and cracks his head against the far wall. His witch partner isn't so lucky; Thorfinn's Killing Curse lights up the entryway a sickly green when it connects.

      "This proves another supposition," Flora muses as they march past the bodies and continue down the corridor. "With as large a breach as that, the security measures start to fail, either like dominoes or due to lack of reinforcement."

      Thorfinn grimaces. "As long as we can use our wands, that's all I care about." He glances at her beside him. "But where to first?"

      She hesitates. If she's waiting for the blood oath's direction, it doesn't come.

      (For good measure, Thorfinn tries to focus on the magic, too. There's a dull thrum in his chest, in his body, but he can't pinpoint it, so he dismisses it as nothing of consequence.)

      "There has to be a records room or an office," Flora declares. She doubles back partway, swinging into each doorway, checking for contents. Four rooms from the entrance, she finds the correct office and marches in. While she rifles through parchment on the large metal desk bolted to the floor, Thorfinn yanks open the cabinet drawers lining the walls, just to have something to do. "The problem with Azkaban is that it's too large," she says to fill their silence.

      Off in the distance, a cacophony of destruction reigns, but Thorfinn humors her. "The problem with Azkaban is that it exists," he retorts.

      But Flora shakes her head. "At the Ministry, the lad I spoke with, barely a few years older than me, said that—the triangular shape of Azkaban? They named them, the corners. They didn't originally have names, just numbers."

      Thorfinn slams a drawer shut. "…ironically, I know this already."

      She furrows her brow at him.

      "It was one of my bloody ancestors who created this place."

      Flora's stare is a blank slate, but Thorfinn can draw anything he wants on her features. Madness, for the Rowles existing and therefore causing her current heartache. Astonishment, for the pure fact. Sorrow, perhaps, that one Rowle made the prison and another landed in it.

      Thorfinn dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "Have you found what you need yet?"

      That snaps Flora out of her daze. "Um, no. Not yet." She rummages more, through the lower drawers of the desk. Then, her voice softer, "I was shocked to learn the wing names."

      "Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto," Thorfinn rattles off. He scowls. "She wasn't named for a wing in Azkaban, as far as I know." But he keeps another remark to himself, that perhaps Akillios wouldn't've allowed it, even if Petronelle probably possessed such sick a humor.

      Flora straightens then with a heap of documents in her arms. They spill onto the desk, but Thorfinn spies familiar faces in the sea of photos amongst the parchment. Flora shuffles and tidies them as she scans the lines with a neat fingernail. "I found them."

      For the first time in weeks, Thorfinn's heart soars.

      "Amycus and Alecto are both in Tisiphone Wing, but…" She holds up their files, crestfallen. "They separated them. Alecto is on Phaeo Floor, Amycus on Polyxo Floor. Stupid names…!" She scatters more parchment while cross-referencing. "Finally! The fourth and eighth floors, respectively. But their blocks are roughly atop one another."

      "Makes things simpler," Thorfinn says as they leave the office behind them and return to the corridor.

      Flora nods.

      The corridor terminates in the middle of the fortress, as do most pathways here. Thorfinn glances at his compatriot for guidance, and Flora motions to the right fork.

      They hasten past other cells. Dementors right now are either preoccupied or spilling outside via the new hole the dragons have made, and Thorfinn and Flora encounter few other Aurors considering the Aurors have more pressing priorities.

      But he can taste it…! They are so close to success, and they climb to the third floor and then to the fourth floor, towards Alecto—

      —and that's when it happens.

      For the first time in his life, a blood oath makes Thorfinn keep his word, and his feet move him past the fourth floor, even when Flora stops on the landing.

      "Rowle!" she shouts after him. She motions towards Alecto's floor.

      He struggles but turns to face her from the next flight up. His shoulders sink, and he says nothing, merely grips the hilt of his wand tighter.

      Flora, sharp thing she is, understands in a snap that the oath is forcing Thorfinn to collect Amycus first with her. He can't go against his words, sworn to her, just as Flora didn't, sworn to him. And yet, when they both realize this, Flora stares at Thorfinn with a surprising mixture of hope and pity.

      Thorfinn turns away, hating that expression aimed at him.

      His hatred for blood oaths boils his blood and pushes him on, making the floors fly away beneath his feet as they climb. Aurors suffer his ire, but now a handful of Dementors begin to draw near on the seventh floor.

      Shit. Everyone learns the Patronus Charm during their school days, but what use for it does a Death Eater have?

      The cloaked creatures float close, almost out of curiosity, as Thorfinn and Flora approach Amycus' floor with caution. One gets almost within arm's reach, and Flora pushes them back with the charm, but it's not very strong. Showing her genuine fear for the first time since they met, she snatches Thorfinn's nearer arm and runs.

      The Dementors don't give chase, nor do they need to, as this is their territory. Thorfinn and Flora expect to leave, so, unless Flora knows of or plans to make another exit, they'll have to pass by the wicked creatures once more.

      "He should be here!" Flora yelps, her voice too breathy, not steady at all like usual. She whirls around and scans the faces behind the bars. Panic leaks into her tone. "He should be here…"

      Thorfinn notes each countenance, as well. Towards the end of the floor, a thin, sickly man picks up his head and squints at them. "…Darkling…?" he rasps, like a man in need of water.

      Flora freezes beside Thorfinn. The next second, she drops to her knees in front of this man's cell, forgetting her wand on the floor so she can reach through to him with both hands. "Amycus?"

      Surprisingly, he relaxes with one of her hands against his cheek and keeps it there, trapped by his own hand. "Flora," he says, though his voice is brittle from lack of use.

      Thorfinn frowns at this reality. Amycus truly hasn't looked this bad since their school days, when he was a sickly one. Azkaban will surely kill him, and quickly, if they don't free him. "Amycus, we're going to get you out. Can you stand?"

      Amycus' beady eyes don't pierce him the way they have the last several years, putting on this act of "I and therefore Alecto are better than you, and Alec can do better." No, it's like sixth, seventh year all over again, and those first few years out of Hogwarts. Amycus must be recalling that, while he believes Thorfinn Rowle an oaf, Thorfinn is a dependable oaf (and he's their oaf). He nods, and he struggles to his feet with Flora's help.

      "Good. Tuck yourself into the back corner, mate."

      While Amycus protects himself as best he can, Flora purses her lips. "This can't be easy, can it? This is Azkaban. No wands here, cells draining detainees of magic…"

      "Might as well try, no?"

      On a silent count, they hit the bars with a Blasting Curse. They creak a little but don't bend. On the next try, Thorfinn opts for the Bombardment Spell. Flora's anger and desperation must being amplifying her magic or those behind Azkaban truly mistakenly believed they'd covered everything, because the stone surrounding the bars cracks. Then Flora enlarges the bars, until they're too big to fit, and keeps going, and the stone surrounding the entrance to Amycus' cell crumbles under the pressure. For a place that's supposed to be devoid of magic and outwardly protected from it, internally it's as though they forgot to think of contingencies.

      The dust settles, and Amycus shuffles out a minute later, picking his way through the debris. He stares at Thorfinn in awe and then turns that impressed look on Flora. He smirks at her, softly, and rubs a thumb over her right cheekbone.

      It's a private moment, and Thorfinn would be happy to let his best mate and newfound friend? partner-in-crime? enjoy it, if only they weren't so pressed for time.

      "Alecto's still downstairs," he pipes up, taking the lead. He internally heaves a sigh of relief when two sets of footsteps follow behind.

      Regardless, a small wall of Dementors blocks their path back down. Thorfinn hesitates, but a wand tip comes over his shoulder—and Flora's Patronus Charm, though still non-corporeal, pulses with blinding light this time, clearing the way.

      With his end of the bargain to Flora fulfilled, Thorfinn all but races back to Alecto. He reaches Phaeo Floor ahead of Amycus and Flora, and he's halfway through scanning the cells when they catch up with him (though his annoyance is quelled when he spares a second to recall Amycus is not well for this endeavor).

      "Remember, their cells were over each other," Flora calls to Thorfinn.

      "Yes, but which—?" He doesn't finish the thought. Ah, right. Near the end.

      As if he needs the extra clue, Thorfinn hears from the third-to-last cell, "That cannot be Rowle."

      He grins and jogs to Alecto's bars. No matter the circumstances, count on Alecto Carrow to find it in her always to be bossy.

      But, just as quickly, his grin vanishes. Alecto's hair hangs loose behind her back and, though still stocky in build, her cheeks are eerily sunken.

      It's as if she and Amycus have been here far longer than two weeks.

      "…fuck," she utters, staring back. Her eyes widen. "Thorfinn?"

      "Time to go, Allie."

      Alecto gawks at him and shakes her head. "This can't be real. Amycus and I—the war is over. For good. We're not getting out of here. This is—this is some elaborate spell to—to make me talk or—to torture me or—"

      Thankfully, Amycus and Flora approach her cell then. "We're no mirage, Alec. These two are here, for us."

      Alecto's eyes flash to Flora, and recognition and…understanding? No, something deeper flashes between the two witches. Alecto nods and furrows her brow at Thorfinn. "But—how?"

      "Well, take cover first, luv. Then—" He pauses. He and Flora haven't actually spoken about what's to come after rescuing their loves. "Cell first, escape second," Thorfinn settles.

      They do the same work on Alecto's cell front which they did to Amycus' after Alecto takes cover. There happens to be a bit more dust this time, since Thorfinn's spells were a hair too eager, and that makes Alecto cough and glare at him.

      But then she walks free. She walks free and right up to him and doesn't push him away when he snags two seconds to have her in his arms.

      The moment ends when Amycus looks amongst them. "How the hell did you two get here? And what is going on in the upper floors?"

      Thorfinn and Flora exchange a look. "Details later," he says as they start to wend their way towards the prison's center. He tries to Disapparate with Alecto's hand in his, to no avail. "Damn. Anti-Disapparition Jinx is still in place."

      Flora's got Amycus arm tucked into the crook of her elbow. She pauses and frowns a second later. "I tried, too; you're right. And since the cloaks took us to the bottom floor, the jinx's active area might extend to right outside the front door, as well…" Then her eyes light up. "So we go up."

      "Are you daft?" Amycus growls. "Whatever's causing that ruckus is bound to get us killed and Alec and I don't have our wands!"

      "We'll find you replacements as soon as possible, Amycus," she assures him, and already she leads the way upstairs towards the wreckage and dragons.

      Thorfinn tries to keep pace, pointedly ignoring Alecto's disapproving look that matches her brother's. "Flora, we're not all going to fit on one broom," he warns.

      "You're right," she agrees. Flora glances back at him over her shoulder. "And these cloaks will only take us here or to the Ministry, which is the last place any of us needs to be. So we'll get as high as we can and jump from the opening the dragons have made."

      Somehow, Amycus pales even more. His head swivels to Alecto. "Did she say 'dragons'?!"

      Thorfinn frowns. "Jump and…?"

      "Disapparate, of course, Rowle."

      He sighs. He was afraid she'd say that. Still, short of attempting to fly one of Ferro's dragons back to England, it's doable. "To?"

      Flora doesn't answer him until they're near the shouts and screams of those trying to flee frightened, angry magical reptilians. She scans the openings, looking for the best place for their escape.

      Thorfinn wonders. The Fireball wants to keep Azkaban alight for disrupting its day, and this particular Vipertooth learned to spit its venom. Their options are few.

      But, nearer the top, the Welsh Green lies curled up, watching the carnage like an exhausted kitten. Nothing occurs around it, so Flora points. "There," she says. One last glance at Thorfinn. "Safe house."

      It's the first time she says so little yet he comprehends it all. Thorfinn nods, and then the foursome parts. Their odds are better this way, Flora taking Amycus, Thorfinn taking Alecto. They head in different directions and seek different methods. Flora mainly avoids the chaos and Thorfinn barrels right through it.

      They might have different ways of accomplishing their goals, but it doesn't pass by Thorfinn that he and Flora have in common the desire to do anything for the Carrow siblings.

      He doesn't know if Flora and Amycus reach the opening first, because he can't keep track of them while keeping himself and Alecto alive. Thorfinn and Alecto dodge a swing of the Vipertooth's tail and finally reach a broken ledge on the fifteenth (so close to the top) floor. He pulls her close to him by the waist. "Alecto, ready?"

      So strange, seeing his confident Alecto eye the craggy bottom and the ocean so warily. But she looks up at him. There are dark circles under her eyes. "…you once swore an oath to me, to keep Amycus alive, from harm."

      Nearly twenty years ago, but Thorfinn wonders if blood oaths fade. He nods.

      "You kept your promise, Thorfinn." It's Alecto-speak for "thank you."

      "I never said I wouldn't do the same for you, Alecto."

      She purses her lips. For a brief moment, they're teens again, and this Alecto won't admit that she refuses to put herself first, that it's hard to put herself first. But she presses a hand against his chest, splaying her fingers, and nods as she tucks her head in towards him.

      He presses a soft kiss on her crown. And then he jumps.

Epilogue

      Disapparition from large heights is doable, and witches and wizards do it often. Disapparition from large distances is also possible but, depending on the distance, is ill-advised. Disapparition while moving is dangerous, due to serious risk of Splinching. Disapparition from an area marked with an Anti-Disapparition Jinx into an area free from one is tricky and comes with risk of death, depending on the jinx's range.

      Disapparition also can take the energy right out of a person.

      That is why, Thorfinn knows, a full minute passes with him on the sparse back lawn behind the safe house in Birmingham, him on his back and Alecto in his arms, pressed into his right side. Even when he wakes, he still struggles to move, Alecto little better off than he.

      Flora and Amycus must've come minutes before them, for they're recovered somehow, just well enough to emerge from the house and get the other couple indoors. Amycus sets them up on Thorfinn's mattress in the spare room while Flora does the protective enchantments. Then she joins them, shedding the Azkaban guard cloak just outside the room.

      "How—long?" Thorfinn manages.

      "We had barely five minutes on you two," Flora assures him. She shoves a glass of water into his face and does the same for Alecto. Then she stumbles, caught both by Amycus and the door frame.

      "Flora, sit down already," Amycus hisses. His tone is too fraught with worry, though, to carry much heat.

      She musters a tired smile and slides against the frame onto the wooden floor. She positions herself so she still can interact with Thorfinn and Alecto. But she squeezes Amycus' hand when he kneels beside her. "I wasn't the one in a cell. It was just too much magic use at once, is all. Apparating here and then putting up the charms. I'll recover my energy soon enough."

      Alecto shakes her head and passes the younger witch her water. "Recover fast. There's still a lot I want to know, including where the hell we are," she adds, plucking Thorfinn's drink from his hands and downing half of it instead.

      With his hands free, Thorfinn removes his guard cloak and holds it up for the brother and sister to see. "Well, thanks to my brute force and your Flora's brilliant plotting, we managed to get our hands on these and steer some dragons your way. But it helped that we crossed paths to begin with…"

      For the next several hours, Thorfinn and Flora take turns filling Alecto and Amycus in on their adventures. Thorfinn does much of the talking, because Flora's not used to traveling such far distances or using so many spells in such rapid succession, and she fights dozing off a time or two from her seat on the floor. She looks as though she might've spent some time in Azkaban herself, actually.

      As for the pair they rescued from prison… The longer the quartet sits, Thorfinn notes some color returns to Alecto and Amycus both, so Amycus doesn't look so sickly and the circles around Alecto's eyes don't stand out so much. If it weren't for their drab Azkaban garb, Thorfinn might think he and Flora merely rousted them from some secretive task the Dark Lord entrusted to two of his most loyal Death Eaters.

      (But, of course, thoughts of the Dark Lord remind him that everything has changed, and that they still have an unknown future ahead of them.)

      After Flora finally succumbs to exhaustion when early evening arrives, Thorfinn flicks his hand to light a few of the old sconces in here, but he keeps them dim and doesn't light the ones near where Flora and Amycus sit, so as to let her sleep. Then he holds his wand out for either sibling to take. "Until we can find you replacements, you can share mine," he murmurs.

      Always the look of surprise with these two. But Amycus doesn't hesitate, accepting the offer and trying out a Color-Changing Charm on his prison attire. Thorfinn's wand yields, and Amycus' gray and grimy white ensemble darkens to all black. Satisfied, Amycus attempts a softened Scouring Charm second. The dust that settled in his short crop and on his skin evaporates, and he sighs like a free man before passing the wand to his sister.

      Alecto darkens her clothing, as well, but then she Summons loose nails from the floorboards and Transfigures them into bobby pins. "Your wand, Thorfinn," she says as she hands the item back. But her contentment is evident as she gathers her hair and pins her characteristic chignon into place.

      "You took a lot of risks, trusting her," Amycus remarks, tipping his head Flora's way.

      Thorfinn shrugs. "Were we any other people, I'd say, 'We're Death Eaters. We don't trust.'" But his blue eyes move from Amycus' pudgy face to Alecto's hard features. "…but it's different, when it comes to matters pertaining to you two."

      Amycus rolls his eyes, and Alecto jabs a finger into his chest. "She could've been lying for all you knew, Thorfinn."

      "I'm not so stupid that I never learned a thing or two from the two of you. Hence, the blood oath." And, quite honestly, there's more that Thorfinn might add that he's learned along the way, but he knows Alecto and Amycus will never exactly leave this oddly bashful side to them behind.

      So he doesn't bring up the way Flora looked whenever they discussed their shite chances of rescuing them.

      He doesn't highlight the fondness Flora spoke of learning Dark magic from Amycus.

      He doesn't mention her insecurities—wanting to know Alecto, wanting to save her for Amycus, being scared to risk one for the other.

      And he also doesn't point out right now, a sight Thorfinn never imagined he'd see, Amycus sitting comfortably on the floor with one leg propped up and his other stretched out beside Flora, her arms wrapped around one of his while her head uses his shoulder as a pillow. Flora's all but curled into him, and Amycus looks content. Thorfinn might daresay happy.

      But Amycus is his friend, so he doesn't point any of this out, even though it's quite obvious even to "someone as thick as" Thorfinn that Flora is Amycus' love, just as he is hers.

      "I will say that I'm done with blood oaths," he announces in the quiet. That earns him a snicker from Amycus and a snort from Alecto, but he doesn't mind if they don't believe him this time. Instead, he unfolds the traveling cloak he left behind yesterday and tugs Alecto to him. "And I'll add that Flora's got the right idea. Try to rest now, you two. You're safe."

      Even in dim light, he catches the clench of Amycus' jaw. And Alecto tenses against Thorfinn, though he's able with effort to pull her flat beside him on the bare mattress, and she barely relaxes even after he spreads his cloak across them like a blanket. Nevertheless, he doesn't drift off until Alecto eases her hold of him and until Amycus' breath is steady with sleep.

      And, just as he is the last one asleep, Thorfinn is the first one awake, not long after dawn. Part of it, he dwells, must be to ensure that his and Flora's mission truly occurred. That, yes, they succeeded.

      Flora wakes a few minutes after him, and their eyes lock. She gives him a nod and a small smile. Yes, she needed the reminder that everything transpired, too.

      The safe house is only a house, though, an empty dwelling, and she and Thorfinn never took nor had the time to stock it with supplies, so Flora disentangles herself from Amycus. She stretches and stands, and then she makes for the door. "Flora, wait," Thorfinn whispers.

      She halts and glances at him over her shoulder.

      "Use a façade now," he suggests. It was different, before everything came together. But if anyone pieces anything together about where Flora Carrow's been…

      The dark-haired witch nods, and then she heads out to procure food for the four of them.

      Of course, it's not much fun, dealing with Amycus when he wakes to Flora's absence, which in turn wakes Alecto, and both are in a foul mood despite Thorfinn's explanation of her whereabouts. Even when Flora returns, the brother and sister scowl throughout breakfast, a heartier meal than in recent weeks: porridge and apples. At least they have something to fill their stomachs, and the sugar wakes them the rest of the way, brings them to their senses.

      But then breakfast ends, and the spare room is filled with the clinking of spoons against empty bowls. Alecto huffs and looks around at her company. "So, you two told us about everything since the battle up to now. But what next?"

      Thorfinn raises his eyebrows. He's stunned that she asks this while looking at him. He glances between her and Amycus and back. "…well, we've gone on the run before, waiting for the time to be back on top."

      Yet Alecto frowns. She puts her back against the wall and tilts her head Flora's way. "And? Did you only go shopping? Or did you take note of anything?"

      Flora blinks. She sets aside her bowl and shakes her head. "I was focusing on feeding us, yes… But there's no disturbance locally. I didn't drop by Diagon Alley or anywhere near London, if that's what you're implying. But I popped by Broad Street here. Managed to come by a Prophet, even." That news prefaces Flora pulling the newspaper from her Expanded purse, and she tosses it on the floor. "The bad news: We made the front page, the Ministry knows Rowle's alive, and the Aurors are looking for you. The good news: The Ministry never snapped a photo of my face at Azkaban with you, and the dragons continued to play well after we left. Azkaban's in sore need of repair…and staff."

      Alecto's soft snort is one of approval. Even so, she repeats her last question: "But what next?"

      Flora frowns, and Thorfinn watches Alecto from the corner of his eye. "Alecto, do you not think we have the same options as before?"

      "It's not the same as before, Thorfinn." She exhales, heavy; the movement seems like all the air leaving her, and she slumps against Thorfinn's left arm. "There's no Dark Lord. There are no Death Eaters—only those who've been Marked."

      Amycus hums in agreement. Instead of adding to his sister's points, he states, "At this point, I'd rather be on the run or in hiding until things are quiet, rather than waiting to pursue a Dark life once more."

      Stunningly, Flora settles him with a hard, dissatisfied look, those sharp eyebrows sinking over her dark gray eyes. She only caves when Amycus gives her a tired glance and draws her to him, wrapping his arms around her middle.

      Alecto nods, sits up a smidge, eyeing the sight of her brother's happiness. "A quiet life…could be all right," she admits.

      "We've done our time and a half," Thorfinn quips, though of course he means besides Azkaban. Joining the Death Eaters, fighting in two wars, running, hiding, everything they've done—it's always been for the Dark Lord (even when it's truly been for these three themselves).

      "Perhaps a proper change of scenery. Like the countryside," Alecto says when catching Thorfinn's eye.

      Thoughts of Death Eaters vanish from his mind. For Alecto to bring that up—Thorfinn knows she's fond, after all, of his childhood home, of his parents, of the brief time (the freedom) the Carrows spent there.

      (Alas, his hometown itself isn't an option, nor is the Rowle home, even though he's yet to see the names "Ginnar" or "Yacintha" appear in The Daily Prophet's obituaries in recent years. He parted as best he could with them back in 1981, but he can't imagine them taking in three Azkaban escapees and their accomplice as easily as they took in "Finny's" pair of friends when the Carrows first visited their son one summer.

      No…times have changed.)

      Flora's sigh breaks the silence. "There's plenty of countryside in Wales, if that's what you want."

      Thorfinn frowns at Flora, and Amycus' brow pinches as the beady-eyed wizard shakes his head. "You don't need to return there," Amycus insists.

      "I'm not going home, not really. But��I'm certain it's the last place anyone would look for me, if they were looking." She waves away their concerns. "I doubt anyone will make the connection between you three and me, so why not?"

      Amycus stares at her but can't form a rebuttal. He looks to Alecto for help, but she shrugs, and Thorfinn tucks Alecto into his side and cocks his head at Amycus, willing the uptight bastard to lighten up just this once.

      Thing is, Thorfinn can't think of a reason why not, either. They've gone about it in an unorthodox manner, and, yes, they're wanted by authorities (what else is new?)—but he has Alecto and Amycus in his life once more, and they have a chance at a fresh start of sorts.

      Alecto used to speak, once upon a time, of making the world right, of shaping it for her, for Amycus, for Thorfinn…

      …and Thorfinn thinks maybe this world—the four of them, together—might be what they've needed all along.

Ch5 notes: Cliffhanger! :O Almost literally, *lol*. So I'mma just note here that I never expected to develop such detailed hcs about Azkaban and how one might breach it (dragons!!!). I honestly could fit my new Azkaban hcs into a tumblr post, hmm… (You know you're curious about what comes after that jump…)

Epilogue/Final notes: And so this saga concludes for real! :D I feel as tho I can let Thorlecto and Floramycus (in this universe) rest, much as they do at the end of this fic, now that I've fulfilled a sort of promise to myself mentioned in the closing A/N for "bad blood" (reuniting Floramycus). Thing is, I never knew back then (2019) that I would develop such hcs/a formed mythology for Alecto and Amycus, stemming from "bad blood" and "far from you" and nearly spinning out of control in the much longer "close to you" and at last, with you, the latter two with which this story has in common never-ending inspiration. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to keep writing this story! D: Which is a good and bad thing, *lol*. So I'mma try to keep this A/N short-ish! Mostly I just wanted to mention here that claiming the "blood oath" prompt for the fest was a huge inspiration and, seeing how things played out for Thorfinn and Flora, as well as for the pairings, I think the meaning of "Veritate Sanguinem" holds up p well! I wanted the spell to, in essence, mean your blood will keep you true to your word, hence the oath behaving the way it did for Flora and for Rowle. But it was fun to tie it together with Rowle's past promises, too, and see what it means for the future of these four.

Final thoughts…well, I do enjoy writing Death Eaters, and I suppose everyone here doesn't seem super-duper evil, but this is kinda my sweet-spot for writing DEs, bc I love it when they're closer to morally gray or have bkgds that explain their shit…and Alecto and Amycus' bkgd is explained primarily in at last, with you. :') It was fun that romance felt secondary to some of the other themes in the story, too. Rowle and Flora play well off each other; the more I wrote them, the more Flora felt like a mirror held up to him, as they rly just wanted to get their loves back. AHHH, this story was a labor of love, both for them and me, *lol*.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (It's all right to admit you're happy to see Thorlecto and Floramycus have a shot at happiness, jysk. ;3 Bc I sure am!!)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[ao3feed-snape]

close to you

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3GgJYej

by Miraphina Atherton (mew_tsubaki)

Things under the Dark Lord's rule were supposed to change. Thorfinn comes to regret something he did not tell Alecto before.

Words: 12679, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Thorlecto

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Thorfinn Rowle, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, Voldemort (Harry Potter), Severus Snape, Thorfinn Rowle's parents

Relationships: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow, Thorfinn Rowle & Amycus Carrow

Additional Tags: Family, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, cameo from Pomfrey & bkgd OCs

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3GgJYej

[kissedbyfire-carrow]

"Do you prefer to read or watch your porn?"

“Neither. The experience is far more gratifying.”

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 2/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch2: "Then: Alecto" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   →

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow & Amycus Carrow, with cameos from Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort, Mulciber, & Bellatrix Lestrange, as well as mentions of others

Rating: T

Words: ~3,660

Additional info: romance, angst, hurt/comfort, Dark magic, Marauder era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch2: Thorfinn swears his second oath to Alecto, as they navigate life amidst Dark company during the first war.

      Nearly a year later, that blood oath with Amycus seems like such a silly thing in the face of joining the Death Eaters alongside Alecto.

      Their first year out of Hogwarts is going grandly. The boys followed Crouch to the Lestrange home in late July and ended wrapped up in Alecto's initiation assignment, despite her best efforts to shoo Thorfinn and Amycus away from the den of murderers and scoundrels.

      And now, one specific murder later, they're amongst likeminded folk.

      …sometimes the notion gives Thorfinn pause. His parents never went on about blood supremacy much, though his grandparents did when he was younger, so he feels a little out of touch when someone whips Bellatrix up into a tizzy or Travers or Nott go off on a tirade about "the way things used to be."

      There are others, half-bloods like himself and the Carrows, who simply yearn for what their names used to be, the influence they used to command. Mulciber and Avery are this type, and they bookend Evan Rosier less as friends and more like lackeys ready to lick Rosier's pureblood boots.

      And then…then there are others, no matter their blood status, with their own plans. Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers sometimes have commentary on the goings-on around here but also know to hold their tongues, as though they've got their own machinations going on in addition to the Dark Lord's plans. As for Wilkes—it's clear as day, the way she skulks about Bellatrix and Rodolphus' home when not laughing at Mulciber or Avery. For Wilkes, the Death Eaters are an escape from something far worse.

      Thorfinn knows, because that's the case for Alecto and Amycus. And his eyes land on Alecto on the ground floor as they pass each other by, Thorfinn musing how much she'd hate to be compared to her fellow witch, especially where it hurts.

      His look must convey too much, because Alecto does a double-take and backtracks to stalk towards him. "Rowle, if you're going to act as an inanimate object, then do it somewhere you won't take up so much space," Alecto spits. She grabs his arm to turn him towards the next room. "Least of all by the front door."

      "I've got watch duty," he points out. Technically, he's where he's supposed to be, standing across from the ornately carved, black-lacquered door. (He's not a fan of watch duty, of course. It's a strong reminder of the emphatically rich legacy of the Black and Lestrange lines.)

      But Alecto, though she's as freshly official as are he and Amycus, has been running with this group for a couple years now and acts as though she's higher up the ranks regardless. She spies a fresh recruit (really, someone ought to give Mulciber another task than picking up any old riffraff who can wave a wand) and snaps her fingers at the dark-haired wizard. "You! You're on door duty."

      He gapes at them and stammers. He points to himself and then the door, literally shaking in fright at the prospect.

      Alecto glowers at him. "For the moment," she clarifies. And then she drags Thorfinn from the wide-open vestibule and into the small sitting room off to the right. Thankfully, it's empty at midday.

      (Dark deeds are best plotted and executed at night.)

      Alecto yanks the door shut behind them, catching herself before the wood slams into the frame and letting the latch click softly. Then she whirls on him, and Thorfinn would shrink back from her temper if Alecto truly were upset with him.

      But she's hardened in some ways, being here. And in others…being here, with Amycus and Thorfinn by her side, it's changed her. Perhaps not for the better, since he can glimpse the concern in her stare.

      "You can't just stand by the door, moping around, Rowle," she hisses in undertones. Alecto takes two small stomps towards him.

      Thorfinn's shoulders sag. He glances behind him and finds a high-backed chair to lean against. "I'm not moping," he retorts.

      "Don't get defensive now."

      He purses his lips at her, the closest he comes to glaring at her these days.

      Alecto sneers, making Thorfinn's heart twinge (it's the only smile he needs in his life). She closes the gap between them, with either of his legs beside her hips, and she rests her hands on his arms. "Rowle," she intones, "we're both aware you don't hate my bossy side." A smidgeon of tiredness leaks into her tone; her right hand strokes his left arm, absentmindedly. "I never do anything without purpose. And when I tell you to watch yourself, I mean it."

      Thorfinn frowns. He leans forward and, when she doesn't shy away, presses a soft kiss against her hairline.

      Perhaps he imagines Alecto leaning in to the gesture. A moment later, his stout witch stands a little straighter, having pulled back slightly from him. "You've got to keep your heart in check around here," she reminds him.

      "Must I? The first night Amycus and I arrived, I thought we made it clear to the others, what you and I have. Wilkes still scowls at me for you kicking her out of that shared room so you and I could get reacquainted."

      Alecto snorts at the memory. "She prefers her new broom closet; she's finally got a room all to herself. But that's not what I mean, Rowle." She takes a step back and lightly flicks his forehead. "It's your thoughts, as well. There are Legilimens amongst these ranks." She tenses, and Thorfinn flashes back to years ago, to a walk they shared in Hogwarts' dungeons, when Alecto first spoke of a future split from her brother, from Rowle. "If anyone catches the tiniest glimmer that you do not belong…" She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

      No. He doesn't want to imagine the selection of outcomes, either. "Message received," Thorfinn mumbles.

      That's all she needs to hear. She rewards him with a hearty snog, and suddenly this ancient and most noble house of Lestrange and Black around them melts away, seems rather inconsequential so long as Alecto accepts Thorfinn in her life and Thorfinn has Alecto in his arms.

      Practicing Dark magic with Amycus last year—

      Putting what they learned to use and then some the past month and a half as their reunited trio shadows the more experienced Death Eaters and insists the Carrows and Thorfinn partake more often—

      It's worth it. Thorfinn can't figure if his ideologies align fully with the Dark Lord's yet, but every crime committed is worth it, so long as his world has Alecto and Amycus in it.

      And yet it's easy to think such things when the Death Eaters are winning or the only losses primarily are unfamiliar, not-Marked recruits. It's easy to think that they're only play-acting in some deadly production with the Aurors and this newfangled Order of the Phoenix until they take some serious hits in the weeks that follow.

      Perhaps the Death Eaters have been complacent, believing victory will always be theirs, that this string of clashes, these little battles, would never amount to much of a war, even though Alecto told Thorfinn and Amycus shortly after they joined that this group has been around in some form for decades. And such a group with such a long history can't be defeated so easily, can it? After all, this summer alone, the McKinnons were taken care of (mainly Travers' work), Avery Blasted the Order's beloved Benjy Fenwick to pieces rather literally, and the Prewett twins… …well, Thorfinn's memories of those two are fresh, given that Dolohov and Rabastan brought him and the Carrows along (they are young and new but powerful and handy with certain spells, a notion which makes Dolohov irritable and Rabastan deliberate for an extra half a beat when choosing those he brings out on assignment with him now).

      But September closes out, and Wilkes is captured when returning from assignment. Word comes in: She fought like hell, both trying to avoid being dragged to Azkaban and trying to take at least one Auror with her.

      When Lucius Malfoy finishes his summation of the information he gathered from inside the Ministry, his gray eyes go around the long table in Bellatrix and Rodolphus' dining room. They stop on the Dark Lord, hidden in the shadows at the head of the table. "…Wilkes is dead, milord," Malfoy states, his usually prim tone flat.

      The room falls into silence. Thorfinn wants to check Alecto's reaction—is she happy? Mad? She never got along with Wilkes, but there's something to be said for sharing anything for a time with another person. Not to mention Thorfinn can count on one hand the number of Death Eater witches in this dining room-turned-conference hall.

      "We have suffered a loss," the Dark Lord states, his voice eerie, like the rasp from a man not quite like them, like…something else. "But this changes nothing. We will carry on as planned." Without waiting for reaction, he stands, red eyes flashing, and he glides out of the room with barely a sound.

      But behind him the Death Eaters come back to life. Some of them could care less, same as their master. Malfoy stays to have a word with his sister-in-law, and of course Rodolphus lingers with them. Rosier shoves out of his chair with an unusual display of temper and hurries from the room, Mulciber after him, Avery pulling up the rear.

      Amycus stands with a frown and a yawn, and he looks between his sister and friend. "I never knew what to think of her…," he remarks. He jerks his head towards the upstairs. "I didn't sleep too well last night, and Rabastan said he has a task he could use Crouch and me for, so…"

      Alecto and Thorfinn get to their feet, as well, and the trio exits the dining room. "Don't oversleep," Alecto warns her brother.

      He huffs, exchanges a "Do you see what I put up with?" look with Thorfinn, and disappears upstairs for the room the three of them share.

      A room Alecto and Wilkes shared, for a time.

      Thorfinn turns Alecto towards him. "Malfoy's news—"

      "—is just news. You heard what the Dark Lord said," Alecto says. But her tone is too curt, and she shrugs off his hand so obviously. Alecto's not going to talk about Wilkes, not now and not ever.

      Barely a week into October, Mulciber and Rosier head out—and Rosier does not return.

      Bellatrix rolls her eyes while Mulciber, tears streaking down his face, eyes red, teeth gnashing, kicks at the cabinets and the few pieces of furniture in the foyer. He kicks and punches and whirls on those around him, but Avery catches the back of his robes to keep him from doing anything incredibly stupid.

      "That ugly bastard, Moody, was waiting for us! How he found out about that house, I don't know, but Evan—" His voice catches, and he starts kicking and punching wood and fabric again to hide his weakness.

      "I will remind you that my own mother is a Rosier, Mulciber," Bellatrix says from the mouth of the black marble hall that leads to the dining room. "He stands a fighting chance…unlike those who come running back with their tails between their legs."

      Thorfinn sits on the staircase with Alecto (Amycus is having another of his tired spells, but he assures the pair of them that it's not his childhood frailty returning, he's honestly just exhausted), and the pair watches in amazement as Bellatrix's words, sharper than her nails, prick Mulciber's balloon of anger. The wizard doesn't so much deflate as does he fall to the floor in tatters, confronted with his cowardice.

      "There's nothing else to see here," Bellatrix snarls to the rest of them. It's a fine impetus to scatter and leave Avery to be the sensible one for once and pull Mulciber together.

      And pull he must when the news arrives a few days later: Evan Rosier gave chase, but he was pursued relentlessly by Auror Alastor Moody. Though the Auror Office discovered by chance that property which the Rosiers hadn't claimed on official documents, Rosier never led Moody to anything or anyone else of importance. And he died while resisting arrest.

      Two of them. Dead. In barely more than a week.

      Wilkes.

      Rosier.

      Anyone could be next.

      Alecto shares her thoughts this time with Thorfinn, though it feels as though there's not much to share since they're thinking the same things. She waits to open her mouth until they've walked the perimeter of the Lestrange home and can rest against a back corner of the stonework. "…they caught Rosier," she mutters.

      Thorfinn nods.

      "They killed him." She shivers involuntarily. But it's not the early autumn chill getting to her. Her black robes cover her well and keep Alecto warm.

      Still, Thorfinn wraps an arm around her shoulders; Alecto is so tiny, compared to him, that she fits well in the crook of his arm. He peeks down at her. "They did it to him and to Wilkes and to others. They…" He pauses to lick his lips and swallow the lump in his throat. "There could be others, Alecto."

      Acknowledging aloud the reality of what they've signed up for doesn't help much. Yet Alecto turns in towards his chest, and there's fire in her eyes. "They're no different from what I've faced before. Those who think they're better, who think their version of the world is better, without stopping to understand the horrors some of us go through…"

      He wants to say, "They're not Petronelle," but the comparison is moot and, really, what the Order does is rather worse, isn't it? (But he can't bring himself to say that, not to Alecto, never.)

      "These Aurors and Order vermin—they're not going to stop and listen to our side of things."

      Thorfinn cocks his head to one side. "No, I don't doubt that."

      "But here, Rowle… Here is—comfortable."

      He notes the pause in her words. Alecto avoids the use of the word "home" ever since they left Petronelle and the Carrow home behind them. But if she can say "comfortable" in a tone content like this, then Thorfinn will take it. So he nods.

      "I need you to make me a promise."

      "I've done that before. I can do it again."

      "Not like this."

      In a rare instance, Thorfinn is the one to pull away, putting two inches between them when he rests his hands on her shoulders and settles Alecto with a stern look. "Alecto, what…?"

      She glances to either side of them and then tugs Thorfinn by the hand, away from the Lestrange grounds. Without warning, Alecto Disapparates with Thorfinn.

      He's got steady feet for Side-Along, but there are stars to blink from his eyes when he spies their surroundings. After a heartbeat, he calms when he realizes that, no, they're not in his wide-open hometown…but how interesting that Alecto knows of a place so similar. (Does she consider her few visits to the Rowle home fond memories? He wonders.)

      Alecto splays her fingers on Thorfinn's chest, drawing his attention back to her. "I couldn't ask it of you there. But, Rowle—I need a promise that, no matter what happens, you will protect Amycus."

      He starts to chuckle. "As if that needs a promise! I'll protect you both from the worst, Allie."

      "No, Rowle." The fact that she ignores the nickname signals the severity of the situation, and Thorfinn's thrown back to last Halloween with Amycus. She cranes her head up at him. "I know we each accepted the Dark Mark—"

      "And would do it again," he interrupts.

      "—and I don't regret the work we're doing right now." There's a desperate sparkle in her dark eyes, and she nearly smiles for real. "We're making the world right! Right, for us!" Just as quickly, that light vanishes. "But I never factored into my plans a burial for Amycus. Don't make me go through that."

      Thorfinn shakes his head. "Never, Alecto."

      "Will you give me a blood oath, to keep him alive, from harm, if things get worse, Rowle?"

      His face falls.

      Alecto doesn't so much as blink.

      "You knew I'd say 'yes,' didn't you?" He asks not because Alecto can count on this dependable side of him.

      Finally she lowers her eyes, but she's not ashamed, not really; the hard edge of her jaw gives her away. "Amycus told me about before, yes. …thank you, Rowle."

      Thorfinn scowls at the top of her head. He's hurt, of course, and he'd accuse Alecto of using him if only he weren't so accustomed to and comfortable with being her right-hand man.

      (This is magic only Alecto Carrow possesses, and she needn't say a word nor think an incantation to hold sway over Thorfinn Rowle's heart.)

      He grits his teeth, runs his hand through his hair, and picks at his short coif, as if he needs to be presentable for this occasion. "Of course, Alecto," Thorfinn says at last, with something of a huff. He scans the field of tall grass in which they stand, noticing for the first time that they're not far from a brook which snakes behind this village. "I take it Amycus informed you of the spell's details?"

      "He did," Alecto confesses as they head for the brook. She hastens to keep pace with him, since Thorfinn's strides are longer than even Amycus'. She's quiet while he selects a stone from the flowing water. "I wonder why it has to be a stone from moving water, why we can't just use a Slicing Charm."

      "Old magic," he huffs. He grabs a stone half the length of his hand and straightens up with a frown. "At least, that's what I recall from Amycus' lectures. Old magic has old ways. Can't be changed." Though Thorfinn agrees she has a point, especially since he must use a Hardening Spell on a thick stick and treat it like a knife to carve the stone into shape. So many unnecessary steps, like with potions.

      He works faster than last fall, especially because Thorfinn wonders when they'll be missed back at the Lestranges'. Close to ten minutes of silence pass between him and Alecto while he works, and he's both thankful for the respite from talk and relieved to interrupt the quiet when he finishes.

      Thorfinn holds the carved stone out to Alecto. "Do you want the honors?"

      Alecto eyes the item and shakes her head, holding her right hand out instead. "I trust you, Rowle."

      Those words are a balm on the hurt her request has caused him. Thorfinn nods and imagines the lines he cut into his and Amycus' palms last year. This time, he makes his matching mark with Alecto perpendicular to that with Amycus—after all, "X marks the spot," they say—and he holds her hand after.

      Unsurprisingly, Alecto nonverbally invokes the spell. The crimson light from last time doesn't seem so bright in the middle of the day with the sun out. It's almost as if this magic is harmless, as natural as the nature surrounding them.

      Thorfinn knows better this time. Nothing came of his oath with Amycus because they never met any obstacles along their way.

      But—swearing to keep Amycus alive and well, without any regards for Alecto herself?

      Thorfinn wonders if he fights this blood oath's magical rules hard enough, then it might as well be an Unbreakable Vow and kill him.

      (Yet Thorfinn frowns in the aftermath of his oath with Alecto, because this blood oath is not unlike her warning at the Lestrange home. He senses at last that Alecto wonders if Thorfinn's truly meant for a Dark life with her and Amycus. That she doubts his business here, with them.

      He wants to prove her wrong.

      But each day that passes in October feels like a step closer to something larger. No matter that the Death Eaters spread the Order thin. No matter that Edgar Bones is no longer a threat [nor his extended family, since they made an example of him by murdering his wife and children with him, so the rest of the Bones family ought to know better than to get involved]. There are whispers of something larger that the Dark Lord keeps close to his vest and won't divulge even to the likes of Bellatrix, his most loyal follower.

      All is revealed on Halloween, however, when the Dark Lord once more carries out a task on his own…

      …and a mere baby robs the Death Eaters of their leader, their master, and their security.

      In the wake of the Dark Lord's apparent death at the magic of the Potter child, the Death Eaters mostly scatter. Some of them try to continue the Dark Lord's work—the Longbottoms' capture and torture makes the papers shortly afterwards, and wizard [and, to the Death Eaters, known Order member] Caradoc Dearborn is listed as "missing" in The Daily Prophet months after that.

      But Thorfinn, Alecto, and Amycus see this as an unexpected turning point. Their hands are already covered in blood, but there's no real work to continue because there's safety in numbers and the Death Eaters don't have those anymore.

      What's left for them now?

      Alecto, of course, comes up with a plan. "If we keep our heads down, we give the Ministry no need to come looking for us," she tells her wizards as they stick to the shadows and move about cities, mindful both of repulsive Muggles and dogged Aurors and Hit wizards alike.

      She says that plainly, and Thorfinn joins them, because the Carrows long ago accepted him as theirs, as a protector, as a friend—as family, he dares to think.

      So their trio goes into hiding, for a while together, waiting for the tide to shift in their favor, regardless of how long it may take.)

I knew the oath with Alecto wouldn't come immediately but needed a certain trigger, and some canonical deaths actually provided the right impetus here. :O Altho…in the midst of writing this section of the story, I had to do some rereading of the final chapter of alwy and developed some other hcs… (As in, even more inspiration struck, *LOL*.) Reminder: If you're curious about the name "Petronelle," go read at last, with you. ;)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (Anyone enjoying all the Death Eater namedrops? B3)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

you're nobody until somebody loves you (161-170/∞)

100-word drabbles for a range of ships. *Requests always welcome! Repeats allowed~*

Chapters 161-170: [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow, Stephen Cornfoot/Kevin Entwhistle, Orion Black/Alphard Black, Verity/Roxanne Weasley, Petunia Evans/Vernon Dursley, Antonin Dolohov/Lucy Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Fridwulfa, Alice Longbottom/Lucius Malfoy, Albus Severus Potter/Daphne Greengrass, & Harry Potter/Susan Bones

Rating: K

Words: 1,000 collectively

Additional info: romance, slash, femslash, cross gen, fluff, hurt/comfort, Dark magic, AU fic, pre-Marauder era, Marauder era, Harry's era, Next Gen era, 2nd person POV, 3rd person POV

Summary: Song by Sammy Davis, Jr., 100-word drabbles by mew. So is unrequited love always unrequited? | Various pairings, eras, etc. Includes het, slash, femslash, cross-gen, next-gen, but nothing too bad. Read it all or only what you like!

161: ThorfinnAlecto

      He envied her, at first. Alecto and Amycus—a sibling pair meant one always had a partner-in-crime. It made carrying out the Dark Lord's Dark deeds that much easier.

      Then he admired her. Thorfinn joined the ranks at the same time as the Carrows, but they executed so many plans, Amycus following his older sister's steps to a T, that they were known to the Dark Lord as some of his favorite followers.

      "What's your secret?" he dared ask Alecto one mission.

      She taught him a spell that night, full of pain—

      —and he knew then they were kindred spirits.

162: StephenKevin

      "The whole dorm to ourselves, again?"

      Kevin's groan and sigh lifted Stephen's eyes from his Transfiguration text. He noted the way the curly-haired boy paced far from his own bed, hovering near Stephen's four-poster. Stephen set aside his work. "Terry, Anthony, and Michael are thick as thieves," he said with a shrug. "As long as they don't cause trouble with Umbridge, I wouldn't mind them."

      Kevin gave him a dimpled smile before timidly joining Stephen on the edge of the latter's bed. "I don't mind them. I've got you."

      Stephen spent fifth year exploring with Kevin precisely what that meant.

163: OrionAlphard

      In a perfect, world, matchmakers make all the pairs. That's what makes sense to you. Then you wouldn't be wasting time on a magic ceremony for tradition's sake. (It's pointless, really; Walburga's clearly your only option since her only siblings are wizards.)

      But then you walk into the room, presented with Walburga, Alphard, and Cygnus, and the magic doesn't like how you try to force your gaze the witch's way. It doesn't like it. Not. One. Bit.

      It's the same for Alphard. He fights it, but eventually his copper eyes find your silver ones.

      Betrothed…and damned the Black bloodline.

164: VerityRoxanne

      Sometimes she considered herself one of Fred and George's early Wheezes: A fun novelty, something old sitting on the shelf, in danger of expiring the longer she sat without so much as a glance cast her way.

      Then George's twins grew up and opened a Hogsmeade location. "It was always my dream to have a store near the castle," cheeky Roxanne confided in Verity, a mischievous glint in her eye.

      "It takes a lot of help, running a new shop," the older witch informed her.

      "Lend us a hand then, yeah?" Roxanne asked, that mischievous glint softening into hopeful yearning.

165: PetuniaVernon

      "Your sister…there's something…peculiar about her," Vernon dared to venture. They'd only known, dated each other for two months and Petunia had sensed his unease around Lily, but it was the first time he'd spoken up.

      "What about her?" Petunia asked. She had to be careful—one wrong word, and this dinner, this relationship was ruined. (By magic. Again.)

      Vernon frowned. "She's—just odd. I don't like being around her." He paused, cheeks scarlet as he rushed to add, "But I don't want to stop being around you, Tuney!"

      Oh. There was some hope for her and Vernon yet.

166: DolohovLucy

      There is nothing left in Wizarding Britain for him after the war. They've lost; the stragglers are being rounded up. It's a waiting game, Antonin knows.

      "I can help you," Lucy insists, time and again, trying to convince him her story's no lie, that there lie shadows on the side of the light, that the heroes make their own villains—sometimes of their own children.

      Antonin debates the young woman's help…and decides it's not the worst idea in the world. If he's going to run, it might not be bad to have company, especially the deadly and alluring kind.

167: FleurFridwulfa

      Her mother warned her to enjoy her witch side. "Because there will be a choice," she told young Fleur. "By the time you're twenty, you must choose your blood."

      Having spent two decades as a witch, Fleur chose her other heritage—and loved it. She entranced people, yes, but Veela had the power to bring out the inner beauty of everything around them. She literally could make the world a more beautiful place.

      In her new world, she met Fridwulfa, someone wise and used to her own creature side. But…Fleur had no magic to work; Fridwulfa was beautiful as-is.

168: AliceLucius

      She'd known of him since an early age. That was how pureblooded society worked—everyone knew everyone, because (eventually) people married and made families. But there were enough years between them that Lucius was merely a fancy in Alice's mind. By the time she was out of Hogwarts, he would have an heir or two already.

      So seventh-year Alice Bulstrode was surprised to find Lucius around her family home, before and during the school year. "But—I heard about your engagement to Narcissa Black," she spluttered when her parents left the room.

      "Nothing's cemented yet," he replied, his words inviting.

169: AlSPDaphne

      "Thank you, Al."

      He hears Daphne's words, and it's as if the sun's come up. It doesn't matter why his best mate's aunt utters them—for a delivery between Astoria and her sister that Scorpius was too busy to make, for help around the holidays because holidays at Malfoy Manor are a blast, or for his ear on his breaks from Auror training when he wanders into the Portkey Office (purposefully, of course—Daphne's what draws him here). Daphne thanks him, and Al feels seen, the side-effect of being from a too-large family.

      If only thanks came with a kiss…

170: HarrySusan

      The fire of war dies out in a post-war world, Harry finds. The same things that fueled him into adulthood don't persist and carry him. Things change.

      He finds comfort in the paperwork, not the action, of the Auror Office.

      He figures out that Ginny's one of his best mates like Ron and Hermione, not his "one-and-only."

      He recalls the burden of being the Boy-Who-Lived…now the Boy-Who-Won and longs for the days he didn't know. That or, his yearning for his lost family grows stronger than ever.

      Only Susan understands. And, somewhere along the way, consolation—empathy—kindles love.

Remarks for—

Ch161: Back with more! I know ynusly went on a [smaller this time] hiatus again, but that's because I was focusing on some other stories…! (Fair warning: This collection might go on hiatus again real soon as I need to write up a nice horde of drabbles to post, *lol*.) Anywho! This one's a bit on the dark side for ynusly, but I can't help but entertain some of my Death Eater hcs…

And, as always: Requests are always open, so please review and lemme know who you'd like to see next! (It's all right to request pairs already written in this collection, too, jsyk~)

Ch163: Ngl, when this idea occurred to me…my first order of business was to make a note bc this needs to be a full-fledged oneshot of its own. This idea that Orion wasn't supposed to marry Walburga delights me to pieces, and I just.

Ch164: This one feels like a remix of ch82 of Counting Backwards. (Completely unintentional, tho, *lol*.)

Ch166: Me, forever writing Antocy drabbles instead of the proper oneshot they deserve. (I rly hope to change that soon.)

Ch167: Kinda my same problem with Antocy—I often entertain my Fleurwulfa ideas in drabble form but have yet to write a full-fledged oneshot and I rly need to change that. (This idea, tho, feels like a good starting point! :3c) Also: I just wanna say that I love this hc of Veela powers.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

And if you want to support ynusly, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions and consider liking and reblogging these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

at last, with you (part 4/4)

The conclusion to the Carrows' tale with Rowle—a sequel to this and set partly concurrently with this.

Act III: "Post-Hogwarts" [FFN] [AO3] | ← | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Alecto Carrow/Thorfinn Rowle, Amycus Carrow, Evan Rosier, Mulciber, Avery, Voldemort, & an OC, with supporting roles/cameos from Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, & Barty Crouch, Jr., & mentions of others

Rating: T

Words: ~7,350

Additional info: romance, gen fic, family, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, Marauder era, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: While incapacitated, Alecto rethinks her life—childhood, school life, adulthood—and wonders if there's still time for a tweak or two. Ch4: Alecto starts life anew without Amycus or Rowle by her side. But the best laid plans don't always happen the way one wants them to play out.

Act III: Post-Hogwarts

       Alecto begins her new life homeless but not penniless. Petronelle thought years ago the goblins had miscounted the gold in the family vault. Alas, the goblins paid the price for Akillios' doting: He's been owling Alecto small amounts of money over the years, like some sort of allowance or perhaps in preparation for the inevitability that Alecto wouldn't come home after Hogwarts.

      With every coin saved and magic on her side, Alecto believes she can brave adulthood, at least long enough to execute her plan. She cannot go after Petronelle immediately, though. No, Petronelle will be on alert, and Amycus must still call that house home for now. He is in danger, but he and Alecto can hang on, must hang on for a little longer…

      The only thing Alecto couldn't've prepared for was the overwhelming loneliness. It doesn't matter where she Apparates. It doesn't matter, the fascinating faces she comes across. It is not the same, not having the boys around.

      She longs for Rowle's arms around her, holding her up.

      But she misses Amycus as though she misses a part of herself.

      (Is it possible? That magic makes them twins anyhow, despite the years between them? Maybe this is just another of Akillios' lies.)

      But lazy, unburdened people have time to be lonely, and Alecto is neither of those. Her last two years of schooling went by too quickly for her liking, and she knows Amycus will catch up to her soon enough, so she doesn't have much time to wrap this all up before he gets involved. She needs to get a move on.

      With her plans to kill Petronelle at the forefront of her mind, Alecto mulls over the old memory of Mulciber and Rosier discussing Bellatrix Black. There are articles in The Daily Prophet about hooded figures committing all sorts of crimes, and the uptick in body count coincides with Bellatrix's life after school. One can only guess at the connection.

      But if there is one, Alecto imagines they have the knowledge, the magic she needs. The trouble is talking to the right people. As Akillios and Petronelle have made so painfully clear over her lifetime, the Carrow name is not one Alecto will find of use anymore. But…but…

      Alecto has no business with the old pureblood families. But many of them still have old family haunts somewhere in Diagon Alley. Evan Rosier's she finds just inside the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which Alecto braves halfway through her first summer as a new, adult member of the Wizarding world.

      The tiny store, a cloak shop, isn't very wide. Alecto turns to her side to avoid bumping into displays of robes made from fabrics she can't name and can't afford. Her entrance earns her the attention of the two patrons and the shopkeeper. One patron narrows his eyes at her.

      "I need to talk with you," she addresses Rosier.

      He straightens up from where he leans on the counter. "I don't speak with people I don't know."

      "Fine. Just tell me where to find Mulciber then."

      His handsome face is impassive, but the muscle twitch in his jaw gives him away. "Why should I?"

      "Are you telling me you're no longer bosom buddies?" Dammit. This isn't how she wanted to address him. Rosier and those sorts—they seem the kind pleased most by groveling. She's gone and fucked this all up, hasn't she?

      Rosier snorts and rolls his eyes. He's…amused? "So adamant. Well, Mulce has less discerning tastes than I," he remarks. He turns on his well-shined heel and beckons with a hand over his shoulder. "Follow me."

      Alecto tenses but goes after him out the back. The entire time, her wand's in her hand, concerned for what to expect.

      Outside, in an even tinier alleyway that leads to nowhere, Rosier and Alecto cross paths with Mulciber, who brushes ash from his dark hair that he wears in a very obvious, very poor imitation of Sirius Black. But Mulciber isn't alone. Sitting on a crate opposite Mulciber is someone who matches Mulciber in terms of nastiness, if Scabior's old gossip still holds true: Avery.

      Alecto has never felt shorter in her entire life. She is outnumbered and completely unaware of what may come.

      Avery eyes her as though he doesn't trust her, but Mulciber simply scowls. "Evan, what the fuck."

      "She barged into the shop," Rosier says. "Wants to speak with you."

      That changes Mulciber's tone. He stops leaning against the building and puts out his cigarette. His grin is yellow as he peers down at Alecto. "I'd say I've had worse, but eh."

      Alecto thinks of Petronelle's stings. It gives her the courage to brandish her wand, press it to Mulciber's throat. "I'm here to talk, pig," she spits. "Sit back down," she snarls when Avery moves out of the corner of her eye. Rosier muffles a laugh, but she considers him a threat, too.

      "Then talk," Mulciber growls.

      "You had an interest in Dark magic at school. I heard you tried to practice it a time or two, even, on some unsuspecting Gryffindors."

      "Your point?"

      "You either teach me every spell you know or take me to someone who can."

      Mulciber furrows his brow. Over Alecto's head, he shares a look with Avery and then Rosier. His dark eyes return to her face. "No clue what you're talking about."

      She pushes her wand harder, forcing the tip under his neck, as though it might pierce the skin before she casts a spell. "I heard you. Nearly two years ago, bragging about Bellatrix Black and bodies. You said you wanted a part of that action. If you're in a grimy place like this on a weekday afternoon instead of at work, I'm guessing you found it."

      What little cockiness he has vanishes. His eyes flicker first to Rosier and then to Avery, keeping the thuggish wizard seated on his overturned crate. "You know nothing. Go home, you stupid bitch."

      It's the mention of "home" that sets her off. It's the only Unforgivable Curse she found details on in one of the Restricted books she selected—the other books were worthless, but Alecto has long figured this spell is fate. "CRUCIO!"

      Mulciber screams and drops to his knees. But Alecto's spell isn't strong enough, for he pants and holds up a hand, again keeping Avery at bay. Rosier, for his part, looks ready to abandon ship. Mulciber staggers back to his feet and glares down his nose at Alecto. "…you learned that on your own, and you want more?"

      She nods.

      Mulciber cocks his head before he laughs, and Rosier chuckles, too. "Consider yourself heard then, witch."

      "My name," she corrects, enjoying his jolt when she points her wand at him again, "is Alecto Carrow. Do not make me repeat it and do not forget it."

      Avery does not seem inclined to speak with her around, so whatever his opinion is he shares it via glares and furrowed brows before Mulciber and Rosier escort Alecto back through the shop, Mulciber leading the way. Avery tags along, reluctantly, pulling up the rear behind Rosier, who only ever gives Alecto the impression that he keeps with this crowd because they entertain him.

      Back out on Knockturn Alley where they have more room to move, Mulciber waves to Rosier. "Evan, if you will."

      Alecto glances up at Rosier. He doesn't grab her. He waits patiently for a second, with the sophisticated air that Alecto thinks she's seen before, in someone else, many years ago. His hair is a reddish brown and his eyes are a deeper brown, but his poise reminds her too much of Narcissa Black. And Narcissa's shadow threatens to return, to follow Alecto once more as Rosier says, "Side-Along Apparition. You ready?"

      Avery scoffs. "Soft," he growls before Disapparating. Mulciber shrugs and follows, glad he doesn't have to assist.

      Alecto's resigned to her fate and takes his hand. "Carry on, then."

      Side-Along doesn't hit her the way it did that first time, her first trip to Diagon Alley before she began school. Perhaps because she's gotten more used to practicing Apparition? She prefers flying, but she knows they would've doubtful taken her anywhere to which she could retrace a path via air or ground.

      But once her reminiscence fades, Alecto seizes for half a beat, fearing she's back home. It takes her another moment to realize the footprint's wrong, that there's a doorway missing where she'd expect to see one at home and that it's too black and shiny here. At the house Akillios and Petronelle keep, it's muted blues and grays mostly, but that's because the last house-elf Petronelle keeps can't keep up with all his tasks since Petronelle's terrorizing is a constant interruption.

      Rosier and Avery watch her closely, but Alecto marches after Mulciber down a black marble hall. Mulciber walks around as though he owns the place…until he comes upon a cracked set of double doors and leads their group inside.

      There rests a long table that seats a dozen. The table is empty, but at the head sits a jet-haired, curly-haired woman with a gaunt man behind her chair. Both heads swivel their way.

      "Fresh meat," Mulciber announces, as if that's any sort of introduction.

      The woman, a witch, flicks her wand, and Alecto draws close to the new duo against her will. "We don't take your leftovers, Mulciber," the witch says.

      "Not this one," he insists. "She came looking for us. Not me, really—for you. She wants to sign up."

      The witch's eyes light up. When the whites of her eyes show, her irises and pupils blend to endless night. A person could get sucked in and drown. "Really, now?" The arch of her eyebrows is interested and elegant and a trademark of the Black sisters. Bellatrix Black's attention is on Alecto Carrow.

      "My name is—"

      Bellatrix narrows her eyes at Alecto. "I wasn't speaking to you." She looks behind her, to the trio of young wizards. "And who thought you'd just bring her here, directly to me and Rodolphus?"

      One of them swallows nervously. "She—She cast the Cruciatus Curse on me," Mulciber weakly points out.

      "Boo-fucking-hoo, Mulciber. What do I care?"

      "She learned it on her own. That's Carrow's girl, fresh out of Hogwarts."

      Silence. Ticking fills the room, echoes in the house; there's a grandfather clock somewhere nearby. Then Bellatrix smiles at the wizard trio. "Leave us."

      A minute later, the doors are closed and Alecto's back on her feet, standing on her own without the help of magic. Bellatrix rises from her chair while Rodolphus circles the two slowly.

      "Your name," Bellatrix prompts.

      "Alecto Carrow," Alecto says, proud of the confidence in her voice. (Akillios' teaching sticks with her. A Carrow is confident. Always.)

      Bellatrix can go for a long time without blinking; it's unnerving. "Which Carrow line?"

      Ah. So she knows the old families better than does Alecto, to know about the split. "Akillios is my father; Ajax is his."

      Bellatrix pulls a face. It's like watching Narcissa evaluate her after all this time, a dark-haired Narcissa who finally was made aware of her existence and now agrees that Petronelle could've had better. But Bellatrix doesn't wipe her memories and turn her away. "What brings you here?"

      Alecto clenches her teeth. She had hoped to learn magic and leave, not disclose her plans.

      "What brings you here?" Bellatrix repeats, her voice louder, stronger. Rodolphus stops his loop at Bellatrix's right hand, watching the exchange.

      "Petronelle. I want to kill Petronelle."

      Bellatrix…smiles. No, sneers? No, smirks. In truth, there is no word that exists to describe the evil thing painted across Bellatrix's dark red lips. "Rodolphus, dear, remind me: Didn't Petronelle marry Akillios?"

      He nods, his black hair moving like a flimsy curtain around his face. "Their Carrow line comes from Akillios' marriage to Petronelle Blishwick. The Blishwicks are still purebloods. But the Carrows have been half for generations."

      "So tell me, Alecto Blishwick Carrow," Bellatrix taunts, "why should I condone the killing of a pureblood? You have no idea what it is we do around here, do you?"

      Alecto nearly drops her eyes to the ground. It's as though fifteen years have been all for naught, surviving, making it this far. She has never been called that, had her name associated with her mother's, and she never wants to hear it again.

      But what can she do to convince them? Maybe she didn't understand Mulciber's meaning of "filth," but—oh.

      "I want to rid the world of those who are less than me. And I want to start with Petronelle." She pours her fury and vengeance into those words. She wants Bellatrix to read her intent without peeking behind the curtain and checking the history as to how Petronelle has earned Alecto's ire.

      Bellatrix cackles and claps her hands. "Oh! I love it. You can never have enough witches with murderous intent. Can you, Rodolphus?"

      Rodolphus shakes his head in agreement.

      "Well, then, Alecto. Your head's in the right place. We'll just have to see if your heart's in it."

      Alecto looks between them as they proceed to exit the room, Alecto hustling behind them. "Does that mean—magic? I only know a little Dark magic—but I want to know more. I'll do whatever it takes—"

      Bellatrix whirls, her black skirts billowing around her. She's only a few inches taller than Alecto, but she seems like a giant as she leans over her, that evil almost-smile back on her pale face. "That's what he likes to hear."

      And then Alecto meets the man with red eyes.

      Christmas comes and goes. Alecto hops between homes. Sometimes she sleeps in a spare room at Bellatrix's—the Lestranges'—and sometimes she shares a room with Wilkes, one of the few other witches in this growing organization, at an old house that the Rosiers don't disclose they own to the Ministry. But, sometimes, Alecto is happiest to find a spot outside, on the street, away from it all, where she could fly if she needed to (and, of course, if there were no bloody Muggles) and where she can close her eyes and dream of her room with Amycus or the Rowle home, with room enough for everyone.

      The last few months have worn her down. She thought it too easy, winning over Bellatrix. And she'd been right. Bellatrix Black Lestrange is the last hurdle before the big boss, the man with red eyes.

      Lord Voldemort.

      Even in a world full of magic, he is otherworldly. It's not just his eyes. His hair is thin and his nose too flat, as though he's a sketch of a wizard than actually a wizard. And his gait… He doesn't walk into a room. Lord Voldemort glides into a room, like a god come down to walk amongst lesser beings and impart his wisdom.

      Ha… "Lesser." "Wisdom." Alecto thought she knew what these words meant, but then Lord Voldemort spoke.

      Alecto gazes up at the twinkling stars on a rare, cloudless sky in January while she reflects on her first meeting with him. Lord Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, have asked her to do many horrible things since she joined, but crime and Dark magic don't bother her the way Lord Voldemort does.

      Much as Mulciber and his boys brought her to Bellatrix and Bellatrix interrogated her, Lord Voldemort sent Bellatrix away before he exchanged his words with Alecto last summer. "So young," he said.

      "Willing to learn," she corrected, but respectfully so, with her head bowed.

      "Lift your head, Alecto Carrow. Only those who have displeased me or are against me must show me their humiliation."

      She lifted her eyes then, but still it was hard to focus on that ruby stare.

      "Bellatrix tells me that you have fire, that some of your desires overlap with our own. But that you also wish to snuff out a pureblood line." He tutted then.

      Alecto furrowed her brow. "Please! Petronelle—"

      "Around here, pure is sure," he said, as if he'd recited this a thousand times. "Pureblood lines guarantee magic."

      (Did they? Even now, Alecto's so confused. She's never heard or read that. But far from her to doubt this powerful wizard.)

      "Some half-blood lines are better than others. But Muggles? And Mudbloods? We have a mission, Alecto Carrow. No, we have a sworn duty to protect the purity, the continuation of magic. We need to wipe them out to do so. So, tell me: Why should the Blishwick line end with her?"

      Alecto opened her mouth, frantic for anything but the truth. But…he was not Bellatrix. Something told Alecto, at the time, that Lord Voldemort was someone who demanded the truth. It wouldn't go anywhere unless he saw it fit. And it would only work to her advantage here.

      It was the first and only time she ever told anyone of the stings. Of the abuse, the torment, the torture, the death sentence.

      "I need to get to her before she gets to my brother," Alecto finished.

      Lord Voldemort was quiet awhile. His eyes were half lidded; his lips were a straight line devoid of emotion. Then he sat up straight in his high-backed chair, which never made a sound. "I understand."

      He did? He knew the need to kill a parent?

      "I will make an exception in Petronelle's case, but we otherwise condemn the spilling of good blood, Alecto Carrow."

      She wanted to cry in relief. "Thank you. Thank you so—"

      "Do not thank me. She is your final task. Bellatrix and others can help you improve your Unforgivables. Then, when you are ready, you will kill Petronelle. Only then will you be one of my Death Eaters."

      And that led to Alecto now, preferring not to spend her free time with the Death Eaters if she can manage it. The Unforgivables take so much from her.

      The soft part of her Rowle likes? It's hardening.

      The endearing, protective sister Amycus needs? She's turning dangerous.

      The cowering little girl Petronelle birthed? …well, that's the whole point of this exercise, but still.

      Dark magic—it changes people. Alecto feels it in her blood and bones. She feels stronger sometimes but weaker at others.

      And the Death Eaters. They're a menacing bunch, secretive and something of a who's who of the old pureblood families. Both Lestrange brothers are involved. Rodolphus didn't marry into this and drag his younger brother, Rabastan, with him; Rabastan came of his own volition. There's Severus Snape, too, which still surprises Alecto because for years Slytherins whispered behind his back and mocked him openly to his face about his Mudblood best mate, that Evans girl. Alecto's own classmate, Regulus Black, seems less alive than ever, yet he's esteemed by several older members, making her doubt just how long he's been a part of things… But it's Lucius Malfoy who catches Alecto off-guard. His engagement and marriage to Narcissa was in the papers, an extravagant event. Does perfect, pretty Narcissa know what her husband, sister, and cousin get up to most days?

      But the unpleasant company and Dark deeds are things Alecto can compartmentalize. It's tougher, getting the creep out of her skin whenever she has to meet with Lord Voldemort. She tries to chase away the idea of revulsion for her new master, for fear he might smell it on her or peer into her mind (there are Legilimens among them). She doesn't want to be deemed an imposter. Besides, he offers her a haven, if she can prove herself.

      Proving…that's easier said than done, she knows as winter melts into spring. She can do the magic. The Imperius Curse comes naturally to someone bossy like her—Avery hates how easily he falls under when she practices on him, ripping peals of laughter from Mulciber and Wilkes and drawing a smirk from Rosier and even the tiniest approving nod from Snape.

      The Cruciatus Curse requires more concentration for Alecto. But that's not too hard. All it takes is summoning years of people's snide remarks about her, Petronelle's included, to cause waves of pain. (Briefly, Alecto considers asking someone if they know of her mother's particular stinging spell…but then she dismisses the thought. She can't bring herself to use that magic. She will use anything else. Anything but that magic.)

      The Killing Curse is Bellatrix's specialty. Each week, her "body count" (yes, Mulciber's still keeping tabs) goes up, and she's quite proud of herself and should be, because the Aurors are too thick to catch her. At least Bellatrix says nothing the first time Alecto kills something and the younger witch fights back her breakfast. But that's Alecto's only clumsy move.

      Her first kill is a Muggle bystander, just outside London, not far from home.

      (If only she could leave the body for Petronelle, as a message.)

      …that reminds her…

      Amycus' sixth year is coming to a close too fast for Alecto's liking. If she doesn't want him around for Petronelle's death, then she's got to keep him away from that house. She hasn't figured out what to do about Akillios yet; perhaps luck will be on her side and their father will be on a bender somewhere safe and sound.

      Alecto checks the spelled pockets of her outer cloak and then her inner pockets…no, nothing useful. She resorts to tearing a page out of Wilkes' journal because the poetic thing leaves it out half the time, and Alecto doesn't feel too bad about taking it and borrowing a quill and ink since Wilkes has stolen bobby pins from Alecto. When amongst thieves, do as thieves do.

      It's June, so she's cutting it close. But she has to get a warning to him, of some sort, even though she still refuses to tell him of her plans. Alecto sends him this, careful of the contents:

      It has been nearly a year, I know. I won't apologize; I know how much you hate those. Please do not ask anything of me or try writing me. Just believe me when I say I'm fine. (Rowle bitches when I say that, but then he never believes me when I say I do. I know you trust me to watch out for myself.)

      I hope the year was good to you. I imagine it was; you're brighter than you realize, the both of you. That's why I'm writing. Because you're both older, wiser, stronger now. But you—you are still vulnerable. So please, for me, do not go home. Even briefly. Go home with him, where you are welcome, where you are safe. His parents won't even question it by now, I presume? If they do, enclosed are some Galleons which Father gave me a long time ago; tell his parents that ours are on a trip and this will cover any expenses, past and future, while you stay with them.

      Alecto hesitates. There is one more thing she wants to add and one more thing she needs to add:

      I want to see you again, I do. But I cannot promise you anything.

      Go home with him. And do not keep this letter. Burn it after reading twice.

      She doesn't sign it. The mention of Rowle should be enough that Amycus shouldn't question the sender, and the letter's contents are harmless enough that no one can get in trouble if it happens to fall into the wrong hands.

      She Disapparates from the Rosier "home" to Diagon Alley, to owl Amycus her letter and a few Galleons from the Post Office there. Keeping the hood of her cloak up, Alecto meanders up the street afterwards, pausing outside the stationers.

      She could always buy some parchment and ink. It'd be better than scrounging for it elsewhere.

      But Alecto walks away and returns to her shared room with Wilkes. No, parchment and ink are a temptation, and she's got to focus on the task at hand.

      A few weeks later, after several nights and days spent scouting her childhood home, Alecto plans to make her move. Amycus is not home (did he get her letter?), Akillios cannot be found (luck is on her side), and Petronelle's life is ripe for the taking.

      But, though a few others have assisted with the scouting—namely Rosier and Wilkes—Alecto must face her task alone. She creeps up to the house in the middle of the day, peering in the windows on both floors, knowing that, if the house-elf is still alive, he'll be sleeping long before he has to prep dinner.

      Alecto rounds the home, gray on the outside just like the inside, and scans the back. It's empty. She hurries to the back door and peers through the inlaid window there—

      Petronelle peers back.

      Alecto's heart jumps into her throat. She wrenches back out of sight and Disapparates on the spot. Whether by chance or Petronelle was on alert or Petronelle knew—

      "Told you she couldn't do it," Avery scoffs. He stands by the doorway to the dining hall in the Lestrange home with Mulciber. His grin is troll-like, the gaps between his teeth too large, as Mulciber ponies up some Sickles.

      There are others watching, too, but Alecto could care less.

      Because Petronelle might've been on alert or known something before…

      …but she sure as hell knows now.

      And Alecto's just made her job ten times harder than it has to be.

      She is a failure at long last, but Lord Voldemort says nothing of it. He tells the others one final scouting before the attack is always wise. That's it. That's all.

      Alecto heaves a sigh of relief. She's got one more chance.

      That changes her mind about him, a little. She's not settled with the idea of pureblood supremacy yet. She understands the concept of "lesser versus better," but names seemed to be the only things that mattered to her parents, growing up. Alecto doesn't give a damn about names and hasn't really thought about blood. She doesn't think it so bad that she, Amycus, and Rowle are half-bloods. But there are certainly those who are lesser than them.

      The months blur together, as do the faces. Rodolphus and Rabastan look too much alike—she can't recall which one is better at Binding Curses. Avery's grin brings to mind Mulciber's guffaws. The older members like Nott move slowly as if they're as old as Merlin himself. And wait—when's the last time anyone saw Regulus?

      Alecto's curious if something bigger is to come as the decade rounds. Lord Voldemort seems less and less concerned with the horror stories they let splash across the front page of The Daily Prophet. That's confidence she can't help but admire… To do things out in the open, as he pleases. He envisions a particular world, and he will do anything he can to make it come true.

      That's it. That's how Alecto comes around. She's not here for the blood supremacy. She's here to reshape the world. For Amycus, for herself, for Rowle, she will reshape the world.

      April rolls into May rolls into June rolls into July. New faces come and go. Some the Aurors manage to kill or capture. Some Lord Voldemort dispatches himself, because they are not worthy of being Death Eaters. Some are just plain not useful.

      A stunningly young face appears as the Lestranges' door in late July. It is a pointed face, with small eyes and framed by greasy hair. He looks like someone Alecto might've seen back in her school days.

      "You need something?" she asks the young wizard, reluctant to let anyone into the house. (Can't be too careful these days, with Aurors on the case.)

      His tongue darts out between his lips and slithers back in. He blinks a lot, too. "I'm one of you," he insists.

      Alecto stifles a groan. Sweet Salazar, does Mulciber round up every last eager spirit nowadays? "Look—"

      "Crouch. Name's Barty Crouch. I enlisted months and months ago, brought info on my dad."

      She studies him again, no longer in a hurry to slam the door in his face. "…the younger girls in our House hated you, you know."

      He grins and his tongue darts out and in again. "I know. You older girls knew better."

      She pauses. She doesn't know if he's testing her or if she's being tested. Their ranks change all the time. "You joined by telling on your dad?" she prompts.

      Crouch jams his hands in his pockets, impatient. "He's a Ministry bastard. There's got to be something fun they can do with that. Now, may I please come in, you stupid cow?"

      "Don't call her that," snaps someone from behind him.

      Alecto stops breathing for a few seconds.

      But…it can't be. It shouldn't be. A letter and no more. He shouldn't be here—

      "What are you doing here?" Alecto says to Amycus, swinging the door open wide, never mind protocol.

      Lo and behold, down the steps and a skip up the path to the Lestrange house stands an enraged Amycus, glaring daggers at Crouch. But, of course, Rowle is at his side, angry at Crouch, as well, but keeping a hand clamped down on Amycus' shoulder to keep him in place.

      "Amycus," Alecto says.

      His name is enough to redirect their attention. Both boys—young men, because they just won't stop growing taller than her, growing older—ease up a smidge. Rowle even lets Amycus go. "He's safe," Rowle reports.

      Alecto gawps at him. She hustles to them and slaps Rowle away because how is Amycus being here safe?! But then she gives Amycus a shove. He can handle it. He's slim but not a waif anymore. He's flourished with the Rowles. "You imbeciles!" she snarls.

      "Told you she'd react this way," Rowle informs Amycus.

      Amycus grunts at Rowle. But he meets his sister's glare. "I won't let you do this alone, Alec."

      She freezes. How? How long has he known? Yes, all right, that letter implied enough and Amycus has been catching up to her thoughts and plans faster with each passing year, but—

      Crouch coughs behind the reunion. "Since I brought fresh meat this time, I'm going to head inside and kick back." He snickers at them and disappears inside. "Nice you got to see your sissy again, Carrow!" he hollers over his shoulder at Amycus. Amycus flips him off.

      Damn. With Crouch inside, with them here… It won't be long before they're dragged before at least Bellatrix. Alecto can't picture them surviving one meeting, let alone advancing to Lord Voldemort. Before either can protest, she grabs them and Disapparates.

      The trio reappears in an empty storefront. Alecto found this a few weeks ago, when the Muggle shop closed for good. The windows are plastered with signs proclaiming a new health clinic "Coming Soon! Fall 1980," so it's safe for now.

      "WHAT THE HELL—"

      Amycus crushes her in a hug. He's spent years, trying to pull away, pushing her away. But suddenly, in a hug, that doesn't matter. He's Amycus. Her Amycus, again.

      Alecto returns the embrace, at the same time surprised at how far Amycus has come with Rowle, so open around him. She glances at the large boy, and Rowle gives her that sheepish smile. She shakes her head, exasperated.

      And Rowle? He gently pries one of her hands free, gives it a squeeze, and kisses the backs of her fingers.

      The siblings break apart, Alecto still shaking her head. "Did Crouch get sent out to scout you? Did you follow some trail I mistakenly left behind? I…" Her voice breaks. She thought she did all she could, to keep them from this.

      "I told you, you two come as a set," Rowle teases them. He tugs on Alecto's hand, drawing her to him.

      "Then how the bloody hell does that explain you?" she retorts into his chest.

      "I'm the Carrow Whisperer, of course."

      Alecto and Amycus groan in unison. Rowle laughs.

      "It was my idea, Alec," Amycus says, beginning a slow walk around the empty store's inner perimeter. "I know you plan to kill her."

      Alecto tenses, and Rowle strokes her upper arms. "Amycus! You shouldn't—"

      "He knows enough. Rowle had to, in order to assist me in our final school year. Then…graduation…and Rowle needed a final goodbye with his parents…and then we sought out Crouch, because he was always a dodgy sort, but he was easy to find and track because his parents haven't disowned him yet." Amycus pauses. "This group you've joined really ought to have smarter, less obvious sorts. Crouch hangs around the Ministry of Magic a lot."

      She grimaces. "…so noted." She looks up at Rowle and narrows her eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that you two wasted your seventh year to come after me and talk me out of this?"

      Rowle's smile falters. Ugh, wimp. "Of course not."

      "Rowle wanted to."

      "Amycus!"

      "Alec prefers honesty, you moron."

      Alecto pushes Rowle away and gestures between the boys before putting her hands on her hips. "Then what on Earth is your plan? Hmm?"

      Amycus' eyes hold no trace of weakness when he looks at her. "I will help you kill Petronelle."

      Her hands slip. "No, you won't."

      "You asked my plan. That's my plan. You and me, together, Alec. Never apart."

      "Amycus, that's not what I meant—"

      "You can't change his mind, Allie," Rowle whispers against her temple, bending down, wrapping his arms around her again. Does he need the constant contact? Or is he aware her knees might give out, hearing Amycus got caught up in this mess she tried so hard to avoid?

      Alecto closes her eyes. She breathes (one, two, three). She pats Rowle's arm, and he releases her to take a step back. "You two don't know the things I've done," she states.

      "The Unforgivables," Amycus says. "We know. What we couldn't work out from the Restricted Section, we had Crouch give us the gist."

      "You think too much like me."

      Amycus grins, the glint in his gaze dark like what Alecto sees in her reflection nowadays. "That's not a bad thing."

      "But have you used them?" she asks.

      Amycus jerks his chin at Rowle. Then he slips his wand from his waistband. "Rowle, ready?"

      Alecto's pulse picks up. She glances between them, back and forth. "Ready? For what? Amycus, Rowle—"

      To her horror, Rowle grits his teeth and nods.

      Then Amycus raises his wand…and says nothing.

      Rowle fights the spell for a second. Then he bows forward. He takes a knee, he's on both knees, he's on all fours—then his arms bend, he can barely prop himself up on his elbows, he opens his mouth, he will scream—

      Nothing comes out. Rowle endures the Cruciatus Curse in silence.

      A flood of emotions crashes through Alecto. Amazement, that they've reached this skill level, nonverbal magic, especially with an Unforgivable. Broken-heartedness, that Amycus can cast this curse so well… Pain, Rowle's pain, seeing him in pain.

      "Stop it already!" Alecto snarls at Amycus. Or, she thinks she snarls. Her voice is thick and wet to her own ears as she drops to Rowle's side and cradles the big lug in her lap once he goes still.

      Amycus lowers his wand. "I told you. He and I have prepared for this. That should be enough, Alecto."

      Alecto smooths back Rowle's hair, the way she's so used to seeing Rowle do before he goes home. She can't picture Rowle not going home. She glares at Amycus. "It's not my place to say whether that's enough, Amycus."

      Oh. His confidence vanishes, and his eyes drop to his shivering friend in his sister's lap. It never occurred to him that bossy Alecto wouldn't still be pulling the strings.

      Three days. They have three days to kill Petronelle or he will kill all three of them.

      Lord Voldemort's final gift? "Count yourself lucky, Alecto Carrow, that I will kill you all at once. I could, instead, kill your friend and then your brother for each day you don't kill your mother, saving you for last."

      Alecto doesn't care that she's once again the laughing stock. Bringing Amycus and Rowle to him has both saved their trio and condemned them in the same breath. She has bigger problems than to deal with Avery attempting to start an incestuous rumor about her and Amycus. (Besides, Wilkes' irritation at being kicked out of their shared room for two hours that evening so Alecto and Rowle could be reacquainted ought to compete well enough with Avery's stupid rumor.)

      The morning comes. Alecto wakes in her shared room with Wilkes…but, no, Wilkes has moved elsewhere now that Amycus and Rowle refuse to leave Alecto's side. It's the first time in years she has a moment of peace, waking with Rowle at her back and spying Amycus in the bed Wilkes gave up. Alecto allows herself the tiniest of smiles before her boys open their eyes.

      The day's events do not concern them, not where the Lestranges go, what Dolohov does, that Crouch has a fresh mark on his face.

      No. To the Carrow house they go.

      Rowle keeps quiet when they arrive the next street over and make their way to the house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the house and its neighbors, almost close enough to be townhouses but distant enough that bystanders pretend not to hear a child's screams. He pulls up the rear and half ushers the siblings along. If this weren't such a dire situation, Alecto would laugh. Have they found themselves a protector, a bodyguard at last?

      Amycus goes first this time, because he makes the least noise. He checks around back while Alecto checks through the windows. The trio convenes on the other side of a neighbor's home, away from Petronelle's sight and hearing.

      "Well?" Alecto asks her brother.

      "No sign of Father," he assures her. "No Petronelle, either. That concerns me."

      Alecto thumbs her chin. "No sign on the other floors, either. I bet my fuckup last summer means enhanced charms and everything around here, though."

      The wizards exchange a look (damn, that used to be Alecto and Amycus' thing). "That wasn't your fault. Purely coincidence," Rowle assures her.

      She scowls. "Coincidence or not, it's her dead body or ours, Rowle," she snaps at him.

      Rowle merely shakes his head.

      They wend their way back to the house, towards the back door. Amycus goes first again. He checks the inlaid window and, seeing nothing, grabs the handle. With a furtive look to the other two, wands at the ready, he yanks the door open.

      It swings open with ease.

      They creep inside. Alecto runs through a mental list of everything wrong right now—she hates the door opening, she hates having no trace of Akillios or Petronelle, she hates that Amycus and Rowle are here, she hates that she appreciates having Amycus and Rowle here by her side—but it's not a distraction. It all keeps coming back to why they're here in the first place. More than anything else, she hates Petronelle.

      The back room is clear. It hasn't been disturbed in a while. There's a little bit of dust on the coffee table and on the arms of the worn sofa Alecto and Amycus loved as children.

      No one treads the hall from there forward. Akillios' study is empty but tidy. The kitchen is empty but pristine. The sitting room's the same as the back room.

      Rowle's shoulders drop and he pulls a face, confused. He's not wrong to doubt that Petronelle's home, but there's still a lot of house left to check.

      Upstairs, brother and sister find old memories in their room, but they take nothing with them and they shove Rowle out before he lingers too long. Petronelle's room down the hall—because Akillios usually sleeps in his study or elsewhere—stands vacant, and it's disturbing, coming in here. It's all blue and silver velvet brocades and black trims. It's as though she's never stopped trying to be a part of the rich Black family's crowd. Her furnishings and clothing speak to an elegant lady, not the monster she is.

      They check downstairs, too, but that's mostly just storage anyway. Coming back up to the ground floor, Alecto deems it safe to speak. "We've even checked the loo," she grouses. "Not a bloody hair—"

      "Because you still have so much to learn, girl," Petronelle's disembodied voice informs her.

      Alecto, Amycus, and Rowle jump apart, scanning all around them. But there's nothing! No one! Does Petronelle have an Invisibility Cloak?!

      Petronelle cackles, but it chills Alecto's blood in a way that Bellatrix's laughter does not (ah, has at least one Black sister endeared herself to Alecto?). They run around the ground floor, rechecking every last room, flinging Stunning Spells at inanimate objects just in case ("Just in case," her nanny house-elf used to say), but the cackles grow loudest and most taunting in the sitting room. They converge there.

      That is when Alecto understands she should've paid better attention in McGonagall's class. No sooner do she and Amycus and Rowle crash into each other than does Petronelle's beloved blue armchair morph and grow in size. The arms become human arms, the chair back gains a head, and the seat flares out into Petronelle's endless robes.

      "You've disobeyed me for the last time," Petronelle proclaims.

      But that is the last time she speaks.

      Rowle's Silencing Charm and Binding Curse are nonverbal—he will later give credit to Amycus' tutoring—and come half a step early. The surprise redirects Petronelle's attention to him, and that unspeakable thing flashes in her light brown eyes.

      But Thorfinn Rowle will never know Petronelle's stings. Because Alecto and Amycus move together, twins neither in blood nor magic but of trauma, and aim their wands at her.

      "AVADA KEDAVRA!!!"

      (And these three will receive their Dark Marks for completing this first of many missions. The rest, as they say, is history.)

      Her life is full of nothing but stings. She was born into them and she will die by them.

      That's what Alecto believed, growing up. And that's a mindset she has fought hard to break in joining the Death Eaters. And, so far, she has done well to avoid further stings. She has done the impossible, making it to adulthood with Amycus and Rowle by her side.

      But, with another war coming to a head, can she really believe they've changed their world? It's not reshaped, not yet. And children…children these days…they fight back so much harder than she and Amycus ever did…that's why she's facing the stings again…

      "…ecto. Alecto. Alecto, luv, are you awake?"

      She breathes—it's so hard to do, because it stings even more when she does—

      "Alecto, Allie, luv, c'mon now. Amycus will kick himself…well, no, he's going to kick me for being the first to see you're back, but you are back, right?" There's a crack in his voice. His voice grows small, quiet…it won't match his size, she knows, if she looks at him. "Alecto, please wake up."

      It…doesn't sting so bad to open her eyes. It doesn't sting at all to turn her head, but there's a crick in her neck. She's so stiff. But the pain's worth it, to see him.

      Thorfinn.

      The big lug still draws in on himself even though he's in his mid-thirties and not thirteen anymore. But that sheepish grin grows wide and bright (this part of him that doesn't delight in Dark magic—this is the part of him that was Sorted wrong, that doesn't fit in quite right with her and Amycus, because Thorfinn Rowle is evil by proxy, not by choice or by circumstance).

      Alecto closes her eyes, comforted by the soft kiss Thorfinn presses to her forehead. She has so much left to do before the world is right for her Amycus, for Thorfinn, for her…

      …but it's nice to have one good thing (Thorfinn's love) while she works towards the rest.

This is a story of vengeance. That became especially clear to me as I wrote an older Alecto, one who'd grown up in this environment. I knew that I wanted to frame the story with her critical event from "bad blood" (caught in a D.A. trap), but I never imagined that so much would need to be shown (or implied, which—in the case of Petronelle's awfulness—is scarier) to paint the complete picture. This was a story that wanted to keep being written, because every time I thought I could skip to the end, more, new, important threads would pop up (and some very crucial pieces came into play that shocked me, even—the money twist wrote itself). But this was also a fun challenge to explore; as I mentioned in the A/N for "close to you," these stories don't look to excuse the Carrows in their later life but rather explain them…and who knows what happened in their lives without asking them, right? So these were some v interesting headcanons to explore and expand upon, with a few nods to canon throughout (the Black brothers, Barty's cameo…which is amusing given that Amycus speaks of him rather fondly by the late '90s when "bad blood" takes place, Petronelle's trick à la Slughorn's intro scene in HBP, things like that). Also! I totally forgot that Wilkes was never mentioned to be witch or wizard, so I decided on witch for this fic since the Death Eaters are, primarily, a boys' club.

A few writer thoughts: I confess that I waffled as to where to end the fic (give an epilogue or not), but this has a satisfying ending where it needed to stop (besides, there's a bit more story afterwards in "bad blood"). I also waffled as to whether Alecto would kill Petronelle alone—v difficult, but I'm satisfied with this outcome and having them join the Death Eaters together this way, altho it seems as tho Rowle's assistance doesn't quite make sense in terms of earning his Dark Mark given that the Carrows did the killing…but perhaps there was some flourishing when recounting events? Ah, Idk. There were also some old ideas I had as to how Thorlecto's relationship would morph as they got older, but the snippets we got here wrote themselves, *lol*. I'm glad that happened and I nixed some ideas. (Some things got nixed simply bc the format of this story wouldn't work with certain ideas.)

Last thoughts: Well, given that this was a vengeance story, it's good that the romance wasn't a primary theme, either, tho I have this marked and tagged as a Thorlecto fic on FFN and on my HariPo fic tumblr (camelliacats). This is deffo one of those stories where the genres are several (family, friendship, horror, romance), so AO3's expansive tagging suits its needs better. Ah, well… Writing dark!fic takes a lot outta me…

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (Anyone else pleased to see the trio stuck together?? Anyone screaming over a soft!Rowle with me???)

~mew

And if you want to support at last, with you, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

at last, with you (part 3/4)

The conclusion to the Carrows' tale with Rowle—a sequel to this and set partly concurrently with this.

Act II, part II: "Hogwarts, post-Rowle" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: eventual Alecto Carrow/Thorfinn Rowle, Amycus Carrow, & OCs, with cameos from Mulciber & Evan Rosier

Rating: light T

Words: ~5,960

Additional info: romance, gen fic, family, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, violence (implied/referenced), Dark magic (implied), Marauder era, 3rd person POV

Summary: While incapacitated, Alecto rethinks her life—childhood, school life, adulthood—and wonders if there's still time for a tweak or two. Ch3: A boy by the name of Rowle upends Alecto's and Amycus' lives. For the worse, if one asks Amycus. For the better, if one asks Alecto.

Act II, part II: Hogwarts, post-Rowle

       Previous summers have gone so quickly, because Petronelle's games usually repeat endlessly, so every day feels the same. But this August drags out so much, because Petronelle comes home to find Amycus and Alecto beaten down already, and Petronelle wants victims who react to her punishments. There is no point if she cannot make them squeal in terror…which only makes her try harder.

      Akillios apologizes, too, but not for Petronelle's existence. He catches the children off-guard, at random times, popping in to apologize over "that episode" (because there's no word for "the time I told you your mother's dead").

      By the time Alecto and Amycus are back at Hogwarts, Amycus is fed up, happy to be rid of both adults. "I'm done with his words," he tells Alecto but once, with all the finality a thirteen-year-old boy can muster.

      Alecto internally sighs. She leaves well enough alone and drapes another jumper over her brother's shoulders. He shrugs away from her, but he doesn't shrug out of the warmth.

      It's a good description of her fifth and his third year: Alecto quietly fusses over him and Amycus tries to pull away, to grow up a little, though he begrudgingly acknowledges that he still needs Alecto in some manner. That, and he can still rely on Alecto, because she's not hiding anything calamitous from him.

      (…that he knows of. She has the seedling of a plan, but she's not watered it since Petronelle's pain extravaganza this summer.)

      Akillios writes Amycus. Alecto knows because mixed in with the rare missive to her ("Yes, you may stay at the castle again this year"—their father anticipated that one) and some of her magazines is a letter to her brother. She shakes her head, guessing at the contents (another apology?), and goes into the common room, where Amycus most likes to study these days.

      Stunningly, Amycus isn't alone. A boxy boy with light blond hair who sometimes gestures with his hands as he talks sits across from Amycus at one of the tables in the common room. Huh. A friend? Perhaps the one who called out to him last school year? But Amycus never mentioned him before…

      Alecto walks right up to their table, never mind their conversation. Besides, Amycus looks a little pale. "Amycus, this got mixed in my post," she says, holding up the letter. She gives it to him and tilts her head in the direction of the boy on her left. "Friend of yours?"

      "Classmate," Amycus states, a steely edge to his tone, though Alecto doubts that's for her. He reads Akillios' letter, frowns, and gives it back to her. "And you can trash this. I don't need it."

      Ah. An apology, without a doubt. When will Akillios learn? Still, Alecto studies her brother. "You sure?"

      "Positive." He drops his eyes to his Charms text.

      She heaves another internal sigh. But she nods. She tips her head to the blond boy watching them. "See you 'round, 'classmate.'"

      "Wait!" he yips after her, but Alecto ignores it, because she doesn't know who he is, and she doesn't quite care, least of all if he matters nothing to Amycus.

      But…Alecto's not so sure, the more Amycus protests after that interaction. At the dinner table, the siblings often eat together, and they usually study together, too, so Alecto has plenty of opportunities to ask Amycus about his friends, and Amycus has plenty of opportunities to explain the boy away.

      "He's just someone in my class," Amycus tells her a little before Halloween. "His name is Thorfinn Rowle. He's not the dumbest one in the school, but he's annoying as hell. Never leaves me alone. Never shuts up."

      Alecto quirks an eyebrow. "So…he talks with you?"

      "Talks at me, Alec."

      "Sounds like talking with or talking to. Like frie—"

      "I don't," Amycus interrupts, packing up his things in the library, "have friends. I am just like you. I am stronger alone." He stalks off after that.

      Alecto doesn't have the chance (the heart?) to assure him that it's fine not to be like her in this case. Just this once.

      But, no matter what Amycus says, the name "Rowle" comes up nearly daily in Amycus' gripes. He complains more about Rowle than about tedious or difficult assignments. But complaints don't mean hatred.

      This is the change for which Alecto has been looking, has been waiting.

      Even that Christmas, Amycus doesn't mind too much, Alecto fussing over him and his health in front of someone else when it's Rowle. The boy delays running to the train to wish them a happy Christmas, and Rowle gapes at Alecto when she uses his name to address him, as though he never expected her to notice his existence. But Rowle is sweet, not the kind typically found in Slytherin, and Amycus saves his gripes for after Rowle's left to catch the Hogwarts Express.

      "Don't encourage him," Amycus grumbles into his scarf. The fireplace burns, but the castle's dampness feels especially chilly this year.

      "Encourage what?" Alecto asks.

      Amycus opens his mouth, cocks his head to one side as he studies his sister who sits on the couch's arm, and then shakes his head. "Never mind. Just—don't interact with him."

      Alecto shrugs. She can't make that a promise. Not when it's clear as day that Rowle's sweetness, thick though the boy may be, is wearing down Amycus' shields.

      But she also can't make that promise when here, in the form of Thorfinn Rowle, Alecto sees a possible future: Finally, someone might miss at least Amycus if something ever happened to the Carrow siblings.

      Alecto doesn't worry about desperately befriending someone herself—or trying to go to Slughorn or (ha!) McGonagall. No…teachers don't get involved in family life; that was made clear this year, because it's widespread that notorious Sirius Black ran away this summer to live with James Potter, leaving Regulus behind.

      (Fleetingly, she muses: Do the brothers hate each other, as everyone thinks? Or would Alecto find a kindred spirit in Sirius, if she deigned to converse with the lion and he, her? Hmm.)

      She spends the rest of fifth year preparing for O.W.L.s and nurturing her plan when not tending to Amycus. Every time he groans about Rowle, she has to hide a smile; she knows Amycus would get red in the face if she pointed out that, historically, some great friendships start out in this manner.

      After her exams, she lingers in the library, unencumbered by her brother (he's too busy evading Rowle's company these days) and wandering near the Restricted Section. She has yet to steal herself in there, but it's one possibility, especially if she ever hopes to stand on an even keel with Petronelle.

      And that's another polarizing realization: Will she ever reach the skill level to stand up to Petronelle? She only has two years of schooling left—and then what? How can she possibly learn what she must to put this witch in her place?

      Students snicker behind her and in the halls, and Alecto's thoughts turn dark. Those are people she would like to put in their place.

      …ah. Petronelle…Petronelle deserves something much, much worse.

      If Petronelle senses the dark shift in Alecto's mind, she doesn't show it. Her attacks that summer are relentless, Akillios' apologies never stop (ha, like his wife's stings…), and Alecto and Amycus have a silent train ride back to school.

      On the train, Alecto stretches her legs, mostly for herself, partly hoping that Rowle will find Amycus and hang out with him for a bit (every bicker is just another step closer towards friendship!). She passes by the sweets trolley, but her appetite's not with her today, and a short walk in the corridor does her anxiety better than candy.

      Alecto heads back to her compartment after ten minutes. But raucous laughter draws her attention to a different one, where the door's slid partly open.

      Inside are seventh years Mulciber and Rosier. Mulciber holds his belly and his mouth hangs open; the guffaw came from him. Handsome Evan Rosier's cheeks are pink, and his smile threatens to turn into genuine grin. He shakes his head at his mate.

      Someone across from them, blocked from Alecto's sight by her vantage point, drawls something else that has Rosier roll his eyes. But Mulciber laughs again. "Only if Bellatrix gets showier in her deeds," he says.

      Alecto furrows her brow. Bellatrix? As in, Bellatrix Black, Narcissa's eldest sister? Alecto doesn't know her, but she's heard about her and she's not one to dismiss foul talk about the adored Black sisters, so she settles in for the entertainment value.

      "…lord decrees. She can't go against him," Rosier corrects.

      A lord? Bellatrix follows someone's orders? Well, that's a new one, headstrong Bellatrix Black following someone's orders.

      "Her count is up to what, now?" Mulciber asks. "Ten? Filth, so far. Boy, do I want in on this. I hope she's after blood-traitors next—"

      The hidden person leans forward, a pointy nose like Pince's coming into Alecto's sight. They mumble something else.

      Mulciber shuts up. He and Rosier flash their eyes to the door.

      Alecto's heart leaps into her throat, and she dashes away, back to the safety of Amycus' (and, who would've guessed, Rowle's) company. Bad enough she's on Petronelle's list; she doesn't need to make the list of any seventh years, as well.

      Their cryptic gossip is left just that—cryptic—when school begins and Alecto realizes Scabior didn't return to school. The gossipmonger is finally a topic at last: He was the only one in their year to fail his O.W.L.s, and he actually dropped out of school.

      He's not the only one of note. The Black brothers are still a favorite topic, with most everyone focusing on Sirius running away. Those in Slytherin House know not to prod Regulus for details, and some solemnly bow their heads, out of respect or condolences to the little prince.

      But Alecto does a double-take, spying Regulus in class. There's something not quite right about him… He's still playing Quidditch (he made captain—all the other witches are swooning) and he's still one of the best students in their grade. But to catch his eye is to peek into shadows. Regulus Black seems a shell of himself…

      Alecto wonders if it has anything to do with the whispers about his cousin.

      Suddenly sixth year feels quite real, as though it and Hogwarts will end in a flash. It doesn't feel as if Alecto has nearly enough time to prepare.

      Knowing that time will slip from her fingers even when she's looking, Alecto can't give Amycus her full attention. His health, she hopes, will continue to improve as they (if they) become adults, because he was much sicklier as a child during the cold season, but she can't keep an eye on him all the time. That's why she enlists Rowle's help. That's why she asks Rowle to report when Amycus isn't doing well and even when he is, because Amycus finds her fussing over-the-top, especially as they age, and Amycus won't speak up about it. She needs Rowle to be his advocate.

      And Rowle agrees.

      Alecto takes the first audible sigh in a long while, when she leaves the library that evening, after relaxing, watching Rowle work on an assignment. It's…it's peaceful, being around the fourth year. He's obedient, but he doesn't blindly follow her orders. He carries on an all right conversation, and he seems genuinely interested in her and her brother.

      Thorfinn Rowle…sees Alecto and Amycus as people. People worth knowing. (Such a strange idea.)

      Rowle reports to her regularly, every few weeks or so. Amycus is good about bulking up with extra layers, so he might not catch a cold this winter, thank Merlin. But Alecto and Rowle don't always talk Amycus.

      "Just saw him in the dorms—he's napping. Does that a lot, actually," Rowle says on their way to the library in mid-November. Really, Alecto's way; Rowle's dogging her heels.

      Alecto nods. "That's good." She glances up at the boy who's keeping pace with her brother, height-wise. "You don't have to follow me to the library, though, Rowle. Shouldn't you be in Hogsmeade?"

      Rowle averts his eyes, such blue things compared to the gray skies outside the castle walls. "Not really. I like chatting with you two, and—"

      She snorts. "I get it. Amycus is asleep, so you came to find me."

      "No!" His cheeks redden. "I mean, neither of you are in Hogsmeade—"

      (Of course not. Akillios keeps forgetting to sign the permission slip and Petronelle refuses to allow them any enjoyment.)

      "—so I'd rather be where you are."

      Alecto blinks. It takes her a second to recall that Rowle's "you" is collective, refers to her and her brother both. Still, something flutters inside her. Odd. "The library's not really a place to talk," she reminds him as they arrive at the door and enter.

      Rowle drops his voice to a whisper. "I don't mind," he says with a shrug. He follows her up an aisle and then another. "You like it here, don't you?"

      "Not exactly," she admits.

      He falters. "But…then why come scour book spines when you don't have to?"

      Alecto chews her lower lip. "…it's useful," she confesses, as if that explains everything. She hates how odd that makes her sound, and she'd understand if Rowle gives up for today.

      He doesn't. He nods and silently dogs her heels for the rest of the afternoon, until it's lunchtime and they leave to go pry Amycus from his slumber so the stick-thin boy will eat.

      There's another chat like that between the two of them after the holidays, a week after Rowle returns from celebrating with his parents. He's either smart enough or Amycus said just enough so Rowle never asks how the siblings' holidays go at the castle or why they stay at the castle, but he tells them of time spent in the Rowle household until Amycus has had enough and gets up and walks out of the common room.

      "Was it something I said?" Rowle asks Alecto. He's crestfallen. His wide eyes glow in the lamplight around them. How funny, Alecto thinks; green's not really his color.

      Alecto shakes her head. "Don't mind him. Your parents sound lovely, Rowle. You're lucky to have them."

      "Thanks!" He ducks his head, suddenly bashful. He leans forward in the armchair to Alecto's left and rests his elbows on his knees. "You two should meet them sometime." He glances behind Alecto's head, to the dorms where Amycus disappeared. "I'm sure you'd all get along…"

      "It's not the worst idea."

      That draws Rowle's attention back to her.

      Alecto shrugs. "Just don't expect him to jump at the idea. Amycus is…new to having mates."

      Rowle snickers, but there's a fondness to it, a fondness that softens the hard edges of his face, the hard angles of his large frame. "You, too?"

      Alecto bristles, her face flushes with heat, and she glares daggers at him. "No!" she hisses.

      But Rowle isn't spooked by her temper like previous students. He waits patiently for her to admit the truth.

      Alecto scoffs and stands up from her chair. "I think it's time for bed. Goodnight, Rowle."

      "But lights out is still half an hour away…!"

      And, of course, there is another chat, in late March, but it goes differently from their second one.

      It's their shortest chat, carried on between classes, Alecto to Transfiguration, Rowle to History of Magic. "Amycus went on ahead without me," Rowle groans.

      "Best not to be tardy," Alecto points out. She ups her pace for good measure.

      But Rowle is taller (did he grow another inch this past month? damn!) and has no trouble keeping up. "You know he naps in that class, Alecto."

      She screeches to a halt. Rowle almost crashes into her right arm, he follows her so closely. "He what? Getting extra sleep outside of class is one thing. But in class—I thought you said he was fine!"

      "And he has been! Healthy as can be. Everyone and anyone catches a wink in Binns' class," he rushes to add.

      Alecto grimaces. "I haven't."

      "You're not everyone."

      True. But it's not the most comforting thought.

      They make it to the first floor in silence. They need to part ways now, but Rowle shifts on his feet. "You're not everyone," he repeats, looking Alecto in the eye, "and I like that about you."

      Alecto doesn't get the chance to react. Rowle heads to class then, and she has to walk to Transfiguration by herself, left alone with her thoughts.

      Rowle is sweet and capable of saying such strange things. He likes something about Alecto? Why?

      Alecto walks slowly to her seat in the back of McGonagall's class, but she's too distracted to get her things out as the old witch's lecture begins. No, Alecto's thoughts keep tripping one over the other.

      Petronelle has never wished for Alecto's existence.

      Amycus says he needs his sister.

      But Rowle? He doesn't need her. He likes something about her. And "You're not everyone"—isn't that the same as "You're you"? So…he's fine with her, just the way she is.

      Huh.

      Alecto's muddled thoughts clear up some by the end of the school year when Rowle does as expected and presents an invitation to his home.

      "You…what?" Amycus asks him from beside Alecto.

      Rowle scratches his head, smooths his hair, and clears his throat. "I told my parents you two are my mates. And I asked if you could visit over the summer. You're welcome anytime, they said."

      While Amycus reacts explosively, still believing he and Rowle are nothing more than classmates, Rowle's words take Alecto by surprise. She thought she'd planted the idea in Rowle's head to have her brother over, not the two of them. But…does he really see her as a friend, too?

      His resolute expression says "yes."

      Rowle sighs as Amycus snaps at him, "I know you've been Alec's spy all year."

      Ah, yes, this. Rowle meets Alecto's eyes, offering her a chance to convince the stubborn git. But, really, there's no need to explain it was all for Amycus' health anyway.

      "Amycus," she starts, facing him, "you might—"

      Her tone's too conciliatory. Amycus' tiny eyes go wide, his eyebrows jump into his hairline. "Don't tell me this was also your idea?! Sweet Salazar, Alec. I just want some peace and quiet this summer. That's all."

      Alecto bites her tongue. She doesn't correct him in front of Rowle, that they never know peace and quiet, not any summer. But Amycus stomps out of their train compartment and slams the door behind him, ending any further conversation. "That went better than I thought," she grumbles to Rowle with a frown.

      Rowle sighs. "Do you micromanage so much in his life that he thinks everything's a setup by you?"

      Alecto scowls at him. "Oi. I don't 'micromanage,'" she corrects. Is that really how it looks like to other people? (If only she had someone else to ask.)

      "Right, right…" Rowle takes a scrap of parchment from his bag and passes it to her. "I figure he won't take it from me, no matter what."

      She sees it's his address. Ah, they live in a town—another first for the Carrows, who're used to pent-up, rushed city life. "…thank you. I'll try to see that he visits, at least once." She means it.

      "I meant what I said, Alecto," Rowle states without missing a beat. "You're both my friends. And Mum and Dad extended the invite to both of you."

      Alecto tucks his address away, still new to the idea that she might have a friend after all. "That's thoughtful of you, Rowle." That's all she can say, because she can't bring herself to return the sentiment. Rowle is sweet, kind, should've been chewed up and spit out of Slytherin by now… He's an oddity Alecto can't risk the energy to discover right now.

      "You know, someday you'll use my first name." He grins when he has her attention again. "We'll be a fearsome trio. Thorfinn, Allie, and Amy."

      Alecto glowers at him. …but she can't stay mad long, given the haphazard way Rowle just dives right in with the nicknames, stupid-sounding though they are. She can't help but laugh with him. But, after, she leans forward and smacks his knee. "Don't you ever use those nicknames ever again. You hear me, Rowle?"

      "I swear, Alecto." He pales a little, but his eyes are big and locked on her.

      Alecto has to look away. She doesn't like the softer person she sees reflected in his gaze.

      "You will go nowhere," Petronelle gets to say once.

      "Rowle, you say?" Akillios asks, as if waking from his daze. "That would be…yes, Ginnar and Yacintha Rowle… Very well." His permission overrides Petronelle's desire to chain them to home.

      Alecto and Amycus manage a day-long visit, at first. Rowle's parents find them fascinating and talk their ears off, well through lunch; they make their son seem like a mute. At least when Amycus tires from the flight he and Alecto had, they don't linger on his frailty and offer him a space to rest. Alecto and Rowle chat while Amycus sleeps, and then everyone convenes again for an early dinner shortly after he wakes.

      It's pleasant and different, being in a house that is lived in, that feels like a home.

      Amycus pipes up about the visit often afterwards, without realizing, when it's just him and Alecto in their room at home. "…he's so lucky, and he doesn't even realize the half of it," he thinks aloud.

      "You do know I'm still in the room and I can hear you?" Alecto says, thumbing through the past year's Defense text. (She never did get her hands on any Restricted books—but she will this coming year, come hell or high water. After all, it's her last chance.)

      Amycus jolts and gets up from his spot at the window, sliding off his bed to give her his full glare. "I do know. And he is. Why make me visit him?"

      "Because he's your friend," Alecto says for the umpteenth time. "He told you: Friends hang out sometimes, even outside of school. You should do it again. Have a sleepover."

      "No, I won't."

      Alecto owls Rowle the next morning. Rowle jumps at the idea, Akillios claps his hands in delight (to see his children have a social life? to see them associating with a surname he knows and can use even though the Rowles are half-bloods just like them?), and Petronelle sneers.

      "You can't think you'll go with him. It's unseemly," Petronelle sniffs. But her nasty spells don't seem so awful when her mask falters as it does now, with the two teens halfway out the door.

      Akillios shushes her. "Alecto's a good girl, Pet. She's chaperoning her kid brother at a sleepover. Let them be."

      Alecto and Amycus mount their brooms before Petronelle can throw a tantrum or yank them back inside, regardless of Akillios' stance that they be allowed to mingle with the Rowles.

      They arrive that afternoon, a Saturday in August, just after lunch. Rowle's mother insists they eat something after flying for so long (who knew they'd get so good at flying? Alecto ought to tease Amycus for this later), and Amycus unsurprisingly tires after he and his sister have cooled off away from the humidity.

      "But you just got here!" Rowle whines as Amycus hogs the sofa in the Rowles' guestroom and draws the throw over his shoulders.

      Alecto snickers as Amycus snort-huffs in reply but otherwise ignores their sizable host. She takes him by the shoulder—not easy with him looming over her—and turns him away. "Come on, Rowle. Let's have a flight, yeah?"

      He blinks at her. "You certain? But—"

      "Flying doesn't drain me the way it does Amycus. And you have a nice yard. I'd like to."

      That's all he needs to hear. Rowle's right behind her as they head back outside, much to his parents' surprise, with their brooms in hand. He takes off after her, too, but he pulls up alongside her when she slows to a crawl. "Still didn't think you'd be back so soon," he says, sheepish, trying to keep his eyes on his broomstick.

      "Me neither. But Amycus needed it."

      "Amycus, right…" Rowle licks his lips and jerks his chin at Alecto. "When you were last here, you said next summer, things might be different. What did you mean?"

      Alecto tenses. She's been hoping that fell out of his boxy head weeks ago. She isn't ready to tell him, tell Amycus, tell anyone of her plans for next summer—if she has another summer left.

      "Alecto."

      "You really aren't a graceful flier, you know that?"

      Rowle drops his eyes to his broom and subsequently drops an inch closer to the ground. He blushes when she barks out a laugh. "Hey! Big blokes like me belong on the ground! I can't fly fast, I can't fly well—we're lucky I can fly at all."

      Alecto rolls her eyes. "Self-deprecation gets people nowhere, Rowle." She produces her wand from the waist of her slacks and flicks it at him, casting a Balancing Charm. "There. Try that."

      He frowns but leans forward. He holds on better this time. "…it's an improvement."

      "You're welcome."

      They spend the rest of the afternoon flying and trying spells while midair. Alecto, of course, is better, and she writes colorful things in the air while Rowle attempts to make puffs of smoke. Amycus finds them and, contrary to character, joins in the activity, but only because his magic is in sync with his sister's. They pull off a tiny light show that draws Rowle's parents from the house. They admire it for a minute and then ask the Carrows to extinguish it as the night darkens.

      Alecto believes this was right, coming here a second time, having this experience. Amycus will deny it if asked, but he's enjoying himself.

      …or one would like to think, but he doesn't understand the tradition of staying up late to talk well into the night and eat sweets and be obnoxious like any other kid, because he and Alecto have not grown up like any other kid. He wants to go to sleep early, and he claims the guestroom for himself if Alecto and Rowle are going to keep yukking it up.

      Alecto clicks her tongue at the closed door in her face. "I know I raised him with better manners than this," she mumbles under her breath.

      Rowle cocks his head to one side. "You raised him?"

      She blinks. "No, of course not. Come, Rowle." Even though it's his house, she leads the way back into the living room, where Alecto arranges a pillow and blanket on the sofa and Rowle sits cross-legged on the floor.

      Rowle sighs. "I thought today, this weekend, would be a little different, from last time."

      "It is different. This time, everyone sleeps, not just Amycus."

      He snorts. "You know what I mean, Alecto."

      She closes her eyes. She does. She hoped this would've been different, too, because Amycus will need a friend to lean on…no, don't think these thoughts, not before sleeping. "You have patience with him. Just exercise it more."

      Rowle sighs. She hears him shrug out of his robe and crumple it up to rest his head on, instead of fetching a pillow. But this way he can stretch out beside her on the floor. "I have patience with him, you say." He exhales; it's not quite a sigh. "Then what do I have with you?"

      Alecto turns on her side and squints down at him. Rowle's eyes are closed; he could be half asleep already. …that's good. She doesn't have an answer for him. She wonders what answer she'd give him if she did.

      (When they leave after lunch Sunday afternoon and Rowle's gaze lingers on her, softer and sweeter than she's noticed before, Alecto finally puts two and two together, what answer Rowle hopes for…

      …she wonders if she could ever give him that answer.)

      The summer had its bright spots, with Rowle in their lives. Amycus finally lightens up around the boy when September arrives, and he complains quite noisily about Rowle and Alecto getting along openly at school, especially given that reporting on Amycus behind his back didn't work out so well last year. But it's a good sign, all the bitching, and Alecto keeps Rowle's hopes up, that Amycus is worth knowing.

      "Amycus doesn't like people, Rowle," she reminds him as they leave Amycus alone in the common room. "He barely likes me." So true these days—Amycus hasn't appreciated Alecto pushing Rowle on him all the time. "But this is an improvement. He will go to you if I'm not around, I'm sure of it." There, she's said it. It hurts, but now it's said.

      Rowle doubts her. "I can't picture you not around. You two come as a set, Alecto."

      She freezes at his words. Long, long ago, when she doubted she and Amycus might even be allowed to go to Hogwarts, she recalls making such a promise with Amycus, not to be split apart.

      But what has she been planning all this time? Something that will assuredly, irrevocably tear her away from Amycus.

      She leaves the common room, Rowle following. It's on the late side, but they should be all right to stroll as long as they don't stray too far. Not unlike when they flew this summer, she slows her pace, and he catches up. This allows Alecto to lean against his left arm, to prop herself up as she admits to him and only to Rowle, "We didn't start out as a set, and we won't always be a set."

      She expects the pressing, the questions, the demands for clarification. Instead, Rowle calmly says, "I see."

      She's not sure why, but it pleases her, his reaction. His reaction calms her. It's so…Rowle. "That's why Amycus has got to stand on his own," she continues. She hesitates and adds, "And, second best, have at least one other person there for him."

      "One that's not you."

      She nods. Has she become so clear to figure out? She worries that Rowle, someday, might anticipate her thoughts the way Amycus does.

      They slow down in the corridor. It's dim down here in this part of the castle and makes it hard to see one another, but Rowle turns Alecto to face him nevertheless. She senses more than sees his frown. "Why," he asks, his voice so small in contrast to his size, "do you keep imagining a future for him without you in it?" There's this thing Rowle does, drawing himself in, subconsciously trying to make himself smaller, and the action has his eyes catch the bit of torchlight. In his eyes, she reads, "Are you absent from my future, too?"

      "Because it's a strong possibility," she warns him, answering both questions, spoken and unspoken, at once. She lets go of him…but she reaches up, draws his face towards her, stands on tiptoes, and kisses him.

      Are kisses meant to be more than this? This is not the electricity she hears her roommates whisper about, nor the steamy sights one stumbles upon when taking a wrong turn in the castle on a weekend afternoon.

      This is…bittersweet. Pleasing, but sad. It makes her wish for a redo of their sleepover this summer, to have a laugh with Amycus, the two of them, and catch Rowle's eye and think that maybe there is still some good in this world…

      She's amused by Thorfinn Rowle. Has been from their early days of knowing each other. She's not just relieved that he befriended her brother but genuinely mystified as to how he stares at her and spies any lick of good in her.

      He makes her wish for a different life.

      If only she and Amycus had been born into a different household, she could've enjoyed her youth with this bumbling boy and his puppy crush on her…of which she's rather fond.

      But that's just not the case. Reality, like Petronelle, offers Alecto Carrow nothing but stings and stings and stings, everywhere she turns.

      As a seventh year, Alecto has nearly no free time. She mindlessly gets her work done, she spends every free break plotting, and she breaks into the library a handful of times, heading for the Restricted Section for books that dry her eyes out and make her mind go numb as she stays up to read them and return them before Pince notices they're missing.

      When the stress is too much, Alecto checks on Amycus, but from afar. He's so touchy these days, and she tries to write it off as him being worried about O.W.L.s.

      When she needs peace of mind and a bit of energizing, all she has to do is say "Rowle" and the loyal fellow appears. Their snogging's improving and his hands are clumsy, but she finds him entertaining and can't imagine anyone but Rowle by her side in this capacity. Not when he knows so much. Not when he knows and keeps coming back to her, sticks by both Alecto and Amycus.

      And these two—Amycus and Rowle, Rowle and her Amycus—keep her grounded, focused as the months burn down to weeks burn down to days and Alecto plans Petronelle's demise.

      Because that has to be what happens. That's the conclusion Alecto reached a while back. Why should she and Amycus be the ones to die? Petronelle ought to pay the price for her actions, and Alecto knows Amycus would agree with his sister…if she told him of her plans. But she can't. She can't tell him any of it.

      Alecto wants to keep this from Amycus so he can't pay for the crimes she will gladly commit.

      The weeks are gone too quickly, exams racing to meet them. The week before, Alecto insists Amycus and Amycus alone join her in the library, the way they used to, an ickle first year with his third-year sister.

      "Are you ready for your O.W.L.s?" she asks him. There. On topic. She can segue from here.

      Amycus frowns. They sit side by side, but neither of them has gotten their things out. "As ready as I can be." He pauses, snorts, and snickers, unable to hide his tiny smirk. "Rowle should wish on a shooting star he doesn't drown."

      Alecto sneers. "Oh, Sweet Salazar… He's been good to both of us, Amycus. Help him study, just a bit, won't you?"

      Amycus grimaces. Then: "What do you really want to say, Alec?"

      She fidgets. Suddenly she's quite aware of the thickness of her fingers, how heavy they feel attached to her large hands. "You should visit him often when school's out. Get out of the house as much as possible."

      He shifts, leans back in his seat. "As if you won't bother me about it this summer."

      Alecto says nothing. She waits for Amycus to catch up.

      It doesn't take long. The light comes on in his eyes as he understands, reads between the lines of the dark story Alecto pens. Though he's been quite strong these past two years, he looks sickly again, for a fleeting moment.

      Alecto hugs him, briefly, tightly, as if protecting him from a fresh wave of stings.

      But she knows the first sting Amycus feels that summer comes from her, when she avoids them on the train and disappears from King's Cross before the boys can find her, before Rowle can attempt to change her mind.

Thorfinn Rowle as a sweetie just. Gets to me?? ;w; Idk. Having written "far from you" and "close to you," it was so nice finally seeing him thru Alecto's eyes, getting the vibe that his feelings are reciprocated (and that she doesn't rly see him as the idiot Thorfinn thinks she sees him as)…but now this trio's been torn asunder! On purpose!!! Something Dark this way comes… Random note, regarding Rowle's parents' names: I quite like them, too, same as the Carrows', and, no, "Ginnar" isn't a typo but a v obscure mythology reference. XD

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (You know you want to see these three reunite!)

~mew

And if you want to support at last, with you, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

close to you

A thrilling, chilling sequel to this fluffy thing, set concurrently with this but may be enjoyed on its own.

Fic: "close to you" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, Voldemort, Severus Snape, & Rowle's parents, with a cameo from Poppy Pomfrey & some bkgd OCs

Rating: T

Words: ~12,660

Additional info: romance, family, angst, hurt/comfort, sequential, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Things under the Dark Lord's rule were supposed to change. Thorfinn comes to regret something he did not tell Alecto before.

      After his and Dolohov's fuckup at Tottenham Court Road, Thorfinn Rowle knows he has no right to beg the Dark Lord for anything.

      But where love makes a wise man a fool, desire makes the fool sharper…just a hint, and, really, that's all Thorfinn needs to play Dolohov to his advantage.

      In the weeks after he finishes recuperating at Malfoy Manor that summer, Thorfinn realizes how quiet things have been, how much the orchestrations of the regime have gone on with little need for change or interruption. Everything, as they say, is going according to plan. He's glad, of course, because a Dark world and one with fewer Muggles in it and with Mudbloods in their right place (beneath him and his kin) is the world he's been striving towards.

      …nevertheless, this quiet also unsettles him, and he wonders when the other shoe will drop, when he and Dolohov will feel the rest of the Dark Lord's wrath for their mistakes. Thorfinn kept his head down while recovering and in this time since Narcissa gave him the "You're fine, you fool," but he despises cowering. Besides that—

      Thorfinn, upstairs in the manor, pauses at a window and peers out. He spies Dolohov sharing a laugh with Malfoy out in their renowned garden, though Dolohov's sniggering snorts lack Lucius Malfoy's refinement. The laughter's only interrupted when Narcissa joins the two wizards, the three share some exchange, and Dolohov stalks off inside.

      Thorfinn normally would pause here and enjoy Dolohov's irritation—serves that Russian bastard right, anything getting under his skin—but instead Thorfinn's eyes linger on the Malfoys. Lucius and Narcissa relax a hair, thinking they have no eyes on them, and suddenly Lucius doesn't seem so strong and Narcissa looks as though she could rule the world if she had to do it for her family. They lean into each other and stay like that for a while.

      It's a hard scene to watch, and initially Thorfinn thinks it's because Lucius Malfoy shouldn't be so weak.

      But then he remembers his mediocre plan involving Dolohov and the lengths Thorfinn's willing to go to, and suddenly Thorfinn identifies that twist in his chest, watching the Malfoys, as envy. He turns away from the sight.

      Thorfinn thumps downstairs and catches Dolohov slinking in and out of one of the many rooms on the ground floor. "Didn't think you were up," Thorfinn says to him.

      "Didn't think you were capable of thought," Dolohov snaps back. But he's all bite and no bark. Antonin Dolohov is a man with sunken eyes and circles around them (though no one quite holds a candle to Malfoy these days), but the dark bags provide stark contrast to the whites of his eyes when he looks at Thorfinn. Relieved or frightened to have found his fellow Death Eater—Thorfinn wouldn't know. He turns and, half away from Thorfinn, grumbles, "Come on, then. We're wanted."

      Ah. There it is, the other shoe.

      Thorfinn follows Dolohov past the grand staircase and towards the back of the manor. They have no need to go up a floor. No, there is an old master bedroom that was cleared out a while ago… Where the dining hall is used to convene Death Eater meetings, this room hosts their master when he comes to stay, though Thorfinn has often wondered if he truly rests, eats, sleeps the way the rest of them do.

      Pettigrew stands guard outside the Dark Lord's door, but he looks less like a posted guard and more like a butler waiting to lick their master's boots if the Dark Lord were inclined to wear any. Regardless, the mousy man has the audacity to sneer at the approaching Death Eater duo before knocking once on the door with his silver hand.

      The voice from inside rasps, "Enter."

      Dolohov goes first, again, and Thorfinn follows. They enter the dusky, familiar room, one stripped down to bare necessities that are nevertheless plush in their quality. Velvet here, silk there—the Malfoys have never heard of anything less.

      But the most notable detail about this room is how quiet it is, no matter what else might be going on elsewhere in the manor. Deathly quiet, Thorfinn thinks, and his pulse quickens when only the telltale ssslip announces Nagini on the floor in front of them, and he and Dolohov each dart a step back to avoid stepping on the giant snake. She slithers out of sight to join her master in the shadows.

      Dolohov clears his throat. "You wanted to see us, milord?" He ducks his head, and Thorfinn follows suit.

      "I did. Do not rush me or remind me unless asked, Dolohov," the Dark Lord warns. There's an odd sound, like someone touching rough parchment or using sandpaper—perhaps he's stroking Nagini's head? He exhales. "I have little use for you two here as of late."

      It's not just the quiet in here that's deadly. Thorfinn's blood chills, and he sees Dolohov freeze much the same way. Their fate rests entirely on their master's next whim.

      "I'd thought sending you after that trio should've been a simple enough job. After all, look at everything you've accomplished in my name up until that point…"

      Dolohov clenches his teeth. But Thorfinn isn't as quick to react; he's too busy wondering how he might get this situation under control, even though he's never been good at such things to begin with…

      The Dark Lord turns and looks them over. Red eyes appraise them. Then: "Rowle, look at you. Cowering and yet you only make yourself larger somehow. If I weren't so disappointed right now, I'd laugh."

      If Thorfinn weren't so scared right now, he'd turn red with mad embarrassment.

      Another bout of silence. The Dark Lord sighs. "But what to do with two of my formerly best…?"

      "Anything that pleases you, milord," Dolohov replies, somehow prying his clenched teeth open enough so his resentment doesn't show. "Even— Even patrol or—"

      "It was a rhetorical question, Dolohov." The Dark Lord clicks his tongue. "But Rowle's thuggish posture presents the prime opportunity, and I wouldn't call your idea daft, Dolohov." He stands from where he sat on the floor on the other side of the bed in this guestroom. But, with so many shadows, they don't see much of him except for his bone-white hands as they caress his wand. "You two know we have the Ministry."

      "Yes," they answer in unison.

      "And we have Hogwarts…mostly."

      They leave that one alone.

      The Dark Lord scoffs. "While Potter evades me, while he still has help and supporters, Hogwarts won't truly be mine. I've placed some pieces at the school, but a complete takeover won't do for the inevitable future after I've won this war and need the remaining magical families to see sense and survive under my leadership. So I will send you two as additional pieces."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow, but Dolohov beats him to the punch. "As…teachers, sir?"

      Their master's voice is raspy and crackles as he laughs that wheezy laugh of a dying man. "Teachers! You two?! I need something more believable and usable, Dolohov! No, I have Severus rotating sentries in and out of the school, with the Carrows taking some shifts. But the Carrows also have teaching duties. You two are nothing more than grunts, extra muscle for when the 'patrol,' as you called it, won't cut it. I imagine you'll make the students more wary of their actions, and the faculty… Well, our names get around, don't they?"

      Only now does either lackey risk a grin. Dolohov and Thorfinn nod, Dolohov quite eagerly, enough so that his floppy hair bounces around his ears and in front of his brow. (Handsome bastard.)

      The Dark Lord grasps his wand with one hand, leaving the other empty and free to wave them away. "Off, then. You have your orders. You will report to the Carrows and to Severus unless I have some sudden need of you here."

      "Yes, milord," they say with deep bows. Thorfinn's proud of how his back aches at this angle, that's how deep his bow is.

      "And, Dolohov, Rowle?"

      They stand at attention.

      Those red eyes fix on them once more. "Do not disappoint me again. Narcissa will not be able to Heal what I will do to you if you fail me in such a meager task as this."

      The chill returns, but then their master turns away from them, giving them leave. Thorfinn, the closest to the door, is the first one out, and neither he nor Dolohov linger long to retort to Pettigrew over the rat's earlier sneer or his pitiable look which he sends them now.

      "One more chance," Dolohov thinks aloud, half a mumble, as they approach the vestibule a minute later.

      Thorfinn opens his mouth to comment but stops. What to say? He never has the right comment or comeback whenever he's in the moment, and the only thing on his mind right now is gratitude, even if he hadn't had to nudge Dolohov himself because his comrade is almost as transparent as Thorfinn when it comes to matters of his pride. Dolohov really walked them right into this assignment…and Thorfinn's thankful for this, though he'll never admit it.

      Because "one more chance" means one thing to Dolohov. But it's a whole world of possibilities for Thorfinn, who longs to see Alecto again.

      He's thirteen. Thorfinn Rowle is the pride and joy of the Rowle bloodline, even if they are half-bloods the last few generations, because he's got ambition in spades, and his dad laughs and loves to say his boy would give Merlin and Slytherin a run for their Galleons. His mother never comments, just gives her son tight smiles and smooths his blond hair back before sending him off to Hogwarts every year.

      But it's his third year when his ambition starts to wane. Because first years can have stars in their eyes, all new to this. Second years still have some hope left. But, by third year, one really ought to show some promise or direction so the adults around them can begin planning for the student's future. And Thorfinn's confused beyond belief as to what his future holds.

      The others in his House are all some mix of remarkable or quiet-and-waiting-to-blossom. Even in his own year, Amycus Carrow—the only boy with whom Thorfinn even speaks on a regular basis—has a sinister air to him. If Thorfinn were smarter, he'd heed Amycus' warning: "Leave me the fuck alone, Rowle." But Amycus is the closest thing Thorfinn has to a friend. So he goes to him for advice.

      Amycus slams his Charms text closed in the common room and clenches a fist atop the cover, itching to chuck the thing at Thorfinn's head. "Come again?" he spits out.

      "I asked what your family demands of you. If at all," Thorfinn repeats with the little extra tacked on at the end in a small voice. He's always been a big boy for his age, and it's only in serious conversation that he makes his voice small or takes on a softened tone. He likes to think it provides a contrast that catches people's attention and makes them interact with him properly.

      "Nothing," Amycus snarls.

      Thorfinn blinks at him, impressed and jealous. "Really? And they really don't, not this nonsense of 'Oh, just do well in school, that's all,' but secretly they're hoping for something big? Because that's what I feel—"

      Amycus picks up his text and lunges forward, causing Thorfinn to scramble backward and fall out of his chair. But Amycus never throws the book. He lowers it. "My father expects nothing of me," he answers, his words short and clipped.

      "Oh." Thorfinn rights his chair and, since Amycus isn't prepping to throw anything else, sits again. That's when his classmate's words penetrate. "What about your mum?"

      He's never seen Amycus Carrow blanch. Until now.

      But, before Amycus Carrow can answer, an older witch joins them. "Amycus, this got mixed in my post," she says, and she passes him a letter. She's not really tall at all, barely taller than Thorfinn while he sits at this table with Amycus in the common room, and everything about her reads severe. Not even the perfectly shaped bun pinned into place at the back of her head moves as she looks at Amycus and jerks her head Thorfinn's way. "Friend of yours?"

      "Classmate," Amycus corrects as he slices the envelope open. He reads the contents, frowns, and returns it to her. "And you can trash this. I don't need it."

      "You sure?"

      "Positive."

      She nods. She tips her head to Thorfinn, too. "See you 'round, 'classmate.'"

      "Wait!" Thorfinn yips, but that doesn't stop her from walking away from the boys. He gapes at Amycus. "You know an older witch? She's got to be at least a fifth year—no, sixth?"

      Amycus sighs and opens his Charms text without looking at Thorfinn. "Of course I know her, you imbecile. That's my sister, Alecto. She's a fifth year."

      Thorfinn only tears his eyes away from Alecto's curves when they descend into the dorms for the evening. "Introduce me next time, for crying out loud!"

      "Now why on Earth should I expend my breath doing a stupid thing like that?"

      He's thirteen and isn't sure he has much ambition anymore. But he has the tenuous start of a friendship in front of him—and with it comes access to a witch whose presence slowly begins to pervade Thorfinn's every waking thought.

      He and Dolohov arrive in Scotland that evening. But Thorfinn's hopes for any sort of reunion with the Carrows—namely, with Alecto—are dashed when Snape meets them at the main gate.

      "You're on time," Snape remarks, dark eyes sliding from one to the other.

      "By his orders," Dolohov says.

      "You should've come early," Snape quips, but he ignores the flash of irritation that flickers across Dolohov's countenance as he and Thorfinn follow the new headmaster inside.

      "We starting right away?" Thorfinn asks. He just manages to get the question out before a yawn overtakes him.

      "No. You are to rest tonight and discuss arrangements with Alecto and Amycus tomorrow before you begin."

      Thorfinn scowls. "Then where are we sleeping?"

      "One of the spare greenhouses."

      "That's—! It's September, Snape!"

      "Indeed. But this one is a hothouse, and other patrols have taken bunks there." Snape pauses in the corridor, wandlight casting long shadows along his face as well as behind them. "Problem?"

      Thorfinn exchanges a look with Dolohov, who—for once—recognizes they're compatriots in this awful situation. "…no," Thorfinn growls.

      Snape leads them through the castle, a trek that takes them through this corridor and that one, across the stone bridge, through various courtyards, until they come to Pomona Sprout's beloved greenhouses. Although likely they're less beloved these days, given the key Snape produces from within his fathomless black robes to unlock the aforementioned bunk space. A wave of humid air hits the men, but it's not so unpleasant that Thorfinn thinks he won't sleep in it.

      "Well, then," Dolohov says, not bothering to lower his voice for the few who sleep inside at the moment. He faces Snape and scoffs. "Have a good night, headmaster."

      Snape rolls his eyes. "It would do you two well to recall, Dolohov and Rowle, that I am the Dark Lord's primary set of eyes and ears at the castle. There is no unauthorized killing, and extreme torture ought to be contained to the worst offenders, lest we…invite scrutiny from outside the United Kingdom."

      "You mean to keep it less visible," Dolohov corrects. He pauses. "You aren't seriously saying we have other Ministries preparing to make a move?"

      "Everyone likes to watch a show," Snape mumbles. "But I think our firm Ministry is enough to ward others off."

      To the ears of someone considered by them to be an idiot, Thorfinn can hear Snape's unspoken "for now" at the end. He lifts his head to speak, wondering where the weak links are and what he can do to help fix them, to help make this the world he wants—

      —but Snape's gone by the time Thorfinn gathers his thoughts. The big, black bat has other doorways to darken.

      "Sleep, you lug," Dolohov huffs at him as the Russian begins to survey the place and inspect the free beds for one that pleases him. He takes the open one directly across from the door.

      Thorfinn grimaces at him. "It was our mess, not mine alone, that got us demoted. So stop bossing me around," he growls, stomping past Dolohov to snatch an open bed three spaces down the aisle.

      A minute of peace exists between them, filled with the snores of their new roommates. Then Dolohov adds, "Just sleep already, Rowle. If, by chance, we are to patrol together, I'll not have anyone who's sleep-deprived at my back." His bed creaks as he turns on his side after.

      Thorfinn, a few minutes later, decides that the best quip would've been to throw Dolohov's words right back in his face. But it's not worth the effort to wake the arse when Thorfinn can sleep, regain his strength, and dream of days gone past.

      "Staying at the castle again?" Thorfinn asks later in their third year. Ever since he's been made aware of Alecto's existence, he finds Amycus that much more interesting, too.

      "Yes," Amycus replies curtly. He hogs the couch in front of the fire, but his texts were left downstairs, strewn across his bed. The half-done homework was Thorfinn's first clue when the fair-haired boy was packing.

      Thorfinn frowns. He knows Alecto snatches his attention away every time he spies her these days, but he's grown curious over Amycus' body language and how tightlipped his classmate is. Regardless of it being Christmas break and Thorfinn having one foot out the door, he fears asking about the Carrow family holidays. Something tells him he doesn't want to know, even if he survived asking.

      "Run along to Mummy and Daddy," Amycus says lowly, not turning his attention from the fireplace.

      Thorfinn bristles…but then he realizes, huh, it's the first time Amycus has spoken to him without prompting. Thorfinn blinks once, twice. He's glad Amycus' back is turned, because Thorfinn can't help but quietly snicker behind his scarf at how, just a smidge, Amycus Carrow has changed.

      "There you are," Alecto says, joining her brother in the common room, a scarf in hand. Her eyes briefly dart to Thorfinn—and then she properly glances at him upon recognition. "Ah. Rowle."

      Thorfinn's eyebrows shoot off his forehead. She knows his name! She knows his name! She—wait, she knows his name? Oh, sweet Salazar, just what has Amycus been telling her about him?!

      "You know how the castle's dampness gets to you in December," Alecto whispers to her younger brother as she wraps his scarf around his neck. Amycus fusses, but he relents and pulls a nearby throw off the couch's arm and drapes it across his lap. He grumbles something else to her, to which Alecto shakes her head. Then she sits on the couch's nearer arm and glances once more to Thorfinn. "You appear ready to depart. The Hogwarts Express is leaving soon, you know."

      "Yes!" Thorfinn yips. Good grief, he'll never sound himself around her…but maybe that's not a bad thing, given that Alecto snickers in amusement as Thorfinn grabs his trunk's handle, ready to run.

      He delays for half a second longer, wondering exactly what it was that he just witnessed between the siblings—a softness, perhaps?—before Alecto taps the face of her watch, worn around her thick left wrist.

      "Happy Christmas, you two," he blurts before he has time to be scared and wonder more in that moment just what family means to the two of them. Then Thorfinn does, indeed, dash out of the castle, barely catching the train in time.

      (No, he doesn't wonder then, but he does have a whole Christmas break to wonder if Alecto reacts as badly to talk of family the way Amycus does.)

      His parents notice the pep in his step that break and ask him how goes school. "Any new friends?" his father asks.

      Thorfinn debates how to respond. In their circles, pureblood and formerly pureblood, names mean everything, and it's not as though Thorfinn can deliver names that carry a certain weight. Malfoy. Lestrange. Rosier. Black. They're either all graduated or several years above him. They don't befriend little Thorfinn Rowle.

      But he can't recall his parents talking favorably about the Carrows. Or, truly, talking about the Carrows at all.

      So Thorfinn decides to keep Alecto and Amycus to himself, for himself, for now. "No, not really," he fibs, and his parents are none the wiser.

      The house-elves produce meals for the patrols, mostly simple, hearty things that can be eaten quickly or on the go if need be. Thorfinn doesn't mind having his food crammed between two slices of bread; it's convenient and saves him the trouble of cleaning up after himself. Dolohov, on the other hand, clearly misses the dinners at Malfoy Manor: He spends so much time picking at his food that, for both breakfast and lunch, he only has time enough to eat half of it.

      The other patrols, some newbie Death Eaters and a handful of wannabees, take their shift as usual. It's not until the day's classes are over that a young Death Eater named Powell fetches Thorfinn and Dolohov. "Supper hasn't begun yet, sirs," he says (Thorfinn likes him instantly). "But Professors Carrow await you inside, in the Entrance Hall. Please follow me."

      Dolohov mutters the word "professors" under his breath and then continues grumbling in Russian. Judging by his tone of voice, it's doubtful he has anything nice to say about Alecto and Amycus, and Thorfinn shoots him a dirty look, which Dolohov ignores.

      Retracing last night's steps isn't as bad after a rest. In fact, the closer they get to the Entrance Hall, the more energy Thorfinn has, knowing he's accomplished his primary goal by getting assigned here. Now, as to whether Alecto will see it as favorably as does he…

      Alecto and Amycus stand off to the side of the Great Hall's closed doors. Amycus paces, but Alecto's arms are folded in front of her, her gaze on some fixed point on the wall.

      "They deign to meet with us," Dolohov grumbles.

      Thorfinn doesn't correct him, though the arse is wrong. Thorfinn knows these two as well as the Carrows will let anyone else know them, and their body language tells him something else entirely: Alecto and Amycus have other things on their minds tonight.

      Amycus stops pacing and frowns when he sees Powell arrive with reinforcements. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—"

      Powell smartly leaves without a word, giving Dolohov time to retort. "You take what you can get. But you'd do far worse than to have me skulking about the corridors."

      "Yes, but Rowle?" Amycus' voice borders on whine.

      Thorfinn grunts. "Nice to see you, too, mate."

      "I'm not your mate; stop calling me that!" He throws his hands up and makes to leave. Then he glances at his sister and takes another look at Rowle and stops.

      Alecto drops her arms to her sides. "Enough nonsense," she says. Her eyes don't linger on either of them as she holds up a hand to tick off a list. "I'm aware Severus told you, but let's refresh: Sadly, no killing. Extreme torture for only the worst cases. Yes, the other Unforgivables are allowed—Amycus and I have had success employing them in the classroom from time to time, even. Teachers can take more than what the students can handle. Anything out of sorts, you come directly to me, Amycus, or Severus." With all five fingers up, she strides up to Dolohov and Thorfinn and waggles her fingers in front of their noses. It doesn't matter that they have a foot or more in height over her; she's still intimidating. "Do I make myself clear?"

      They both nod. "Where do you want us?" Thorfinn asks.

      "For now, you'll take my old circuit. It's close to the greenhouses, so you'll have a short walk after your shifts until you get used to it. But I want you to cover over by the second floor: the Transfiguration and Charms classrooms, as well as the library."

      Thorfinn and Dolohov nod again. Dolohov turns to leave, but Thorfinn drags his feet, longing to speak a little more with Alecto. It's been more than a month since he last saw her or spoke with her, and he knows he won't figure out what's on the siblings' minds unless he asks outright.

      "Go on, Rowle, you have your assignment," Alecto says, though the sharpness is gone and her volume's slightly less.

      Thorfinn glances behind him, relieved that Dolohov starts to mosey without him. He faces Alecto once more and spares a look Amycus' way. "Teaching can't be that bad, you two," he nudges.

      "Dark Arts," she says with a jerk of her head in her brother's direction, "and Muggle Studies."

      "I take it you're setting the students straight about these subjects."

      Alecto sneers, and that's the sight Thorfinn's missed so much in their time apart. "Without a doubt."

      "Then rest assured, Professor Carrow," Thorfinn says with a laugh, "you can retire to your rooms and grade papers safely tonight with us here."

      Amycus scowls at him. But Alecto shakes her head, perhaps to ignore her brother, perhaps to dismiss Thorfinn's lightheartedness. "Goodnight, Rowle."

      "Goodnight, Alecto, Amycus."

      "Oh, and, Rowle?"

      Thorfinn turns back as if Alecto had reached out and grabbed his arm (wishful thinking).

      "Mind the Dementors. And let Dolohov know, too."

      Far behind Thorfinn comes a shriek. "I think he already knows."

      Not long after fourth year starts, Thorfinn lucks out. He's in the library, working on a Transfiguration essay by himself, when someone comes and takes the empty chair not across but beside him. Thorfinn looks up from his homework to find the elder Carrow and his brain stops working.

      "Rowle," Alecto says by way of greeting. She tips her head to him.

      "Uh-uh, hi," he bumbles. He blindly stabs his bottle of ink with his quill, aiming to put the quill down, but he tips the bottle and spills ink everywhere instead. He pales, because McGonagall's coursework always takes him the longest and he realizes he's about to lose a night of sleep, recreating what precious little he had.

      "Oh, Rowle," Alecto huffs, as if she's known him the whole time he's been bothering her brother. She produces her wand and helps him clean up his mess. She can't erase the ink stains completely, but they're fresh enough that he can still make out most of his work.

      "Thanks," he says. "Um, how are you? Do you need me for something? Did Amycus say I did something?"

      Alecto quirks an eyebrow. "Let's take it one question at a time, in reverse. He didn't, by the way—should he have?"

      Thorfinn stares at his ink-stained hands and sighs. "No. But I figure you're his sister. If he's going to complain about me to anyone, it'll be you."

      "That's fair," Alecto agrees. "Next question: Actually, I have a favor to ask."

      He does a double-take. No one ever asks him for favors. Well, all right, his parents do, but asking one's child to do a simple chore around the house, especially when he knows magic, isn't much of a favor. "Name it," Thorfinn blurts.

      "You're Amycus' friend, aren't you?"

      He shrugs. "As much as he might allow. He's the only one who really interacts with me around here." The moment the words leave his mouth, Thorfinn's ears grow hot. Sweet Salazar, how pitiable he sounds. He shoots Alecto the tiniest of glares, daring her to make fun of him.

      She doesn't. There's a tiny pinch between her eyebrows, but he blinks and it's gone. "Well, I just wanted to discuss something, and I know he'd get mad if he knew, but since you're sort of close and he doesn't push me away in front of you, I thought I could depend on you."

      Again, his curiosity's piqued. "What do you need, Alecto?"

      "You see how frail he is during the coldest months."

      "He always wears extra jumpers, yeah. But he pops back once it warms up."

      Alecto's dark eyes are warm and knowing. Her smile is sharp…no, it's closer to a sneer…knowing she's got Thorfinn where she wants him. "So you do pay attention to my brother and me."

      His cheeks, like his ears, grow hot, too.

      "Relax, little snake. This is what I hoped." Alecto exhales, not quite a sigh, and scratches her scalp before undoing her bun. She runs her thick fingers through the honey-blond locks before putting her hair back up, perfect as before. "Look, the older we get, the harder a time Amycus has checking in with me, especially when it comes to his health. So, just—I'm asking you to let me know what he's not telling me, all right?"

      "What if there's nothing to tell?"

      "Then that's something to report, too."

      Thorfinn stares openly at her. He never in a million years thought he'd be presented with a chance to chat with Alecto Carrow whenever, and he knows it will take all his willpower not to abuse this opportunity. "So that leaves my last question."

      "Hmm?"

      "You said you were answering my questions in reverse." He doesn't point out that it says a lot, two close siblings who shut everyone else out…now one of them asks for assistance. Thorfinn purses his lips and continues to stare.

      "Ah, how am I? I'm fine, Rowle." Alecto adjusts her perfectly knotted green-and-silver tie at the base of her throat.

      "Then…how was your summer?" he ventures.

      Alecto stills. In this action, she reminds Thorfinn of Amycus, so careful and alike are the siblings who have two years between them. Thorfinn doesn't even believe she'll answer him when finally she murmurs, "…long."

      He nods, slowly, as though he understands the weight of her words. He doesn't, of course, and he'd like to, maybe, but he concedes that there are just some things people can't or won't disclose. "'S good to see you again," he assures her, and he turns back to his homework without making any demands for her to stay or to leave him be, now that she's said her piece.

      Perhaps it's that little nothing, demanding nothing of her. Perhaps it was his words, said earnestly because he rather likes Alecto's bossy personality even though Amycus thinks she fusses too much. Or perhaps Alecto is just tired and looking for a space to catch her breath.

      Whatever her reason, she sits awhile longer with Thorfinn in the library. She doesn't help him but watches him work. The silence they share is a comfortable one.

      A few days later, Thorfinn thinks back on that night and understands that Alecto Carrow, too, like her brother, has changed.

      (Is it too much to hope he's their catalyst?)

      September passes without much noise. October wears on and Dolohov gets antsy and starts to up his pace when he and Thorfinn patrol their section.

      "This is worse than being demoted," Dolohov snarls halfway down the hall from Thorfinn in the dead of night. His voice echoes in the empty space, much to the misfortune of the paintings hanging on the walls.

      "Maybe so, but it's not a race!" Thorfinn snaps back, half jogging to keep up with the slightly shorter wizard.

      Dolohov wheels around and holds his wand out, aimed at Thorfinn. "No one said it was. And I'm done patrolling together, you oaf. You take that side," he orders, pointing back towards the Transfiguration Courtyard, "and I'll keep on." He doesn't wait for Thorfinn's protest or an alternative.

      Magic crackles at the tip of Thorfinn's wand the longer he clenches the length of wood in his grip. But the sparks jump free and fizzle out as he forces a calming breath. He walks back towards McGonagall's territory only to get away from the infuriating prat, and he wishes for the Dementors to surprise Dolohov again. That would serve him right.

      Thorfinn makes his rounds this way but lingers whenever his feet bring him back to the second floor corridor. He's tempted to climb the stairs and seek Alecto out, even if only for a rebuke, but he daren't leave his post since these are technically the Dark Lord's orders. He muses that the Dark Lord might not care how he and Dolohov are doing; they've not been recalled to England, but their punishment hasn't been any worse. Still…

      The only times Thorfinn spies the Carrow siblings these days are in passing. The first few weeks, he and Dolohov gave status reports to them both before supper each night or in the mornings if some student had to be handled. But now they see Alecto or Amycus, and Thorfinn never knows which it'll be. The last few times, it's been Amycus, but he's seemed interested in other things as of late—a different kind of distracted from what Thorfinn observed when he arrived at Hogwarts this school year.

      "Daydreaming, Rowle?"

      He snaps out of his thoughts and looks behind him. Alecto's heels click thickly on the stone floor, coming from the library. "Alecto. No, of course not."

      "I'd hope not." She narrows her eyes at him. "Oh, for—where the hell is Dolohov?"

      He grimaces. "Still doing his rounds, but he refuses to do them with me anymore." Thorfinn gestures at the empty castle all around them. "The prick misses the action, which clearly isn't here."

      Alecto snorts. "That's for sure," she says quietly. She joins Rowle in the corridor, eyes all the directions, and—satisfied they're alone—cranes her head up at him. "Do you miss the action, too?"

      "I don't miss having my head bashed against a wall." Instinctively, he reaches up and feels the back of his head, but the bump from the Tottenham Court Road incident is long since gone.

      She snickers. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall," she quips.

      He settles her with a dry look. "Haven't heard that one from you, ever," he says in a monotone.

      "Lighten up, Rowle," Alecto insists with a smack to his wand arm. "Anyway, you're doing what you're told, and the Dark Lord's pleased, so that's what matters."

      He does like hearing that, but he'd like it more if Alecto told him she were pleased instead. "What about Dolohov?"

      "I'll threaten him once. If he ditches you again, the Dark Lord will get the full details. You know he doesn't like being disobeyed."

      Thorfinn nods. Then another question forms. "Is it that important, patrolling in pairs?" When she hesitates to reply right away, Thorfinn stares at her and clenches his jaw. "Allie…," he intones.

      She glares at him for that. "I've told you time and again to stop calling me that," she hisses. "And yes. Severus doesn't patrol because he's too busy running the school and keeping McGonagall under control. Usually Amycus and I patrol together, but we've taken to splitting our duties lately. There are students who…never got the message that Potter's days are dwindling."

      This would explain the Carrows' preoccupations. "Who…?"

      She scoffs. "Too many. But most of the older students. They called themselves Dumbledore's Army the last two years, and apparently that's still a thing even with that piece of shit in the ground." She shakes her head and folds her arms in front of her chest. "We never quite catch them in the act, but I don't doubt their boldness as the year goes on. Especially with Potter still in the wind."

      Thorfinn nods. All that Alecto's divulged—it's as close as she will come to telling Thorfinn to be careful. But he voices his concerns aloud. "You and Amycus must be their top targets. Don't take on more than you can handle, Alecto."

      "We are and I won't, you simpleton. Just—" She throws up her hands in frustration and reaches out. Any closer and she could smooth down the front of Thorfinn's robes, let her hand linger on his chest. She glares up at him. "Patrol in pairs always," Alecto warns him. "Got it?"

      Internally, Thorfinn sighs. He takes a chance—because sometimes she caves and sometimes she smacks him away—and grabs her hand. It stops shaking, he notes with worry, the moment he holds it. "Got it," he states.

      Alecto nods. It's a jerky, short movement, followed by the abrupt removal of her hand from his.

      Thorfinn watches Alecto recede into the shadows, but his head and heart are a mess. Taking this assignment was the right thing to do. But with what Alecto and Amycus have landed themselves in—he's beginning to wonder if he bit off more than he can chew.

      He's been prepping for this since the Easter holiday. That was when he finally told his parents that he does, indeed, have a pair of friends. "Siblings," he elaborated then, much to their delight. He ignored the looks that followed when he clarified it was the Carrows, but mostly his parents seemed confused. Perhaps the Carrow line had been great once upon a time and has fallen to the sidelines, a footnote in pureblood history?

      (Thorfinn won't tell Alecto and Amycus that, though. He's not sure how they'd take it, and it's insulting, really, no matter how a person feels about their family.)

      But here he is, in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with the Carrows, heading back to London. Alecto's expression is impassive while Amycus stares at Thorfinn as though the blue-eyed boy has two heads.

      "You…what?" Amycus asks.

      Thorfinn scratches his head by his right ear, remembers to smooth his hair back since he'll be seeing his mother shortly, and clears his throat. "I told my parents you two are my mates. And I asked if you could visit over the summer. You're welcome anytime, they said."

      It's funny, the things Amycus' face does. He's a thin-ish lad with a lumpy sort of face that right now oscillates between snow white and Expelliarmus red. No matter the color, his beady little eyes stand out like two pinpricks against his face. And those eyes are scared and mad all at once. "Come over. To your. House."

      "Well, yes. That's what people do when hanging out with friends sometimes."

      "But why?"

      Thorfinn sighs. He works hard at school and still gets middling marks, and he doesn't hold a good conversation with most of the others his age…or those older…or those younger. But, in this manner, when it comes to social skills, Thorfinn feels like a genius to Amycus' idiot. "Because you can? It's just an option. Not an obligation, Amycus."

      Amycus curses. "I know that! I mean, why would I? I know you've been Alec's spy all year," he throws back.

      Not surprising. Thorfinn never thought Amycus wouldn't piece things together, and three times Thorfinn and Alecto ended up chatting normally after anything Amycus-related was exchanged, three times long enough where Amycus or someone else spied them and lingered, curious as to why these two unrelated pieces would interact. Thorfinn looks to Alecto now for help.

      "Amycus, you might—"

      He gives his sister an incredulous look. "Don't tell me this was also your idea?! Sweet Salazar, Alec. I just want some peace and quiet this summer. That's all." He gets to his feet and exits the compartment, slamming the door behind him.

      Alecto frowns at Thorfinn. "That went better than I thought."

      Thorfinn sighs. "Do you micromanage so much in his life that he thinks everything's a setup by you?"

      That frown dissolves into a grimace. "Oi. I don't 'micromanage.'"

      "Right, right…" Thorfinn rummages in his rucksack for the scrap of parchment he wanted to give Amycus. He produces it anyway and holds it out to Alecto. "I figure he won't take it from me, no matter what."

      Alecto takes it and reads over the Rowle family address. "…thank you. I'll try to see that he visits, at least once."

      "I meant what I said, Alecto. You're both my friends. And Mum and Dad extended the invite to both of you."

      She folds his address and sticks it in her skirt's pocket. "That's thoughtful of you, Rowle."

      He doesn't like this grateful side of her. It doesn't fit with everything he's learned of Alecto Carrow so far. "You know, someday you'll use my first name." He grins. "We'll be a fearsome trio. Thorfinn, Allie, and Amy."

      Alecto glowers at him over the nickname. But her cheeks puff up, too, and she desperately tries to stay mad at him over it, but, honestly, has anyone ever referred to Amycus Carrow as "Amy" before? It's absurd. It's laughable.

      (She does cave and they share a laugh. But then Alecto smacks Thorfinn's knee and makes him swear never, ever to use those nicknames ever again.

      He promises, but dumbly so because all he can think about right then is how much he wants to kiss this bossy witch.)

      "Teenagers are horrible," Thorfinn thinks aloud as he, the Carrows, Dolohov, and others view the mess left the day after Halloween.

      "I warned you," Alecto reminds him under her breath.

      Thorfinn glances down at her, but all he sees from his vantage point is the top of her head. Internally, he groans.

      Halloween should've been a fine, normal celebration. But no. Dumbledore's Army had shown itself to be back in full force, ending with the message painted in the Great Hall that Filch scrubs at even this minute. The graffiti and pranks are one thing. But a message of recruitment… Alecto's right. The D.A., as they're called in whispers, is going to be their biggest worry here at Hogwarts.

      "Don't you have a list of known associates?" Thorfinn asks the Carrows as he and Dolohov step aside with them.

      "As headmaster, Severus gave us a list of those who were known members when Umbridge came here to correct a few things, a couple years back," Alecto replies. "The Weasley girl is our prime suspect, but there's also Longbottom—"

      Amycus spits on the ground at the name.

      "—as well as Lovegood's girl."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow. "Lovegood, Lovegood… Why does that sound familiar?"

      "Because he's the crackpot who prints The Quibbler," Alecto states. "He's pro-Potter and we've yet to scare him straight."

      "All the shit that's fit to print," Amycus remarks of the publication.

      "And those are just our likeliest suspects for the D.A.'s leaders. But we've others in mind for current membership, too. Names with Ministry connections. Bones…Patil… There's a Jones girl in Hufflepuff who hasn't been linked, but I've got my eye on her; she has an older sister who's an Auror."

      Thorfinn isn't surprised. Alecto is a thorough planner as well as a commanding witch. "Then what would you have us do? Round these students up?" He grins. "Give them a scare?"

      Alecto pauses. She shares a look with her brother, and understanding passes between them. Mirrored expressions of malice appear on their faces, and Thorfinn has to remind himself that no, these two are not twins in the least bit. "No," she says. "I think Amycus and I will put the fright in them during classes, when they least expect it."

      With orders to keep to their usual routine but to expand their patrol up to the third floor and [formerly Defense Against] the Dark Arts classrooms, Thorfinn and Dolohov part from the siblings. Feeling more like the Carrows' second-in-command and less like a demoted Death Eater, Thorfinn even barks at the other patrols to return to their stations, which stunningly earns him a mild nod of approval from Dolohov.

      "Those two do enjoy their new positions," Dolohov comments to Thorfinn as they head upstairs.

      Thorfinn absentmindedly grunts. It's a waste of breath to explain torture and torment are job perks in this case, to point out the risks the Carrows take by painting targets on their backs.

      Dolohov falls into step with him, though, and nods behind them. "It will always unnerve me, though, the way they communicate without speaking… Twins have magic the rest of us don't."

      "They're not twins," Thorfinn corrects. And he leaves it at that, yet another mystery for the wizard who might've been in their social circle if only he'd attended Hogwarts way back when.

      "They're not twins," he tells his parents that summer when Alecto and Amycus do, stunningly, come for a day-long visit.

      But he can see the fascination on his father's face in how the old man's mouth hangs open. His mother's more discreet, keeping it to little cocks of her head this way and that. "Are you certain?" his father asks Thorfinn.

      "Positive," Thorfinn says. The three Rowles stand in the kitchen, able to view the dining room as the house-elves pop in and out with an early supper. When his parents had disappeared in here, Thorfinn had excused himself and come to see what the matter was, only to find his parents watching his mates like the animals in Eeylops' window in Diagon Alley. "Amycus will be starting fifth year with me in a few months, and Alecto will begin her seventh and last." He fidgets and peeks out the kitchen door, too, watching Alecto tut and fold a napkin for Amycus, who rolls his eyes. "Besides, they look nothing alike."

      "Twins don't always look like each other, Finny," his mother says with a mother's all-knowing shake of her head. She returns her attention to the sight before her. "But still. To think it so…"

      "Yes," his father says. "Akillios Carrow's children… Never thought he had any."

      "I wonder if Ajax knows he's a grandfather. Generations ago, everyone always thought the Carrow line would continue as one, but the schism—"

      They talk of social politics and gossip that only make Thorfinn's head hurt, so he ducks back out to the dining room the next chance he gets. The meal's been winding down, anyhow, and he looks forward to dessert. Thorfinn takes his seat again, directly across from the siblings. "Sorry about that. My parents…" He trails off. He doesn't have an explanation for them, actually.

      "Wondering how we got permission to come here by ourselves today?" Alecto offers. She settles Amycus with a dry look, daring him to have one of his tantrums.

      Thorfinn shrugs. "Not really."

      "We're not a sideshow," Amycus grinds out, but that's all he says as the plates vanish and dishes of pumpkin ice-cream appear with sprinkles of treacle candies. With something new to occupy his mouth, he shuts up.

      Thorfinn and Alecto work more slowly through their desserts. Then Thorfinn looks to her and asks, "You sure you can't stay longer?"

      It's brief, but her hand tenses around her spoon. "No," Alecto says. "But maybe we can visit again, Rowle."

      He nods. Then he glances at Amycus. "Sorry they talked your ears off when you two first arrived, but—it wasn't that bad, was it?"

      Amycus chews a spoonful of candy. He stares at the lace tablecloth before he answers. "…I s'pose not. I got to nap on that massive sofa afterwards, which was nice."

      Thorfinn raises his eyebrows and peeks at Alecto, who smiles at her brother, though Amycus misses their expressions with his head down. "Wish I could send it home with you," Thorfinn says.

      "No need. It's—it's different here."

      "How so?"

      "You live in a wide-open town. You've got large, lazy roads, not busy streets. You've got fresh air and a yard." He stops there.

      But Thorfinn thinks he hears something more: "You've got things that make a home, home."

      The visit ends. Thorfinn's parents join them at the door but don't linger too long, and the three students head outside so Thorfinn can see them off as they have to fly home.

      "Come again soon, yeah?" he reminds them, just in case it takes this time.

      Alecto shakes her head and nudges his nearer shoulder with her hand. "That's a definite 'maybe,' Rowle." She hesitates and then adds in undertones once Amycus has lifted off the ground and out of earshot, "But next summer? Things might be different."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow, mystified by her words, wishing to ask Alecto what the bloody hell that means. But all he gets is a pat on the cheek and a nice view as she takes off in front of him, trailing after her brother.

      When he goes back inside, still confused, his mother snaps her fingers, startling him and his father. "I've got it!" she announces.

      "Got what?" his father asks.

      "Alecto and Amycus, their behavior."

      Thorfinn groans. "Not this again, Mum…"

      But she won't be shaken. "No, no, you were quite right. They're not twins, and they don't even look alike. But their closeness—" She beams at her son. "It's very maternal. Reminds me of my younger self, being a mother in my early days. It's sweet, really, how Alecto looks after him."

      There is nothing sweet about Alecto Carrow, Thorfinn knows. But he yearns for her nevertheless.

      Patrolling becomes even more incredibly dull throughout November. The Carrows' daytime torture sessions seem to quell interest in rebellion, so students all but stop setting foot outside their dorms at night. Many don't even risk staying up late in the common rooms, Alecto informs him one evening as she interrupts his patrol on the third floor stairs.

      "And how would you know that?" he asks. He appraises her. "No. You really got each Head of House to give you access to the dorms?"

      She grins, and it's a dark smile filled with teeth from a blade (he knows; he's been cut by them time and again). "Severus had to convince ol' Sluggie to give us access. The rest have taken…extra persuasion."

      Thorfinn laughs, catching Dolohov's attention upon return from the Dark Arts' classrooms. At least the Russian turns and does that area again when he sees his partner has company. "You nasty little… I take it that's a story for another time?" he says with a sigh, leaning back against the railing on the stairs.

      "Another time," she agrees, climbing two steps so they're closer in height. She rests a hand on the railing, near his left arm, and lets her eyes rove. "Tonight's not good since I've got my shift alone; Amycus…has business elsewhere."

      "If you want me reassigned, you can make it happen, Alecto."

      She softly snorts. "Oh, Rowle…" She shakes her head. From within her breast pocket, she pulls a strip of parchment, holding it out of his reach between her two thick fingers. "So daft. You aren't restricted only to the greenhouse bunk and your patrol, you know?"

      He tilts his head in confusion.

      Alecto leans forward. "I'm not always in class, idiot," she whispers. Then the parchment's in reach, and Thorfinn snatches her schedule up as if it's Gringotts' entire cache. When Alecto stands straight, she's sneering, but her eyes smolder.

      "Should I bring the firewhiskey, then?" he asks, half joking, half out of habit.

      Alecto descends the stairs. "No," she throws over her shoulder. "Firewhiskey's not allowed in the castle."

      He tries not to read too deeply into her words, but his hopes are up, regardless.

      The moment is only ruined by footsteps coming from below. One of the younger patrols—Death Eater or not, Thorfinn can't keep them straight these days because there are so many of them—catches his breath and points behind him when he sees Alecto.

      "Out with it!" she barks.

      "R-Raven—!" he gasps. "Ravenclaw! A boy, I think. Heading towards the dungeons. Sixth or seventh year, presumably. You said you wanted to be informed if anyone came for the student locked up in the dungeons."

      Alecto glances back up at Thorfinn, that razor-sharp grin back in place. "I see not everyone got the message about not taking risks. I have work to do, then. Goodnight, Rowle."

      There is nothing sweet about Alecto Carrow, Thorfinn knows. But that doesn't stop him from being excited for when they'll next have a private moment to themselves.

      After a day visit and one crappy sleepover, Amycus has come as close as possible to warming up to Thorfinn Rowle. He still doesn't like that Thorfinn and Alecto get along, and he voices his opinion frequently, but it's mostly the noisy complaints of a kid brother who no longer has his sister's full attention.

      "Don't mind him," Alecto tells Thorfinn as the school year begins and Amycus huffs and hides behind his Potions text, trying to ignore them after having one of his tirades about wishing to be left alone.

      "I do mind him," Thorfinn groans. "He's my mate. A shitty one, but he sort of is."

      "Amycus doesn't like people, Rowle. He barely likes me. But this is an improvement. He will go to you if I'm not around, I'm sure of it."

      Thorfinn looks askance at her, unconvinced. "I can't picture you not around. You two come as a set, Alecto."

      She blinks at his words. (Are they really that surprising?) Then she walks away from Amycus, knowing Thorfinn will follow, and they exit the common room, entering the bowels of the castle. It's late but not too late, and they walk slowly in the nearby corridor.

      Thorfinn isn't certain their conversation will continue…until he feels a weight against his left arm. He looks down to find Alecto leaning against him. Suddenly he hates that, already tall, he grew a few more inches over the summer. Now, unless he stoops or kneels before her, he definitely won't see what expression she makes, and his chest aches at the thought.

      "We didn't start out as a set, and we won't always be a set," she murmurs.

      It takes him a moment before he recalls where they left off. "I see," he says.

      "That's why Amycus has got to stand on his own," she thinks aloud. "And, second best, have at least one other person there for him."

      "One that's not you," Thorfinn supplies.

      She nods. With her leaning against his arm, the action mimics nuzzling. How strange.

      Their walk slows, and Thorfinn turns the seventh year towards him. It's always dimly lit down here, and he hates that now, hates the shadows that have never bothered him before. He can't read her face this way. "Why do you keep imagining a future for him without you in it?" He stops himself from asking the obvious. It'd sound too wimpy, too weepy if he asked about his own future without her in it.

      "Because it's a strong possibility," she replies, and that's all the answer he gets for now, because Alecto releases his arm. She releases his arm and reaches up, thick fingers from thick hands planted firmly on Thorfinn's blocky face. Then she pulls him down, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses him.

      Something hot blossoms in his chest. He's kissing her at last! And yet… Perhaps it's their conversation or this past summer that has his head all muddled.

      But something in that kiss, their first, makes Thorfinn want to break it off and enfold Alecto in his arms instead, to protect her from whatever's to come since he couldn't protect her from whatever transpired.

      "I don't think he needs me anymore," Alecto mumbles one cold afternoon. It's the kind of admission she only makes when defenseless, such as in her quarters, warmed by sheets, a blanket, and Thorfinn.

      "Shush," Thorfinn insists. "That'd never be the case. Alecto and Amycus Carrow—no one can mention one name without the other." He has an arm wrapped around her still, but their slouched positions on her bed allow him better access to her. He tips his head, ghosting his lips over her hair, most of which tumbles loosely over his arm and chest.

      "Stop trying to coddle me," she growls, smacking his chest lightly. "I told you before: He and I won't always be a set." She quiets, for a full minute, and then she adds, "He has someone in his life."

      Thorfinn stills. This is dangerous territory, and he doesn't know how to react. The best he can manage is, "Who?"

      "A woman. A witch. He's told me very little about her. But her name is 'Flora.'" She exhales, and her breath is hot and tickles his skin. "Greyback met her last month. Told me she's a young thing, not much older than the seventh years, he guesses."

      He snickers. "Go, Amycus." That earns him a pinch under the sheets. "Oi!"

      "You're missing the point, Rowle." She shakes her head, but, at the same time, she scooches closer, tucks herself more snuggly under his arm. "He's only told me of her. Greyback's met her, and I've heard others talk of Amycus and the 'dark flower' accompanying him around the castle on occasion since November. Don't you see? He won't introduce her to me." She sighs. "He's either done something wrong or he's embarrassed of me. Because he won't introduce her to me."

      "Well, you've long since known you embarrass him," Thorfinn points out, thinking of the very first time he met Alecto and all the subsequent times her fussing was apparent when it came to Amycus. He ignores her growl this time. "But Amycus isn't a sickly child or teen anymore. He's a Dark wizard. A strong man. It's good that he can make some decisions for himself, Allie."

      Her room is quiet, and Thorfinn fears another outburst over that wretched nickname. But she hums, thoughtful, instead.

      "Perhaps he's not patrolling alone anymore," Thorfinn ventures. "Maybe you, too, should—"

      "I'm fine, Rowle."

      He knows. He knows, because he's heard those words before, for decades. And they're not even forty yet.

      "Christmas is coming soon," she says. The topic change is sudden and odd for her.

      "Plans away from the castle?" he asks as she sits up and reaches for something to yank over her head.

      "Not for me. But I've heard things will get a bit bumpy for the students on the train ride home," Alecto adds tantalizingly over her shoulder as she gathers up her hair.

      Thorfinn chuckles. "And we don't get to play? Dolohov's right—being here truly is a punishment."

      Alecto snorts. She comes back to him, smacks his knee, squeezes his thigh, and kisses him. "And I've never met a bigger glutton for it."

      "So happy to be of service," he breathes against her lips.

      Just what is he to Alecto anyway?

      As fifth year goes on, Thorfinn's focus on his O.W.L.s is mangled every time he hears Alecto's "Rowle," no matter her tone. She's given up all pretenses that she only calls on him when it pertains to Amycus, and Thorfinn's all right with that. But it's bloody confusing when sometimes she berates him, sometimes she says nothing at all, and sometimes she wants her tongue down his throat and his hands to wander.

      That last part's fun, of course, and Thorfinn's always thought it was just what he wanted. But this school year passes by too quickly, far too quickly for his liking, and all the fun he and Alecto get up to doesn't put him at ease.

      If anything, it puts him on alert. And it returns one ambition to him: to find out precisely the matter with her.

      Thorfinn tries asking Amycus outright. "Alecto's got N.E.W.T.s, of course," the prat answers unhelpfully between late February sneezes.

      Thorfinn would ask Alecto if they did more talking these days, but that doesn't happen as often.

      So instead he resumes his old pastime of watching the siblings. Amycus truly gives nothing away; he catches various colds during the winter months, but he's healthier this year compared to the last several, and Thorfinn wonders if Amycus simply will outgrow his sickly disposition. But Alecto…

      Alecto's not wholly withdrawn, and there's not the stay-away vibe that Amycus has. Actually, Thorfinn figures out what upsets him the most when he spies the gangly form of another seventh year, the slip of a thing that's Slytherin's very own former star Seeker, Regulus Black.

      On the face of it, there's little to compare. Alecto and Regulus are contrasts like day and night. Round and stick-like, warm and pale, ferocious and hollow—they couldn't be more different. Regulus, once vibrant, changed the last couple years, though no one knows why, Thorfinn realizes, and now the Black heir has an air of death that clings to him. And Alecto? Alecto doesn't have that. She fights for life—at least for Amycus', if not her own.

      Nevertheless, there is something about them that Thorfinn finds similar, and it's not until he's prepping for his Defense O.W.L. by the end of the school year and the word jumps off a text page at him that he figures it out:

      Taint.

      There is a taint that clings to either of them.

      Thorfinn doesn't know if it's the same kind…perhaps it has something to do with Alecto's talk of the future? Maybe—maybe she's choosing the same path as Regulus Black, one that will make her pale and sickly and look like Death warmed over.

      Exams are a blur. Thorfinn, for the first time, does not care about his marks, much to his parents' disappointment. But he has to finish these exams, end this school year, explain his theories to Amycus—and then they must convince her, together, not to choose whatever it is she's chosen.

      Alas, Amycus listens wordlessly in their empty dorm to Thorfinn's panicked theory. At the end, Amycus picks the pills from his jumper and shakes his head. Then he informs Thorfinn, "You wouldn't understand."

      "I—what?" Thorfinn blinks in disbelief.

      "What I said, Rowle. You wouldn't understand."

      "But…" His shoulders slump. "But—Alecto. Your sister, Amycus."

      "And you brought up Regulus Black. We have nothing to do with him. Have you ever thought he might also just be a blood traitor like his brother? Perhaps he just misses his brother."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow. He hadn't considered that, in all honesty. "But…"

      Amycus frowns and meets his eyes. "She will be fine," he says, but it sounds weak and as if he's trying to convince both of them. He grabs his trunk and wand. "Now, come on. We've a train to catch."

      "R-Right…"

      Alone in the corridor outside the dungeons, Amycus waits an odd beat before asking in a small voice, "Your offer—does that still stand?"

      "What offer?"

      "To stay."

      "To visit my house whenever?" Thorfinn shakes his head in disbelief that he would even ask. "Of course. You can have the guestroom again."

      Amycus nods, distractedly. "To visit. Of course."

      (Thorfinn thinks nothing of it then. And he thinks nothing of it when Amycus shows up at his home a week after school's out, looking pale despite the beautiful summer weather.

      But he thinks about it when he never sees Alecto and Amycus doesn't bring her up.

      And he thinks a lot about it when Amycus' initial week-long stay stretches out into a month and then the entire summer. And then the boys return for their sixth year, seen off by Thorfinn's parents alone.)

      Sixth year begins, and Thorfinn remembers a conversation from third year about families and parents, and he wonders if he should've asked Amycus about his mother after all.

      Christmas, Easter—things Amycus used to spend with Alecto at the castle, he now shares with the Rowles. He goes home with Thorfinn, Thorfinn's parents politely include him in their festivities, and Amycus' health continues to improve.

      Alecto would be proud, Thorfinn thinks. If only she were here.

      By the time sixth year ends, Amycus speaks of his sister again. "If only Alecto could see us now," he drones as the wizards laze in Thorfinn's backyard underneath the shade of an old oak tree.

      "She'd be happy, yeah?" Thorfinn queries.

      "She'd be mad jealous," Amycus replies with a snigger. He plucks a fistful of grass, tosses it in the air, and incinerates it with a nonverbal spell (he's gotten quite good at those this past year). "…I miss her," he confides in his friend.

      Thorfinn sighs. "Me, too."

      "You only miss snogging her."

      "I can miss a lot about Alecto, you know."

      Amycus waits for two minutes. Then he sits up and pulls a folded envelope from his trousers' pocket. "I heard from her," he announces.

      Thorfinn sits up as though Amycus had hit him with a spell. "What?! When?!"

      "Right before school ended. She encouraged me to go home with you this year, skip the unnecessary layover at—" He doesn't finish the thought. "Anyway, she says she's fine."

      Thorfinn groans. "She always says that!"

      Amycus smirks; it's a pale imitation of his sister's sneer. "She wrote that you'd react that way."

      Well, now that has his attention. "Did she say anything else about me?"

      That smirk sours. "Ugh, no. Alec wrote me, you buffoon."

      Thorfinn sags against the oak's trunk. "Then why get my hopes up and tell me any of this?"

      Amycus hesitates. Thorfinn can see it in the way the envelope further crinkles in his grasp. "…because. You don't understand—"

      "So you've said."

      "—you don't understand," he repeats, "and I won't explain everything to you, and I can't divulge Alec's plans because even I don't know everything she's got up her sleeve, but—" Amycus stops short, the verbal rush a lot for someone who usually savors his words. He meets Thorfinn's eyes, same as the year before. "But, if you help me prepare this coming year…then maybe there's some hope for you yet, Rowle."

      Thorfinn cocks his head to one side. "Prepare for what?"

      "I want to join my sister."

      "Oh. Of course I'll help you reunite with Alecto." He pauses and decides not to impart her foreboding words to Amycus, instead insisting, "After all, the Carrow siblings come as a set. We can't possibly split you two up."

      Amycus smiles. It's a tired, relieved smile, but it's like daybreak on the poor bloke's face. He nods and reclines once more beneath the tree. "No…no, we can't be split apart, no matter what…."

      They have a mildly busy break. Dumbledore's Army wreaks all the havoc they can before going home for the holidays, but Thorfinn surreptitiously gloats, knowing what awaits them. When news circulates throughout Wizarding Britain and slightly beyond of the kidnapping, Alecto and Amycus crow in the Great Hall that Lovegood's daughter has been captured to set an example.

      The other faculty pale at the news, and Amycus chirps that Flitwick even fainted because the girl was a former student. But Thorfinn muses that his old friend exaggerates. Can it really be called "fainting" when someone's that close to the floor to start?

      Patrols grow ghostly quiet for the week, and Thorfinn sneaks extra time with Alecto. She doesn't lament further the status of her bond with Amycus—Alecto never belabors her points—but it still hurts her, even the tiniest distance between them, and Thorfinn can tell in how Alecto grows reluctant to let Thorfinn leave her room and return to the greenhouse bunk. Dolohov's teasing be damned, Thorfinn believes Alecto and her wellbeing to be his top priority, until she directs it otherwise.

      But the days dwindle, and the new year begins. They have one last blessed morning together, filled with fun and, surprisingly, little pecks here and there every time Thorfinn thinks she's grown tired of his company.

      "You've gotten used to having me around again," he teases.

      Alecto rolls her eyes but of course continues to watch him dress. "You were more useful back in the day, telling on Amycus for me." Her eyes light up with a new idea. "Oh! Now that I think—"

      "Absolutely not," Thorfinn interjects. "I'm curious about this Flora woman, too, but Amycus is much more capable of killing me now than was he then."

      She growls. "You can't be more scared of him than me."

      "I'm terrified of you, Allie. But Amy's got his own special brand of crazy going on."

      It's been years since he last referred to Amycus that way, but still it makes Alecto burst out laughing. Only this time, she laughs so hard that it brings tears to her eyes. Alecto throws a gray pillow at his back, still laughing. "Oh, get out of here, you…!"

      Thorfinn grins, grabs his cloak, and exits as instructed, but he does so in high spirits. He's seen Alecto Carrow change before, and he wonders if he's seeing that happen again…

      But Thorfinn Rowle does not remain in high spirits for long.

      Two days later, Thorfinn and Dolohov set out from the greenhouse bunk after lunch. Dolohov heads for the library, Thorfinn meandering not far behind him. An hour into this shift, not long before the school day ought to end for supper, there's a commotion.

      Patrols whiz past them and converge in the corridors. Of course, Thorfinn and Dolohov follow, because two people with the know-how ought to be at the front of things…but, truthfully, they're at the back of a group that starts to disperse left and right, with someone, two, three people shouting orders and barking things. Neither Thorfinn nor Dolohov can discern what's happened.

      Only when bodies have thinned out and Thorfinn can grab one of the order-givers do they learn anything. He shakes the man by the front of his cloak. "What the fuck's happened?" he snaps at the cowering man.

      "There's been an attack! Sirs!" he says, scared green eyes darting between Thorfinn and Dolohov. "The dungeons— The Hospital Wing—"

      Thorfinn doesn't wait to hear more. He drops the man, leaving him for Dolohov's questions, because something bad and sour churns in the pit of Thorfinn's stomach, urging him on across the castle grounds.

      He barely waits for the stairs to lock into place as they move, taking steps two at a time, ignoring the irony that a thuggish man like him too big to fly fast enough to make Beater for the House team in his school days now sprints to the fourth floor as though his own life depends on it.

      And his life, her life—it's all the same, so it rather does depend on it, doesn't it?

      Thorfinn finds the Hospital Wing doors ajar and hears shouting inside. Two Death Eaters stand guard outside, and inside Thorfinn finds Amycus with Snape and Pomfrey. Amycus, of course, is responsible for all the shouting, but there are sobs sprinkled in between.

      "She is dying!" he hisses, throwing spittle in the matron's face.

      Thorfinn screeches to a halt, crashing into a nearby cot. "She—she is?" he asks, his voice small.

      They turn his way. Pomfrey finds her voice first. "I assure you, as I have Professor Carrow, she is not. I am doing everything I can—"

      "You're not doing enough, you filthy—!" Even at this age, Amycus' face can still oscillate white and red.

      Snape intervenes, stepping between the angry brother and the school nurse. "Amycus," he says, his dull tone both calming and infuriating. It does the job and draw Amycus' attention to the headmaster. "Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey has a skillset we lack amongst our ranks. She is Alecto's best chance of survival. If you cannot stay out of her way while she works, then I will have Rowle drag you to your room. Do you understand me?"

      Amycus looks again at Thorfinn, as if only now acknowledging they have additional company. He reluctantly nods. "Yes, Severus."

      "Good." Snape motions Pomfrey to the bed behind the unfolded screen. Then he backs away from the scene, pausing long enough by Thorfinn to add, "I don't need a repeat of that. From either of you."

      Thorfinn swallows the lump in his throat but also nods.

      Pomfrey flicks her wand, and the screen grows in size, blocking the men out and blocking anything from their view. It also forces Amycus to sit down on the cot beside his sister's, and Thorfinn joins him, though the latter stands.

      "What…" Thorfinn licks his lips to wet them. "What happened?"

      Amycus drags a hand over his face. "Powell… Powell said it was a trap. On her way to the dungeons. Alec got—" His voice breaks, and he says no more. He shakes his head. Either he doesn't know or he can't say. Thorfinn can't decide which hurts worse.

      Pomfrey works for hours. Supper comes and goes, but Thorfinn and Amycus don't leave Alecto's side. Night darkens impossibly until light breaks through, and Amycus tires. He's grown strong since childhood, but suddenly he seems feeble again, and Thorfinn nonverbally encourages him to rest in the cot. He promises he'll wake him the moment there's news or Alecto wakes.

      The second half of his promise isn't a rush. Alecto's breathing, ragged at first, is so subtle that it's a wonder she breathes at all.

      But the first half? Sometime after breakfast, while Amycus still remains fast asleep, Pomfrey's work winds down. Seeing she has an audience of one, she has Thorfinn step aside with her.

      "How bad is it?" he asks.

      "Some sort of Stinging Jinx, it seems." She frowns and wipes the sweat from her brow. "It hit her all over. I have her stabilized, and I do believe she will be all right, but she will need to recover, and she will need to be here to do so."

      Thorfinn nearly sobs himself. "So she won't die?"

      Pomfrey's intelligent eyes flash with hesitation. "She will need to recover," she repeats, and then she retires to the nurse's station for a respite.

      Thorfinn despises the matron's precise language. Refusing to answer him—it's not a good sign, and it reminds him of the games a younger Alecto used to play. He hates not knowing what awaits him in the future. The far future. The near future. Pomfrey's words, Amycus' promises, Alecto's half-truths.

      He goes to Alecto's side and—he backs away, the sight of her painfully repulsive (it's as though he feels the Stinging Jinx making its way across his every bit of exposed flesh, too). But he steps back up and grabs a chair and sits. He daren't take her hand for the additional pain it might cause her, but he sorely wishes for the closeness they had as simple as two days ago.

      Closeness that they might not ever have again.

      Thorfinn squeezes his eyes shut tight, hating the heat he feels behind them. "Don't you dare tell me you're 'fine' when you next wake, Allie," he hisses at her in undertones.

      Alecto's ragged breathing doesn't change.

      "I took this spot, hoped for it, thinking you'd dropped me a hint about having me by your side again," he confesses, thinking back to August and that surprise visit at Malfoy Manor. "But this…this is not how things were supposed to go.

      Joining the Death Eaters was not supposed to go like this."

      He lets that sentence hang in the air a moment longer before deciding the absurdity of the moment, how it must sound, talking to himself. He also knows she's going to be irate with him if Amycus is left in a state this whole time, so taking care of that fool's next on his to-do list.

      Nevertheless, Thorfinn leans close, careful not to touch. "Don't tell me you're 'fine,'" he repeats. "And I'll promise not to say 'I love you.'"

      (But, of course, that's a lie. It's his biggest regret that day, that he's followed that order of hers up until this point, and it's the first promise he intends to break with Alecto.)

So, uh. Ever have a fic that just…refuses to let you sleep. Or, like…do anything else. Because that was this fic. I had SO MANY IDEAS for this, esp as I wrote more flashbacks for this interesting little trio, that I had a hard time sleeping (well, harder than normal bc life XP). But the inspo from "bad blood" and "far from you" gave me a lot of food for thought regarding the Carrows. I'm not looking to excuse them but to explain them, and I think this fic helps offer more interesting backstory that will be finished/fully revealed in the next one, "at last, with you." I super dig Thorlecto, *lol*, and I kinda dig the idea that this group might've been Regulus' age or even younger. But, woo boy, I'm hoping the next fic will be shorter, mostly explaining some things here as well as filling in some gaps. (Also, coming up with the Carrows' dad's and granddad's names was fun. c:) And writing things from the Death Eaters' POVs also made me feel more for D.A. members, thinking about the possibility that they were targeted early on; I know in the bks the D.A. believed the Carrows to be in-bred idiots, but doubting your enemies' intelligence can be a fatal mistake. :s Anywho: PLEASE! Go read "bad blood" and "far from you" if you haven't already! They're good stories! And look forward to "at last, with you," coming soon~ -w-

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[camelliacats]

far from you

Fluff! With…Death Eaters? XD Only if there are Dark elements ofc.

Fic: "far from you" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle/Alecto Carrow, with a Dolohov cameo

Rating: T

Words: ~1,430

Additional info: romance, fluff, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: With the Dark Lord in power, everyone was getting assignments. Thorfinn simply wished Alecto's weren't set in stone.

                The worst part is Dolohov's sniggering.

                "You've still got a big lump beneath that thinning mass you call hair," he remarks to Thorfinn. He gestures with his open palm circling the back of his head, except Dolohov doesn't touch his own skull. No, the bloody Russian doesn't want to muss his perfect hair.

                Of course, Thorfinn glowers at his fellow Death Eater. He has to shoot him a look, because so often Thorfinn's words fail him at the best of times. If he ever comes up with a comeback, it's always after the other person has walked away.

                Malfoy's haughty sneer when Thorfinn was one of several at the Dark Lord's meeting in Malfoy Manor? Thorfinn wanted to threaten Malfoy with Fiendfyre afterwards.

                Dolohov's notable groan when the Dark Lord teamed them up to chase Potter and his friends in Muggle London? Thorfinn wanted to remind Dolohov that he was younger, faster, brighter than any of his older counterparts, Dolohov included.

                Pettigrew's tongue clicking against his teeth as he shook his head after Dolohov and Thorfinn received their punishment for being bested by Potter at Tottenham Court Road? Thorfinn would've happily yelled out "Stupefy!" if only to see that rat bastard fly into the fucking wall with the force of Thorfinn's spell.

                Even now, with Dolohov's prodding, Thorfinn has nothing to say, as his temper robs him of language.

                It hasn't been long since their fuckup, but Dolohov acts as if it's all Thorfinn's fault. He probably believes the bullshit he fed the Dark Lord—"It was all Rowle's fault, milord, he got in the way at the most opportune moment"—and that only feeds Thorfinn's anger more on his last day of recuperation on a musty old bed tucked away in an unused corner of Malfoy Manor.

                Thankfully, Dolohov saunters out of this stupidly small room they've been sharing, and Thorfinn spells the other now-empty cot closer so he can stretch his legs out any way he wants. The mattresses are old and creaky, but the padding's not yet worn through, so no springs poke him. He lets out the tiniest sigh of relief.

                A new snicker indicates another presence at the door. "Careful you don't let anyone else see you relaxing like that."

                His anger ebbs. Thorfinn props himself up on his hands, scooting back until he's somewhat up, half reclined, as Alecto takes a few steps closer. "I'm allowed," he retorts. "I'm injured."

                Alecto narrows her eyes at him. On any other woman, that look makes Thorfinn want to slap a bitch for looking down her nose at him. But on Alecto…it makes him want to laugh and listen to whatever she says simultaneously. "You're fine, is what I heard," she says, ignorant of the ideas roaming through his head. "Things are still too early to go barging into St. Mungo's with an idiot like you. You owe Narcissa for her limited knowledge of Healing."

                At last, he does laugh. "I can never tell if you like your old Housemate or hate her guts. Jealous, Allie?"

                She whips her hand out and smacks him on the back of the head, right where his bump his. Alecto shakes her head at his yelp and subsequent whine. "Never call me that. And some things a brood mare learns by necessity. She has a family. Families get hurt. Therefore, she must know how to Heal."

                Considering the wallop he got for the nickname, Thorfinn doesn't dare comment about Alecto's lack of family—Amycus doesn't count, as far as he's concerned. Time to change subjects, then. "To what do I owe the pleasure of you gracing me with your presence?" he asks.

                Alecto's brow knits together, a harsh look on her lined, round face. "…sometimes I can't begin to believe the flowery tripe that comes out of your muzzle."

                "I'm a poet at heart."

                "No, you're a thug. At times, a hired one, at that."

                "You wound me."

                "No, Potter and his mates did that."

                The glee in his tone fades. He glares at her. "That was uncalled for."

                Alecto rolls her eyes. She sits on the side of his bed opposite from where he's pulled over Dolohov's and begins to fiddle with her hair, removing the warm blond locks from their locked position and redoing her bun.

                The motion's unusual, not like Alecto's typical self. Thorfinn frowns. "Alecto." He pauses. The words "after all my years of pining and maybe-reciprocation" die on his lips. She doesn't like it when he sounds whiny.

                He can't say she never visits his room, either; if that were true, then he wouldn't still have some hope after all this time.

                "Alecto, why are you here?" Simple is best, Thorfinn decides.

                She shows no signs of being affected by his words. She finishes wrapping her hair and pins it into place. Perfect. Narcissa Malfoy ought to be jealous, and Thorfinn wishes Alecto would realize that.

                "Alecto," he prompts again.

                "I don't know about you, but I've got my next assignment."

                He blinks. Was that really so hard to say? "Brilliant. More tasks means more trust in you. What is it?"

                Alecto picks something out from underneath her fingernails. "Something quite big."

                "Ah. I understand." He musters half a smile for her. "Something small game can't be privy to, yeah?" He doesn't usually self-deprecate—tormenting him has always been the job of others. But he doesn't mind a little every now and then, in Alecto's presence.

                "…Hogwarts."

                Thorfinn cocks an eyebrow. Isn't this something to celebrate? After the Ministry, Hogwarts has been the Dark Lord's next biggest target, if not tougher. "If you get to storm the castle, I want in."

                She scoffs and slaps him—but on the knee this time. No pain incurred. "We're not storming the castle, you idiot. I'm going to teach there. Amycus, as well." After an odd beat and Thorfinn realizing her hand's still on his knee, she adds, "We'll patrol the Hogwarts Express, from the outset. So—we'll go, shortly."

                Thorfinn knows he's not the brightest of all, even if he believes himself sharper than many of the older ones here, but he understands Alecto's words.

                He knows he's not a part of her "we." Not a single one.

                He licks his lips and nods. "It's an upgrade from the usual stuff," he assures her. He attempts to keep his mind on the great, Dark things to be done to that hellhole of a school. "Think about all the new punishments you can put into practice on misbehaving students. Maybe you'll get to torture a teacher or two, even."

                That makes Alecto crack a smile…no. A proper sneer.

                Whether teenagers or adults, Alecto Carrow's sneer will always make Thorfinn Rowle's heart thud in his brutish chest.

                "To think my mind was preoccupied with other things when I could've been planning a new use for the dungeons… You have your moments, Rowle. You have your moments." She stands, though she doesn't tower over him in doing so. She's still squat even with him sitting down, a detail Thorfinn forever favors.

                "What has preoccupied your mind, then?" Thorfinn asks. He's desperate to prolong a conversation he knows is drawing to a close.

                "What, indeed," Alecto murmurs. She tugs on the spiky bits of his hair in the front—where it's not thinning, Dolohov, thank you very much—and pats Thorfinn's cheek, two quick whaps. She leans forward and kisses him deeply, resting a distracting hand on his thigh. When she breaks away, she rests her head for a moment under his chin, heaving a sigh and moving away before Thorfinn's lips can brush her forehead. After that, Alecto exits the room, unmoved, as if the room had been empty all this time.

                But Thorfinn doesn't take her coolness to heart. He can't. Not after that.

                It takes him several minutes, but he figures out Alecto's cryptic mumbling, reads between the lines of her assignment. She's going to be in Scotland at Hogwarts, while he's going to be on the opposite side of this damned land mass, doing Merlin knows what.

                Then an idea strikes him—after she's left, because that is simply how Thorfinn Rowle's life goes—and he doesn't even wince in pain as he swings his legs around and gets to his feet, pulling on his cloak and hoping to convince the Dark Lord of Thorfinn's use, despite his shortcomings. Thorfinn, of course, lacks the makings of a good professor, Dark subject or not…

                …but Hogwarts will need bodies to patrol the castle at all times, won't it?

JFC. XD Okay, so. After writing a romance involving Amycus ("bad blood"), I decided to raise the stakes and write one involving Alecto (which is not actually the first time I've paired her with someone—see the femslash fic "Forever a Thought"), and tbh I kinda like this?? In a twisted way??? This feels somewhat related to "bad blood," even, in that I want to continue some of the hcs that came to light there in another Thorlecto, but ARGHHHH. I just. Yeah. I enjoy writing Death Eaters, *lol*. And I kinda like having Rowle be a little self-introspective, idk. He deffo has some unique views on Alecto. But wow, to hope to chase after her…well, maybe we'll see some of that! ;]

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 1/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch1: "Then: Amycus" [FFN] [AO3] | →

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Amycus Carrow (implied/mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto Carrow)

Rating: light T

Words: ~1,020

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, Dark magic, Marauder era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch1: Thorfinn swears his first oath to Amycus, as they finish school.

      Thorfinn has heard of such magic once or twice before, because it's the kind of Dark fairytale magical parents tell their children growing up, as a precautionary tale. "This is just a story," parents say in one breath. "But never try such magic yourself," they say the next.

      And, yet, Thorfinn Rowle finds himself in a dry corner of the library one particular Friday evening in his seventh year, standing opposite from Amycus Carrow at a windowsill, tired but ready and willing with a sharpened pond stone in his hand. "If we get the blood oath done and over with quickly, there might still be some sweets leftover from the Halloween celebration."

      Amycus—still pale even in the moonlight coming through the window but filling out now, thanks to Thorfinn's mother's cooking the last couple years—flushes scarlet. "Sweets?!" he hisses. "I ask you for a blood oath, and right now all you can think about is food?!"

      Thorfinn swallows a sigh, accustomed to how Amycus' temper flares. "You made me rush through dinner so we could do this tonight, Amy. Sorry if I didn't have the time to fill up."

      The thinner boy scowls at him, and Thorfinn risks a smirk. Sure, Alecto told Thorfinn not to use nicknames with her and her younger brother, but it's a little tempting sometimes, especially seeing either of them riled up. …although, Thorfinn's amusement dissipates when Amycus discards the friendly moment and glances at the stone in his compatriot's hand instead. Amycus huffs. "And you still want to do this?" His words are cautionary and whisper-quiet, like the turning of a page, though they have no open tomes around them.

      Thorfinn nods but once. "I wouldn't've gone hunting for the stone to carve if I didn't."

      Amycus lifts his gaze. He's got beady eyes, one of the many features reminding Thorfinn that Amycus and Alecto don't share full blood, and those eyes bore into him. "It's this or an Unbreakable Vow. And that wouldn't involve slicing ourselves open with something from the shores of the Black Lake." He sniffs. "With my luck, I'll catch something and die before I'm of use to Alec."

      But Thorfinn is done with Amycus trying to back out of this plan. He snatches Amycus' right wrist without warning, pressing the tip of the pond stone into the fleshy part of Amycus' palm below his thumb and cutting a mark an inch long before releasing him. Amycus barely has time to yelp before Thorfinn repeats the action with his own right palm. And then he holds his hand out for Amycus to shake.

      Amycus eyes Thorfinn's hand warily. He meets his eyes again, and it still amazes Thorfinn to find an ounce of warmth, of friendship in that gaze. He never would've guessed Amycus might really consider him a friend, a brother…but they're not first years anymore. And likely Amycus mulls over the same thoughts, for he next says, "…learning the Dark Arts together with me—that's enough of a promise, Rowle."

      He nearly laughs. If it wouldn't inflate Amycus' ego so much, Thorfinn would point out how much the younger Carrow has inherited his older sister's knack for pushing away those closest to him. But no. Thorfinn shakes his head and holds his hand steady. "It was your idea, Amycus, and I'm happy to oblige."

      Amycus pulls a face, puckered, as though he's eaten something mealy. "You're doing this because of Alec," he corrects.

      "It's because of the both of you. I can't help but get involved with the Carrow siblings, it seems."

      Amycus purses his lips and a little huff escapes him. Yet he seems satisfied enough with that, and he clasps Thorfinn's hand at last and recites nonverbally the spell he looked up at the start of the month.

      Thorfinn's fingers tingle, and he becomes disarmingly aware of the blood flowing through his veins, as well of the blood that drips from his palm and melds with his best mate's. When Amycus lowers his wand, a glowing crimson light pulses bright red and threatens to spill from between their fingers.

      Amycus clears his throat, but he keeps his volume lowered. "R—" He catches himself. "…Thorfinn, with this oath, you promise to join me in returning to Alecto's side and assisting her in whatever new endeavors she's found, no matter what they may be. Do you swear this oath?"

      Any other day, he'd love to write Alecto and point out that Amycus deigned to use his given name. But the magic requires it, so it's nothing much to celebrate. Still, the magic tingles in his hand and reminds him to stay focused, and Thorfinn doesn't hesitate to reply. "I swear this oath, Amycus."

      Such heavy magic—it shouldn't kill them, the way the Unbreakable Vow would, just dictate their actions to a degree, keep them on the right path—and such magic burns with their agreement made. As in, literally burns: Thorfinn grits his teeth as the glowing red light intensifies and turns hot, until it's impossible for the wizards to remain joined. They snap their hands apart, and Amycus even jumps a step back.

      The skinny lad eyes his palm in wonder. "Not even a single trace," he says in amazement, eyeing his bare, unblemished palm.

      Thorfinn does the same. There's no scar, no blood. Not even a drop made it to the cuff of his jumper.

      It's as though they never swore a blood oath at all.

      (But, no, Halloween of 1980 lingers in Thorfinn Rowle's mind as seventh year speeds past them. He briefly wonders about the magic's impact because he drowsed off every time he asked Amycus to explain the finer mechanisms and consequences of it. Consequences big or small, Dark Arts and more, Thorfinn has been prepping himself since the end of sixth year for what lies ahead for him and Amycus…

      …he's been prepping to say goodbye to his parents, as well…

      …but it'll be worth it, Thorfinn knows…he believes…

      He has to believe, because he needs Alecto back in his life, and the Carrow siblings come as a set.)

:') Much as with at last, with you, the longer I worked on this, the more I found clear distinctions in certain places, hence choosing to split this up into a few chapters. It does feel nice to revisit some things from "close to you" and alwy, tho, in a sort of missing-moments way. And now…onward!

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (I mean, kinda nice to see the boys getting along considering past fics, right? *lol*)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 4/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch4: "Now: Flora, accomplice" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Flora Carrow (mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto & Flora/Amycus), with Borgin

Rating: strong T

Words: ~5,970

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch4: There are no more oaths to be sworn, as Flora hatches a plan with Thorfinn's assistance.

      Thorfinn and Flora don't speak for the rest of the night after they swear their blood oath. She finds a small copse of trees with soft bushes for cover, and she makes camp there for the morning and afternoon. Thorfinn dozes, as well, since he's tossed his lot in with hers, and he doesn't want to think of the remaining options he doesn't have waiting for him out in the world beyond here…

      When they break camp, Flora leads the way once more, following some route she has yet to disclose to Thorfinn.

      He's about to pick her brain when she comes to an abrupt stop and crashes into his left side. "Oi! Watch it," he grouses.

      "It wasn't me," Flora snaps.

      "Sure seems as though you tripped over those fancy-heeled boots of yours."

      "I didn't," she states. She takes another step—and again she bowls into him. Flora would've stumbled to the ground if not for Thorfinn reacting on instinct to catch her. "What the hell?!"

      "That's my line." He sets her on her feet…but a slow, knowing smirk draws his lips up. "…Flora, where have you had in mind, us going?"

      Flora glares at him. "Sunderland." She swallows a lump in her throat when he raises his eyebrows, waiting for more. "I've a great-aunt on my mother's side. I thought it'd be a start."

      "Hmm. And that's…?"

      "Southeast from here."

      Thorfinn can't stifle his wolfish grin any longer. "Try taking another step towards Great-Auntie in Sunderland."

      Her glare deepens, but she does so—and this time she doesn't only stumble but turns heel.

      "HA!" He smacks his thigh, delighted to see the blood oath in action for once. With Amycus, their road to Alecto had been a relatively easy one. With Alecto, keeping Amycus safe and alive had been all right given that their trio had kept together for years after the Dark Lord vanished.

      With Flora, the magic is making her keep their promise as intended.

      "Never thought I'd see the day," Thorfinn admits aloud.

      "Explain," Flora demands.

      "It's the blood oath, witch," he points out. "With how we worded it, it wants to keep us on the right path towards our end goal. That means no going to Sunderland."

      Flora scrunches up her nose. "Dammit." She stoops then, brushing her fingers through the dirt until she loosens two large pebbles smooth as can be and stacks them, flattening a blade of grass between them. Flora waves her wand, and the blade wobbles behind them as the Compass Charm points northward. She takes a step, and the blood oath pulls her… "Southwest," she observes.

      "What's southwest?"

      She sighs. "My father's clubhouse, in Carlisle. A vacation home my mother splits with an old school friend, in Liverpool."

      Thorfinn kicks the stacked stones aside and starts marching in the correct direction now. "And anything further than that?"

      Flora pales—she looks sickly like a young Amycus back in their second, third year. "No," she replies. "Nothing."

      (Of course, "nothing" always means "something," especially when dealing with a Carrow.)

      They fly when there's cloud cover—Flora keeps a sturdy Bluebottle in an inner pocket and begrudgingly lets Thorfinn ride behind her since he doesn't have a broom of his own (what's the use when one mostly Apparates?)—and Apparate when short on time and weary of the skies. But the further south they travel, the more westward the oath pulls Flora, until, in the early morning beyond Liverpool, they're nearly yanked from the sky at the border between England and Wales.

      And here Thorfinn thought a blood oath never would kill him.

      Flora shrieks but steers her Bluebottle up out of the nosedive the blood oath would've guided them to had she no presence of mind. The magic pulls them ever downward, so Flora propels them towards the safety of the ground, and the magic's intensity lessens the slightest once they dismount. "For fuck's sake!" she gasps. She stows her broom and gapes at Thorfinn in horror. "Is it supposed to do that?!"

      But he shrugs. "Wouldn't know. I've never defied one of my oaths before."

      Her gape doesn't fade. "Oaths, plural? How many such things have you made, Rowle?!"

      But the Dark wizard shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "Where to next?"

      Flora blinks but takes a step. "If I haven't lost my bearings from that flight…southeast now."

      He nods. "I've never been to Wales, so—after you."

      Flora purses her lips, but they resume their trek. Clouds arrive again, and Flora takes some cajoling before they both get on her broom once more, at a lower altitude now. But the further south they go, the slower they fly.

      "You know what will happen if you fight the blood oath, Flora," Thorfinn reminds her, not covering a huff at the end.

      "I think I know where it's taking us, taking me, though—and I can't go there."

      "That's not how the oath works. Following it is best."

      Once more, Flora lowers them to the ground. But, after they dismount, Flora's shoulders sag, and her hair seems to hang limp with the rest of her. They walk but at a meandering pace. "…I can't do this, Rowle."

      He suppresses a sigh. "Why?"

      "You wouldn't understand."

      Good Merlin, is there some Carrow handbook given at birth? Are they each born with this sense of isolation? But Thorfinn's an old hand at wearing down this type, and he slides his gaze her way. Blue eyes meet charcoal gray for half a beat. "Try me."

      Flora's frown ages her; she nearly fits right in with him and the Carrow siblings in their mid-thirties, with that sad air clinging to her. "I think…the blood oath is drawing me to my childhood home."

      He doesn't presume to know her story, but her words are open to all sorts of interpretations. Thorfinn keeps his eyes aimed straight ahead at the city in the far distance. "Is being a Carrow a cursed thing?" he asks.

      She exhales a low, slow breath. "My parents would have you think so." Another brief glance Thorfinn's way. "Picus, my father—happy financier and proud half-blood. Rhea, my mother—formerly of the Burkes, also a half-blood, and too enamored with the new ways of the world." She hesitates before adding, "My twin sister, Hestia, alike only in looks. Truly nothing but a frightened mouse who would give up her inheritance for another surname." A shadow falls over her features, hardening them. "None of them cares for the old ways, like me. None of them can see the merits of blood supremacy, of casting aside the lesser." Flora grimaces. "Their politics are backwards."

      "…huh."

      "What?"

      Thorfinn chuckles to himself. "Just haven't heard the rhetoric in a while. You would've fit right in, ideologically, with Bellatrix and the rest."

      That doesn't impress Flora much, though her grimace improves to her former frown.

      "Still, though—Carrow?" he presses, one eyebrow quirked.

      Flora rolls her eyes. "I had to explain to Amycus last fall, too. Not from his and Alecto's side, no. There was a split in the bloodline, generations ago. So…it's a distant relation."

      Thorfinn shrugs, leaving it at that. In some way or form, all the old families are related somehow, so Flora and Amycus are well in keeping with tradition.

      At this time of year (or perhaps Wales is just exceptionally lush and not marked by the English summer rain), they are surrounded by all varieties of green, many lively, some speaking of seasons past. A part of Thorfinn almost admires the inadvertent nod to their Hogwarts House, but Flora's nerves ruin the moment.

      "What if I don't go home, just near?" she asks him.

      "Worth a shot."

      Flora nods. She touches his arm, and they Disapparate from the viridian backdrop to just outside the city limits. "Wrexham," she mumbles. "Home sweet home."

      Thorfinn doesn't remark, but he throws up another façade before she enters the mainly Muggle-inhabited municipality. They dodge vehicles and idiots on cycles who think the world is their road, and Flora's footfall turns heavy as they pass a small sign that reads "WELCOME TO ACTON."

      Her route becomes odd and angled, taking this turn and that—it must be the blood oath at work, guaranteeing Flora is where she is meant to be—until she finally slows beyond the street with the church. Her gaze tracks to a brownstone near the end of the lane…

      …but then she turns back to the church, observing some parishioners outside prepping for an event.

      "…of course."

      Thorfinn scoffs at her actions. "'Of course'? What? What, 'of course'? You've stopped even though I'd reckon that's your bloody home right down—"

      But Flora holds up a hand to shush him…and she's able to walk away from the neighborhood. She retraces her steps, a dark smile on her lips and Thorfinn dogging her heels as they exit just as fast as they came. "I was right. I needn't return home, after all."

      He gawks at her.

      She waits to explain until they're out of earshot of any passersby. Then she wheels on him, a manic delight in her eye. "Did you notice the Muggles at the parish? What they were handling?"

      "Fuck no. Why should I have?"

      "They're setting up for some charity event. Mrs. Drummond the postman's wife was holding the cashbox."

      Still, Thorfinn gawks.

      Once again, Flora rolls her eyes, and they leave Acton, Wrexham, Wales behind. "The oath is giving me clues, Rowle. Home to me means bonds I cannot shake, ties I cannot sever—not yet. And the church…" She produces her Bluebottle and mounts the broom, impatient as Thorfinn clambers on behind her. "It's time to head to Gringotts and clear out my vault."

      They fly partway and make use of an old Death Eater safe house in Birmingham (abandoned by Mulciber in the first war but left alone and unknown by the Ministry) to rest before heading to London. Thorfinn reminds her half a dozen times that, given what's just transpired, he can't be anywhere near Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.

      Flora huffs at him with each reminder. "Seems as though this blood oath is only working to your favor," she notes the following afternoon before she leaves to face the goblins.

      Thorfinn nods. "I don't disagree. But, so far, I haven't felt a pull."

      She huffs again at his statement but drops the subject. She leaves for London without another word.

      Honestly, the time alone gives Thorfinn a chance to think. Did he fuck it up, the oath, when he made those two little changes? And, worse, will it jeopardize his chances of seeing both Alecto and Amycus again? He doesn't really believe so, but the mere notion gives him an anxious itch along his neck that Thorfinn begins to scratch absentmindedly.

      The afternoon bleeds away, and Thorfinn dons a fresh façade to venture out and find a quick bite. The hours tick by, and he entertains himself by imagining what Mulciber, Rosier, and Avery might've gotten up to in an old haunt like this back in the day. …night falls, and he seeks supper, and that anxious itch atop his old Azkaban number (one of many indelible marks that will forever be a part of him) increases, worsened by the fact that Flora has yet to return.

      He's willing to chance a prison break with her. But he can't do this on his own.

      Thorfinn debates going out to search for her when the lone door to the two-room house opens, and he descends on her. "And?" is all he can manage at the moment.

      Flora shrinks back from his large presence, but she has color in her cheeks. "I have my gold, no questions asked. My parents never revoked access. And—"

      There's more than gold? He backs down.

      Flora puffs up her chest a little, proud. "Three of my father's connections were visiting the bank today. I waited to make sure I got to 'bump' into each of them."

      Thorfinn scoffs and turns away. "I'm heading to bed."

      "Rowle!" Flora tromps after him. "I worked some charm on them…the non-magical sort. Hearing I'm Picus Carrow's daughter, looking to take after her father's business, they've each offered to gift me a donation to assist in my 'fledgling enterprise.'"

      He sheds his traveling cloak, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow, and drops it onto the ancient mattress left behind in the spare room. "How nice for your enterprise." Then he drops like a log onto the mattress, too.

      But Flora shoves his arm. "You thick bastard—it's part of the plan to free Amycus."

      "And Alecto," he reminds her.

      She hesitates. "…yes, of course. Look, just—give them a few days, and we'll have more money."

      Thorfinn turns his back to her. "Azkaban guards can't be bought off, Flora."

      "No, they can't…but everyone who's a step leading towards Azkaban can."

      On that tantalizing thread, she leaves him hanging, and Thorfinn smirks in his sleep.

      Alecto is a planner, and Amycus chose for himself quite the strategist himself. Alecto ought to be flattered, Thorfinn thinks.

      "I'll see Gannin later today, but Soji and Sameer won't be back in town until tomorrow at the earliest," Flora informs Thorfinn the next morning over their breakfast of pasties and butterbeer nicked from the Leaky Cauldron when Tom the barman was Imperiused.

      Thorfinn finishes his portion of the flaky food and reaches for the rest of hers, ignoring the foul look she shoots him. "Don't care. Been a while since I got to have some fun," he says with the rest of Flora's breakfast in his mouth.

      Flora pulls a face and gets to her feet to get away from him. "Yes, well, catching the barman unawares was best, but making him hit himself can be done another time, Rowle."

      He shrugs. But he finishes eating and licks his lips. "Don't tell me we're going to waste more of yet another day waiting."

      "No. Because Gringotts gave me another idea." She pauses for Thorfinn to stand, and they exit the safe house. After Thorfinn puts up protective enchantments behind them, ensuring the home remains a haven to them, she murmurs, "We need to discern the current status of Azkaban."

      They begin a slow stroll down the street (Thorfinn wearing yet another façade, of course), and Thorfinn mulls her announcement over. "Breakouts happened last time because we had people on the inside, as well as the power of the Dark Lord," he mumbles.

      "I surmised as much."

      "You can't fly there, Flora. No broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition." He shudders as he recalls the few years he spent there. Granted, his four years seem like a brief stint compared to the time Bellatrix or the Lestranges or Dolohov did, but the place is one that's hard to forget.

      (Alecto and Amycus have been captured once before but avoided Azkaban, narrowly. More than a week in that hell is long enough, as far as Thorfinn cares.)

      Just in case Flora needs a dose of reality, he halts her by the shoulder and turns her to face him. Thorfinn tugs on the high collar of his robes, where his façade doesn't cover, and an identifying, numerical tattoo that no spell can hide peeks out.

      Flora tries to maintain her flat expression. But the slight roll of her neck muscles gives her away as she swallows a chunk of anxiety and fear. "…I understand," she says.

      He nods. He believes her. Thorfinn Rowle will happily sacrifice himself and claim sole blame for crimes committed alongside others so Alecto and Amycus can be free. But he can't attempt a prison break halfheartedly or with someone who doesn't care whether his sacrifices are in vain.

      They return to London. Thorfinn won't enter the Ministry with her—they can't risk it, because if any place does have reinforced security measures in place, it's the Ministry of Magic—but he can keep watch by the Tube entrance for Ministry workers. Flora claims she's seen her father use it a few times, for meetings, but Thorfinn doesn't care much for such details.

      Least of all when he spies wanted posters plastering the tunnel walls.

      He walks by them half a dozen times so as not to be too conspicuous, but Thorfinn stops to scan them when the crowds thin. He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find his, considering these appear to be current or updated, in some capacity. On some, in lieu of "WANTED," the word spins and transforms into "CAPTURED."

      RABASTAN LESTRANGE—WANTED.

      RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE—CAPTURED.

      ADRALIAN NOTT—CAPTURED.

      PYRRHUS JUGSON—CAPTURED.

      AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD—CAPTURED.

      WALDEN MACNAIR—WANTED.

      AMYCUS CARROW—CAPTURED.

      ALECTO CARROW—CAPTURED.

      Thorfinn doesn't even ponder that an absence of a poster implies the Ministry knows or assumes death. His eyes are too busy tracing the letters of the last one he reads, and his chest aches.

      He never wanted Alecto to know Azkaban, but he also never wanted her to be caged once more. Perhaps she would've broken free of Petronelle entirely on her own, eventually…but she'd only done it, in the end, with his and Amycus' help.

      Now, will Thorfinn and Flora be enough?

      A shadow moves, skitters behind him, and Thorfinn's muscles seize. Without thinking, he whirls and casts the Killing Curse—

      Thankfully, England's Underground is merely one rat less.

      Thorfinn eyes his surroundings. With a quick Anti-Muggle Charm and Haze Hex cast, he works off some of his tension, hunting down more rats. Only, this time, he isn't so merciful and quick to give them death.

      He sees Flora coming down the staircase just as the scent of singed fur gets to him. Thorfinn finishes his fun and dispels the magic concealing him from witnesses, and he's momentarily impressed when Flora flicks her eyes to the carcasses on the concrete floor and nods her head in approval. "All set?" he prompts.

      "Yes, but I'll inform you on the way." And she doesn't wait for him to fall into step as they head outside for fresh air and to lose themselves in a larger crowd.

      They're in Muggle London proper and heading for the dodgy end when Thorfinn leans in close. "And?" he hisses in undertones.

      "They're working to replace the Dementors," she confides.

      He pauses, eyes wide. "All of them?"

      Flora clenches her jaw. "With Aurors," she spits. "But they don't have the numbers to do a complete replacement—yet. That's why we've got to strike as soon as we can."

      "I told you, no broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition—"

      "Then how do you think anyone ever gets there?" she snaps at him.

      He opens his mouth, but no answer comes. In all honesty, he…can't recall. Is that Azkaban's toll on him, or is that one of the prison's safety measures?

      Buildings crowd in on each other and streets turn dark where sunlight can't reach them as Flora picks her way through alleys as though she follows a mental map she seems too young and sheltered to know. But, by late afternoon, she and Thorfinn arrive at a narrow, cozy, two-story home with a shabby face and items strewn on the side lawns. Flora marches up the walkway and knocks on the front door.

      Someone inside curses and jiggers the handle before it opens. A familiar greasy face with wild but now fully white hair reveals itself as Borgin grins at them, though two teeth he's replaced with gold, Thorfinn notes. "…why, hullo."

      "Mr. Borgin—"

      Borgin holds up a hand. "Miss, I don't know who you are, and clearly you know me and where I reside. But I imagine you haven't heard. My shop, same as all of Knockturn Alley, is closed."

      Flora squares her shoulders. "Borgin and Burkes might be closed, but your business isn't."

      For a frigid few seconds, Borgin and Flora face off. His smile doesn't fade, but a vein in his jaw twitches, and his eyes shift to Thorfinn looming behind her. Finally, Borgin caves and waves them inside. "Perhaps we have things to discuss."

      The pair enters but can't go very far. Borgin's home is a messier echo of the old shop, as though he had junk in here that never made it to store shelves and then emptied the shop on top of it afterwards. There's a mild, metallic scent in the air, with hints of mildew the likes of which one expects with antiques. A chandelier that Thorfinn recognizes from the store swings gently, dangerously above them in the foyer.

      Borgin drops his smile after he closes the door behind him. "We very much have things to discuss," he decides with another look to Thorfinn.

      Flora follows his gaze and gasps.

      Thorfinn turns and catches sight of his own true reflection in a grimy mirror over Borgin's shoulder. "Borgin—"

      "Relax, Mr. Rowle," Borgin assures him in a businessman's casual drawl. "I need to have my own spells in place. Too many valuables lying around, you see. But have I ever turned away your compatriots before? Mr. Malfoy was one of my favorite clients, you know."

      Thorfinn grits his teeth. He's never cared much for Lucius Malfoy, but Borgin has a point.

      Borgin turns to Flora once more. "And you, my dear? Your fair face hasn't changed. You know so much of me, but I know so little of you."

      "My mother was a Burke, Mr. Borgin."

      He sniffs, unimpressed. "And?"

      "And I know of the troubles my ancestor, Caractacus Burke, went through in order to keep the shop open through its early highs and lows. How he paid…an arm and a leg to keep it going. And the part the original Borgin, your father, had in that."

      Whatever implications her words hold, Borgin understands them. His face falls, his eyes widen, and he flinches when he glances to Thorfinn, suddenly aware that it is two against one. "I am an innocent man," he declares.

      His guests say nothing.

      "The Ministry has never been able to prove my assistance to those who called themselves Death Eaters. They won't, even now. I can avoid Azkaban so long as the store stays closed."

      Flora's smirk is soft, almost patronizing. "Is that really going to stop you from dealing in hard-to-come-by goods, Borgin?"

      The frail man falters. But he turns from them and heads for his tiny kitchen, where they follow him as Borgin makes himself a pot of tea. "And what, Miss Burke, do you need from me?"

      Flora doesn't correct him on her name. She draws her fingers through the dust on the untouched chair at his small table. "Azkaban uniforms, for the human guards. I need you to procure two for me."

      He snorts as Thorfinn begins to catch on to Flora's plan. "That's a ridiculous request. Those things are highly guarded, just as the prisoners. Plus, Dementors have run the place for so long—anything for human guards would be terribly out-of-date, my dear."

      "It doesn't matter. I still need a pair."

      Borgin frowns. "What makes you think I can get them?"

      Flora shrugs. "Our kinds of people make connections that are hard to forget."

      In the ensuing silence, the kettle bubbles and whistles. Borgin indulges himself and loads up a cup with sugar over which he pours his tea. When he faces Flora and Thorfinn, any trace of interest or amusement is gone from his features. "One thousand Galleons."

      "That's absurd." Flora's cheeks flush with color.

      "That's my price. I told you, the shop's closed. Keep talking, and it'll be a thousand apiece."

      She blanches. "That'll—That'll wipe me out, Mr. Borgin."

      "That's not my concern."

      Flora thinks for one, two, three, four heartbeats. Then she glumly nods. "Have them by tomorrow, and it's a deal."

      "Tomorrow?!" Tea spills from Borgin's lips. "That's—"

      "Doable, for you. Have them by tomorrow, or else." She settles him with a cold stare and half turns towards Thorfinn, a reminder that if Borgin doubts her skills, she's got a hardened criminal by her side.

      They leave without Borgin seeing them to the door. Thorfinn pauses to redo his façade out on Borgin's stoop, and then he and Flora part, her to meet with Gannin and collect a now very necessary monetary donation, him back to the safe house. He turns in early after picking through scavenged food leftover from the day before, and Thorfinn wills himself not to dwell on the worry Flora has over running out of funds, just as he doesn't stew on the fact that he can't piece together the whole picture of her jailbreak scheme, not yet…

      Late midday, later than they would prefer because Soji met with Flora on time on this second Thursday after the war's conclusion (the second Thursday Alecto and Amycus have spent behind bars) but Sameer ran late and then tried to coax a drink out of Flora in the same breath, Thorfinn and Flora Apparate within a stone's throw of Borgin's home.

      "I still think this Sameer prick you mentioned would've done with a nice Boils Jinx," Thorfinn mentions as they round Borgin's block.

      "And mayhap I would've indulged the idea if he'd laid a hand on me, but he didn't, I have his money, and we're pushing our luck, Rowle." Still, it's the second time she's rubbed a nervous hand along her upper right arm since coming from the goblin bank.

      Thorfinn drops the subject. They do have priorities, but he wonders if Amycus might've intervened if he'd been present, least of all since Flora's involving herself with all these others for Amycus' sake.

      Borgin's at his door before Flora even knocks. "I see you're still interested."

      "If you hoped to renege on our deal, then I'll be the bearer of bad news," Flora informs him once the door is shut behind them. She opens the left side of her cloak, and withdraws a heavy sack for its size. "One thousand Galleons, as agreed upon," she states with a frown.

      Borgin all but snatches it from her hands. He disappears into a sitting room behind him; the tinkling clatter indicates he counts his haul. Several minutes later, Borgin returns to the foyer with a small stack of folded blue–gray cloth, which he passes to Flora. "Uniforms, as agreed upon."

      Flora passes them to Thorfinn and unfolds the top one to inspect—and glowers at the shopkeeper. "These aren't uniforms! They're nothing but capes!"

      "They are old uniform cloaks, Miss Burke. I told you, anything I could procure would be out-of-date, and I never swore I could obtain a whole uniform."

      Thorfinn shoves the second cloak into Flora's arms and brandishes his wand. "You might've helped before, but this is low even for you, Borgin—"

      Borgin holds up his hands in defense. "Please!" His eyes flicker to Flora. "Miss Burke, these will still be fine. What you seek is stitched into the collars, after all."

      Thorfinn creeps near the old man and presses his wand's tip into the sagging flesh of his throat, but he waits while Flora checks the items again.

      "Rowle, wait." She sighs and locks eyes with Borgin. "And these are active?"

      "Two-way," Borgin replies. "When you're not on the island, the cloak transports you to Azkaban directly. When there, it takes you to the Ministry, so I'd be careful of touching it a second time."

      She nods. "Our deal is done."

      Borgin only exhales once Thorfinn backs off. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but—Miss Burke—I'd rather not see you again. You understand, of course, given current events."

      Flora and Thorfinn delay their exit. "One more thing, Mr. Borgin."

      "Hmm?"

      "Ferro—is he still in the breeding business?"

      Yet another mystery part of the plan that Thorfinn doesn't comprehend, but Borgin does, because his eyes light up and his greasy smile returns. "Yes, Miss Burke, indeed he is."

      Flora nods. Just before Thorfinn pulls the door closed after them, with Borgin's guard down, she flicks her wand, and a dreamy expression comes over the old wizard's features. "Can't have him remembering every last thing from our meetings," she tells Thorfinn.

      He swallows a lump, hit with the memory of his and Dolohov's failure and subsequent Obliviation at the hands of Potter's Mudblood friend last year at Tottenham Court Road. "Who's Ferro?" he asks as Flora stows their goods in her magicked purse.

      "Our next target," she answers, and she holds out her hand.

      Thorfinn frowns and offers his elbow instead. They Disapparate a second later.

      The salty, putrid smell hits them first, and Thorfinn gags on it. He pulls away from Flora until she snatches his elbow again and drags him behind an oversized shed.

      "Flora, what the fuck."

      "It's the Fens—what do you expect from marshes?"

      Thorfinn scowls at her and gestures to the shed. "Then why?"

      "Because no one comes looking for dragons in a humid climate."

      The color drains from his face. "I'm not riding a dragon," he states. Unforgivables? Blood oaths? Any hour of any day. Dragons that would roast and eat him alive at their whim? He'd rather walk into his jail cell now.

      Flora huffs and brushes a lock of dark hair out of her face. "We won't be, Rowle. Ferro's an old family friend—"

      "Sweet Salazar, just what sort of connections does your family have?"

      "—and he keeps pet dragons. My parents never thought my sister and I overheard them discussing whether my father should keep the friendship, so I know Ferro used to breed them and sometimes deal in them. Word has it," she adds with a knowing look Thorfinn's way, "that Ferro even knew a certain groundskeeper once upon a time."

      Thorfinn snorts at the mention of the half-giant imbecile. "Really now?"

      "Rumors. Funny little things. Sometimes there's an ounce of truth in them."

      He mulls that over. Rumors about Alecto and Amycus have run the gamut over the course of their lives, but rarely has the truth ever really reared its head in them. Thorfinn sets aside the thought, however. "And the guards' cloaks—do I finally get to know or am I going to have to guess this, too?"

      Flora frowns at him. "Amycus was right: Sometimes you're as thick as you look."

      He ignores the jibe. "Flora."

      "I told you before to think about how anyone would get to a prison in the middle of the North Sea before, if all the usual means are unavailable."

      Thorfinn furrows his brow.

      Finally, she caves. "Portkeys, Rowle. Portkeys." She points to her collar. "There's an item sewn into the collar of the cloaks that takes them to and from work. Granted, the cloaks are so old since the Ministry ramped up use of Dementors the last several years, but that's likely why these fell to the wayside."

      "Then why does your plan involve a dragon-loving gent?"

      "Because our zapping into Azkaban alone would be too risky. We need a distraction and to keep our wands, as well." Flora stands. "That's what all the money is for. People succumb to that more easily than to magic, you know. If I can convince Ferro to attempt such a feat, to take his pets out for a bit to stretch their wings to the east…"

      Thorfinn's confusion doesn't fade.

      She sighs. "Azkaban's magic leaves it Unplottable. It can't be seen by Muggles. But its bevy of enchantments is meant to mess with Wizardkind, too. That magic and the Dementors left behind and everything that island has seen—dragons are highly sensitive to magic. I'm counting on them to react and react badly to it, if they near it."

      He supposes the plan's not bad, except… Thorfinn squints and follows Flora with his eyes at first when she heads for the cottage beside the Glamoured barn that shimmers slightly as it begins to drizzle.

      Half an hour later, Flora returns with a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Settled. Ferro hopefully will fly out tomorrow—Rowle, what?!"

      "There's 'counting' on things and then there's truly taking action," he instructs her, marching up to this bloke's door with Flora at his heels.

      There are dastardly things Flora does, and he's been impressed so far. But Thorfinn Rowle does not have his Dark Mark for nothing.

      He pounds his fist on the door, and Ferro—a man who fits in well here, could be camouflaged with skin and hair so close to the marsh's hues—cowers when he opens the door. Thorfinn slices his wand through the space between them and holds it in front of Ferro's face. Ferro's dull eyes glaze over under control of the Imperius Curse.

      "When it matters," Thorfinn says to Flora, "never leave anything to chance." (Ah, Alecto would like that one.)

      (But Flora doesn't, and she gives him the silent treatment for the rest of the evening while they wait for their new puppet to get his dragons in order.)

      Sometime when Thursday blends into Friday and still they wait for Ferro to get a move on, Thorfinn contemplates his silent partner. They've spent the whole night in Ferro's oversized toolshed to keep out of the rain, and Flora's not said a word to Thorfinn, nor shared a bite of food. His stomach grumbles, but he's got other matters at the forefront of his mind.

      "Did it actually bother you that I put him under my control?"

      In the pale, early morning light, he can make out the way Flora picks at a thread on her robes at the knee. "…some."

      "Didn't know you were soft," he grouses.

      "What if the spell wears off, the closer Ferro gets to Azkaban? He could redirect the dragons at the last second."

      Thorfinn sighs. "It's a risk we'll have to take."

      Flora quiets again.

      With one question answered, Thorfinn chances the other one, the larger one concerning the topic that's not sat right with him since the start of forming this uneasy alliance with Flora Carrow. "You know I want to rescue both of them. But you seem…hesitant, to rescue Alecto." The question is implied.

      The shed's silence feels like an unwelcome third occupant. Eventually, Flora's tiny exhales shoo it away. "It's not that I don't want to."

      Thorfinn stares at her. "Could've fooled me." He's lost count of all the times she's turned cold at the mention of Amycus' dear sister—perhaps it's a competitive thing?

      Flora pushes her hand through her hair. "I want to get the chance to know Alecto, precisely because she's important to Amycus. I'm fond of her, vicariously. Honest!" she insists when she catches Thorfinn's quirked eyebrow. "But…it's too lofty a goal, Rowle. Rescuing both at once." Her hands cover her face, and she pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes. Her voice cracks wetly as she continues, "I can't bear the thought of failing Amycus if I couldn't…"

      …he gets it now. The fear of biting off more than she can chew. Flora's coldness stems from a lack of confidence.

      They might be distantly related, but Flora's got another Carrow family trait Alecto and Amycus possess.

      "Alecto and Amycus are alike in that they hate those who don't try," Thorfinn softly states. He doesn't point out how they're too hard on themselves when it comes to demanding the best, but he suspects Flora has a clue if she at least knows Amycus well enough. "Besides," he reminds her, "it's not just your blood but mine the oath will keep in line, Flora. You won't be alone in this endeavor."

      Reluctantly, she meets his eyes. Also reluctantly, she nods. And then she spends the rest of their time waiting by adding some extra charms to the guard cloaks, just in case.

Here, we see the blood oath in action…is it done yet? You'll just have to read on to find out. ;) My Compass Charm first appeared in my drabble, "S.O.S.O.S." Borgin's appearance was fun, as was expanding on Flora's heritage since that ended up coming in handy when meeting with Borgin, tho other names mentioned are OCs. (Srsly, the plot bunnies have mated exponentially with this story, *lol*.) What else… Well, even tho it wasn't graphic, still glad a scene where animals are hurt purposefully makes me :S bc yeah. Makes sense for Rowle to do, in-character, but it doesn't mean it's comfy for me to write as an author/reader. I also gave some first names to Nott and Jugson, altho I laugh at Nott's bc technically I've used that elsewhere in my canon (Maydayverse) fics, but I just rly like the name "Adralian." XD Perhaps it was once a popular name amongst the pureblood families or Wizarding families in general at one point?? Idk.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (Time to see Thorfinn and Flora's plans in action…!)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

written in your blood (part 3/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch3: "Now: Flora, ally" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Flora Carrow (mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto & Flora/Amycus)

Rating: T

Words: ~3,490

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, violence (minor), Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch3: Thorfinn swears his third oath to Flora, because the second war has ended and not in their favor, but she's his best hope if he wants to see the Carrow siblings again.

      …more than fifteen years later, so close to twenty, Thorfinn Rowle awakes with memories of his younger self, of starting out as a Death Eater, of past promises in blood, and he wonders where he went wrong.

      Actually, that's his second thought. His first thought is one of awe as he marvels how in the hell he's still alive after the battle.

      Thorfinn wakes to dull noise from under the rubble of some part of Hogwarts Castle. He struggles to move and shimmies cautiously out from under a blanket of debris. He daren't hustle—who knows what characters lie in wait for him on the other side of his stone prison.

      Five minutes pass, and he gets his left foot free. Another two minutes, and his whole leg emerges, followed by his hip. There's enough space by his torso and head to allow air to flow, so no wonder he's kept breathing this entire time, but still…! So much rubble. And he hadn't been crushed?

      Thorfinn gets two–thirds of the way free before he senses someone approaching. He stills for a heartbeat and then grapples for his wand in a panic, finding the bit of wood wedged uncomfortably under his right armpit. He doesn't want to imagine the war is over, that they've lost, that something terrible has happened to the Carrows, but he knows he's not going out without one more fight—

      A dim light blinds him since he's not expecting it in the late dusk. "Sweet Salazar. You're alive."

      Thorfinn swallows the offensive spell on his tongue and waits for the wand in his eyes to be lowered.

      It isn't, but at least the person—witch, he presumes by the lilt in her voice—Levitates the rest of the debris off him.

      He hesitates to get to his feet, first sitting up and catching the witch's eye. "Do you have any idea who you've just helped?" It's not exactly an empty threat. Thorfinn's glad to be free, but he'll gladly turn on her just the same.

      The witch holds her wand higher so he can see her better. She's a pale, slip of a thing, maybe half a head or so taller than Alecto, with straight, brown locks that stop above her shoulders and sharp eyebrows above eyes darker than the Carrows'. Her tailored robes are dirty and lightly torn from the battle, but they don't speak of time spent with the Death Eaters…or, rather, within their ranks, Thorfinn thinks as a more recent memory of her with one Death Eater in particular floats to the surface.

      "Hold on. I've seen you around the castle." He grunts as he stands. Thorfinn snickers when he eyes her up and down. "Never got to speak with you, although I bet Amycus preferred it that way. But Alecto mentioned you, as did others. You're Amycus'…what were they calling you? Ah. His 'dark flower.'"

      The moniker must come as news to her, for the young thing's face flushes with healthy color, making Thorfinn snicker again. "My name," she insists, her words clipped, "is Flora Carrow."

      His amusement dies down to confusion. "…Amycus would've told Alecto if he married, that I'd stake my life on."

      She turns away and begins to pick her way through the rubble, leaving Thorfinn to clamber behind her. "We're not married," she grumbles.

      Thorfinn cringes. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Alecto and Amycus have had a couple decades dealing with stupid incestuous jokes, but just what is Amycus thinking…? Of course, that's if this Flora wench is telling the truth, but Thorfinn sets those thoughts aside for another day. "Well, Flora Carrow, you never did answer me. Do you know who you've helped?"

      "Judging by your size and the thinning blond hair, you're Thorfinn Rowle," she says nonchalantly.

      His hand flies up to his scalp and he growls. "It's not thinning!"

      She shrugs. "Amycus' words, not mine."

      He pouts at her back. Unfortunately, he really can imagine Amycus rattling off such a description of him to another person… But Thorfinn doesn't want to dwell on that, so he focuses on the path she cuts for them. "Where are we, anyway? Still Hogwarts, I see." At least a few parapets stand in slightly discernable silhouette against the darkening sky.

      "The steps down to the boatshed. I thought I'd escape this way, but…" She pauses, and Thorfinn can all but hear her frown. Flora shakes her head. "Watch your step, Rowle. It's mostly stone, but there's so much busted armor mixed in. I nearly impaled myself, looking for exits."

      "Then why retrace your steps?"

      "Because the boats weren't my means to escape, and the boatshed ended up decimated by flying debris, more so than I thought, so it's no place to hide." Flora points her dimly lit wand up and behind the entrance courtyard. "We might be able to sneak away through the main entrance shortly."

      Thorfinn squints at the back of her head and snags Flora's upper arm. "Come again?"

      She struggles, but her arm is like a twig in his unyielding grasp. She scowls at him. "The teachers are still exhausted from the battle. It's been barely half a day since it concluded, Rowle. Not all the enchantments are back up."

      Oh. That…actually is not bad. He releases her, and they carry on.

      Part of the short wall leading to the stone steps for the boatshed is intact, so they spy from there whether there's much of a detail around the castle entrance. Turns out there's not. Either Flora's summation about Potter's side being exhausted is dead-on, or the other side is so full of themselves that they don't feel the need to hurry with protective spells just yet. Either way, things are in Thorfinn and Flora's favor.

      Thorfinn eyes Flora again. She's not too short, around average height, but he likely could hide her in his shadow if need be. He moves her behind him before he attempts to lead the way—but pain shoots down his right side, now that they're on even ground and moving faster. He bites down a gasp. "Fu—!"

      "Just get behind me and we'll get out of here in no time," Flora insists.

      "Don't order me around, you damn witch…!" Still, Thorfinn grits his teeth. Why now?! Even doing it slowly, climbing over all that rock should've hurt more than moving along packed earth…! He slides his bleary blue eyes Flora's way. Unless…

      But Flora's wand is still alight, and he has no idea whether she knows the Unforgivables. For what it's worth, though, she gives him a sympathetic frown. "Look—any pain, I can help. I know some Healing. When we're safely away, I can Heal you."

      Thorfinn purses his lips, but he nods. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

      She might not be the Carrow he wants, but she's Carrow-adjacent, and he's short on allies, so Flora will have to do for now.

      "That was too close a call," he mutters when they settle into the shack Flora chooses after Apparating.

      "You're a chickenshit," Flora retorts, conjuring candles and setting them around the empty hovel. She lights them with Bluebell flames and turns back to Rowle, who stretches out on the filthy floor with his back against a wall. "No one was going to catch us."

      "That Weasley nearly did…!" Thorfinn huffs, already tired of this argument. He can't even remember all their names, but this one was Potter's best mate, he's certain. He did a double-take as Thorfinn and Flora rounded the main gates and vanished around the remains of one of the hog statues.

      "Trust me, Ron Weasley is not the fastest broom on the field—he won't know what he saw," Flora insists. She kneels by his right side and pokes and prods him, gathering information about his injuries.

      Thorfinn takes the chance to evaluate her. "You talk as though you know him and Potter's crew personally."

      Flora exhales. "Not quite. I know of them."

      "Same year?"

      "Merlin, no. Slug Club."

      Thorfinn blinks. He honestly thought that was a myth. Not to mention Horace Slughorn is still around, without Flamel's alchemy… "Slug Club," he echoes.

      Flora spares him the briefest glance. "I'm nineteen, since you're so clearly curious. I was in the year above them. Slughorn only brought my sister and me in because of my father's business." But, just as suddenly as she's coughed up personal details, her hands stop, and Flora rolls back on her haunches, putting space between them, realizing what she's spilled.

      Oh, for crying out… If he had a Sickle for every time he recognized someone with the surname Carrow who was afraid of opening up, he'd have the largest vault at Gringotts. "I'm curious," Thorfinn admits, "but I'm not judging you on Slughorn's interest or your parents' history, if that matters. I don't even know your parents." The last part he adds on, partly in the hope she might sate that bit of curiosity.

      Alas, Flora doesn't…that night. Flora seals her mouth shut about herself tighter than a Sealed doorway, and she focuses the next few days on Healing the broken bones and bruises and cuts Thorfinn sustained in battle. She also ventures out for food, procuring some meager items for them to eat but always plenty of water to drink, so Thorfinn can't complain. Much.

      What he can do is bellyache about the fuzzy details that start to come into focus from the start of the month. "This war shouldn't've ended the way it did," he bemoans for the umpteenth time as he peers between broken shades on a window in the main room. He grimaces at the thought and as a lance of pain reminds him that Flora's got one more rib to Heal, tomorrow, once she's gathered her strength. She's not shabby with this Healing thing, but she's obviously not used to the work.

      "The war's not really over," Flora says as per usual.

      He rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't know. Last time, we scattered like dust, thinking the Dark Lord was gone. This time he is—you said you eavesdropped. You overheard Potter's side discussing—" Thorfinn stops there. He doesn't want to say or even think the words "the Dark Lord's death," because it'll make it too real this time. Thorfinn redirects his attention outside through the shades. "…this time feels different," he finally settles on.

      Flora doesn't get up from the spot she cleared on the floor for herself. She's been taking inventory of the things in her cloak's Expanded pockets, as she does each day; it's something akin to meditation for her, Thorfinn surmises. "The war's only over when every follower is dead or gives up the cause," she insists.

      Her words pierce him and cause him the tiniest bit of shame, which makes him scowl. He hasn't declared he's giving up…yet. So he returns to reminiscing about the start of May, though he releases the shades and leans against the sill. He sighs, softly. "Things might've been different, you know. If Alecto and Amycus had gotten to fight."

      The morsel snatches Flora's attention. "What do you mean, if they'd gotten to fight?"

      "You weren't at the castle when things started?"

      Flora rolls her jaw while she debates what to cough up. Her stiff shoulders drop while she worries the strap of her purse in her hands. "…no. I'd been living in Hogsmeade, so I came when the Caterwauling Charm went off." Her volume drops. "I searched for Amycus as the battle started."

      Thorfinn frowns. "It was too late by then, Flora. The other side caught him and Alecto first thing. I got word they were tied up in Ravenclaw Tower, but fighting my way to them was easier said than done."

      "Oh."

      They've had bouts of silence between them the last few days, but this one hangs heavy. Thorfinn's mind keeps straying to Azkaban, wondering if Alecto and Amycus can handle it.

      Judging by the shadows beneath Flora's eyes, no doubt her thoughts stray there, too.

      Still, nearly a full week passes since the end of the second war. Thorfinn stretches his limbs and tests Flora's handiwork, but everything seems to be in working order. So, with her Healing done, he questions why the hell they linger in this shack. He questions a lot, actually. "You claim to be a Carrow, and you've aided me, yes, but I know next to nothing about you. And yet you're keeping me around—why?" Thorfinn prods on a warm, rainy Saturday afternoon.

      Perhaps Flora has tired of this abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere, too. She prowls the perimeter of the main room, a slow pace back and forth, never nearing him too much. And the hardened, determined glint in her dark, gray eyes puts him in mind of the Death Eaters with whom he used to murder and maim. "You're an ally," she states.

      Thorfinn dwells on it and shakes his head. "Try again."

      "Fine. You're a tool."

      He snarls at her. He's no Greyback, but Thorfinn's pleased to see that hard part of Flora flinch in response, in the slightest. Thorfinn's been called worse, but still. "I'm a means to an end," he corrects.

      Flora nods.

      He crosses his arms in front of his chest. It doesn't hurt anymore, now that he's recuperated. And drawing to his full height, filling the space with as much of his boxy build as possible, has its uses. "You're only creating more questions, witch."

      She frowns, and she falters in the motion. "I want to free Amycus."

      Thorfinn loves the idea—but it's a pipe dream. "The breakout from Azkaban two years ago was one thing, orchestrated by many of the Dark Lord's followers in tandem. The same goes for last summer. You've a silly wish. I've begun to wonder if I mistook you for someone else, because surely even Amycus has his fans."

      The comment hits where it hurts most. Flora's eyes flash like steel.

      He should've been more prepared, just as he always wishes to have the final word when someone (usually Dolohov) gets their digs in on him. But then Thorfinn crumples on the floor in the next instant, convulsing, his muscles spasming as invisible stings and shocks cascade over him, wave after wave. He gasps, barely. He can't speak and hardly thinks.

      "I am no fan," Flora corrects, her heels thudding on the wooden floor as she looms over Thorfinn's puddled mass. "But I've had one of the best teachers for proficiency in the Cruciatus Curse."

      He doesn't doubt that. What those who've never had the curse performed on them don't know is that the spell carries with it a little flavor of each spellcaster and their source material. So the shocks are new to Thorfinn, but the stings are a familiar echo of the time spent practicing the spell with Amycus during their late boyhood. (Amycus once remarked that Thorfinn's version of the spell was laden with bone-crushing gravity.)

      Flora holds the curse for another minute and backs off just as Thorfinn's eyes begin to roll back into his head. She dares tuck her wand up her right sleeve; she's not frightened in the least of retribution. "I want to free Amycus," she repeats, as if what transpired was but a brief interruption.

      Thorfinn comes to his senses and regains control of his tongue. "I want both Alecto and Amycus free and safe and sound," he declares.

      Flora nods. "Then our wishes align. And they are not silly."

      This time, Thorfinn keeps his mouth shut.

      Thorfinn and Flora leave the abandoned shack late at night, and he doesn't protest as she Disapparates with him to another unfamiliar place. He dislikes that it's closer to a Muggle village this time, with nothing ramshackle or abandoned in sight, but at least they're just passing by it (nevertheless, he conjures a façade for himself, just in case there are Wanted posters of any sort down here in this southern part of Scotland).

      Flora is quiet as she leads the way. She reminds him of Alecto in this manner, but he doesn't persist in looking for comparisons. Flora has mentioned Amycus and Amycus only. Alecto has rarely parted with Amycus; if there's a solid chance to save them both, Alecto will take it, Thorfinn's sure.

      The longer he lingers on these ideas, though, the more he realizes Flora's gotten a bargain, having Thorfinn helping her, and he potentially stands to gain nothing.

      How the hell is he supposed to turn the tables to his own advantage?

      The duo leaves the village behind them and continues on foot for a bit longer. Thorfinn's mind strays to the time when he, Alecto, and Amycus kept hidden after the first war before Thorfinn himself got captured, sometimes skirting hamlets like this, and briefly wheedling a favor from the siblings' father, Akillios, in one of his drunken stupors, so they had a small off-the-beaten-path property to use for a while. Ah, Alecto, Amycus…

      …ah, of course.

      It comes to Thorfinn in the wee hours, when they travel by starlight and are accompanied by the sounds of small creatures and insects still awake. He clears his throat. "Flora."

      "Hmm?" She doesn't glance back at him.

      Thorfinn walks beside her, then, and stares down at her. "I can help you rescue him."

      Flora peeks up at him, but that sparkle in her eye isn't the reflection of a star. "So you've come around to my insane idea?"

      He can hear the excitement in her tone, no matter how well she attempts to quash it. "Enough so that I'm willing to make you a blood oath," Thorfinn says.

      Her eyes are round, but her brow pinches. Aha! She isn't familiar with the magic. "A…blood oath."

      "I imagine you've debated trusting me much as I've debated trusting you these last several days."

      She frowns.

      "But a blood oath is as good as a promise. Better, really."

      Flora drops her gaze to the sparse grass of the well-trod local path they walk. "Like—an Unbreakable Vow?"

      He shakes his head. "No. Nothing quite so grim. No death involved."

      Flora comes to a halt. "Tell me what I have to do."

      Thorfinn smothers his smirk. Finally, something breaks his way. "Well, I know the spell, and we'll need a stone taken from flowing water. But you speak my given name, outline the oath's conditions, and ask if I swear the oath. Then I accept."

      Her rigid posture relaxes. "That doesn't sound so bad. I'm a little surprised I never heard of it in school, although the term certainly it off-putting."

      Thorfinn shrugs. "Anything with 'blood' or 'dark' typically is in that blasted place." He sets the pace now, pricking up his ears for animal noises. They grow larger off to the pair's right, so there must be water not far from here.

      Flora's silence is easier to handle this time, possibly because Thorfinn is busy planning his duplicity, and she assists him in searching for a worthy, flat stone. Thorfinn finds one in the end, but Flora curiously watches while he preps their ceremonial tool. At the same time, he informs her of the literal blood exchange coming next. Flora doesn't even bat an eyelash.

      "You are quite the unexpected one, Flora Carrow," he remarks when everything is set.

      Flora actually preens, taking it as a compliment. Then she holds out her left hand.

      Thorfinn considers his left palm. He prefers it this way, too; he carries Alecto and Amycus in his right, so this new oath with Flora ought to be made with his left. The incisions are short and sharp, just below their thumbs. With their hands clasped, Thorfinn points his wand at their unity and mumbles, "Veritate Sanguinem."

      The familiar crimson light burns bright in the dead of night and becomes almost too hard to behold as it pulses and brightens. Flora's panic flashes across her features.

      But Thorfinn nods her on.

      She visibly swallows. "Thorfinn, with this oath, you promise to risk your neck and to do everything possible to get Amycus—"

      "—and Alecto," he interjects. He doesn't know if the magic will accept his interruption or if Flora will add it, but he has to try. He has to make this old magic work for him.

      Her grip on his hand tightens. Oh, she's mad…! "—out of Azkaban. Do you swear this oath?"

      "I swear our oath, Flora." One final change, just in case the magic doubts the inclusion of his clause as well as hers.

      The magic burns bright and hot, sealing over the fresh wounds. Flora releases his hand, and she scowls at him.

      But Thorfinn doesn't think twice about it, really, because he knows you can't have one without the other—the Carrow siblings come as a set, and Alecto and Amycus truly wouldn't have it any other way.

And now we see the blood oath in its entirety, incantation included! The spell, Veritate Sanguinem, is just the Latin literally for "truth blood" (using online dictionaries, *lol*); you'll see why soon enough… And some hcs I developed for the Cruciatus Curse—that was an unexpected nod to at last, with you, truth be told. But if you want the full backstory for Floramycus, then I encourage you to read "bad blood," btw.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (You know you're curious to see how the oath will behave~)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

at last, with you (part 2/4)

The conclusion to the Carrows' tale with Rowle—a sequel to this and set partly concurrently with this.

Act II, part I: "Hogwarts, pre-Rowle" [FFN] [AO3] | ←   →

Pairings/Characters: Alecto & Amycus Carrow, with OCs & cameos from Madam Malkin & Scabior

Rating: light T

Words: ~6,780

Additional info: gen fic, family, angst, hurt/comfort, violence (non-graphic), Dark magic (implied), Marauder era, 3rd person POV

Summary: While incapacitated, Alecto rethinks her life—childhood, school life, adulthood—and wonders if there's still time for a tweak or two. Ch2: Hogwarts, a haven, awaits the Carrow siblings. So do lessons the professors do not teach.

Act II, part I: Hogwarts, pre-Rowle

       Either Akillios has some fight left in him or Petronelle cares too much for appearances. Alecto's Hogwarts letter comes, and there is no fight. Alecto will be going to Hogwarts, it turns out.

      Petronelle is resigned to taking Alecto to Diagon Alley—after all, the girl must have a wand before she starts school—but something cold flashes in her light brown eyes when Amycus glues himself to Alecto's side as though he'll join them for the shopping trip. "Go back upstairs," she says coolly to the boy.

      Amycus cowers and shakes, so it looks as though he shakes his head, but his only defiance is staying put beside Alecto.

      Petronelle's jaw clenches next. "It's a witches-only shopping trip. Are you a witch?" she says with a poor imitation of a smile.

      Yet Amycus remains.

      This time, she inhales, and Alecto fears a quick torture session before they head out (how unusual for Petronelle to begin the day). But then Akillios traipses into the vestibule from the direction of the sitting room, looking as though he hasn't slept in a month. Petronelle locks eyes with him.

      "I see you're heading out," he says.

      "It must be done before she leaves. And since you're indisposed, Killi…"

      "Take them both, Petronelle. The fresh air will do him some good."

      Petronelle's eyes burn with quiet rage, but she turns on her heel and exits the house, not waiting for the children to follow.

      "Listen to her, Alecto, Amycus. Be good, for me." His words are soft, and at least he doesn't insist on calling Petronelle their mother. But, even in using their names, his eyes never stray to his children. They haven't for a long, long time, and Alecto and Amycus don't know why.

      Outside, Petronelle gives them no warning before clamping one hand each on Alecto's and Amycus' shoulders. She Disapparates, and the experience is unpleasant for two who've never done Side-Along before. Alecto loses her balance and crashes into a store's outside display, but she finds her footing before Amycus' breakfast comes back up on the cobblestone street. Petronelle clicks her tongue at them in disgust and flicks her wand, Vanishing Amycus' sick away before too many others can see the embarrassment.

      The trip is a blur, as Petronelle whisks in and out of shops. Books, stationery, ingredients, general supplies, wand—Alecto's purchases pile up without Alecto getting the chance to experience Diagon Alley as an incoming student, and she yearns, just a little, for Amycus' position, as he gawks more freely at the magic that surrounds them, the magic that embraces them and (for once) does not harm them.

      The children nearly lose themselves in Petronelle's robes as she whirls around, running through a mental list and checking up and down the street. She curses under her breath at them, shooing them away when one last store catches her eye. "Ah, of course."

      Alecto tilts her head up at the woman.

      Petronelle huffs. "To Malkin's we go, for your school robes."

      Alecto and Amycus hustle after her, for Petronelle is tall and has long strides, and Alecto catches her brother before they crash into Petronelle's legs just inside Madam Malkin's store. Petronelle stops talking to Alecto altogether here while they wait to be seen, and her lack of attention is a brief blessing.

      Malkin takes Petronelle's order for Alecto with professional quickness that underlines how busy she's been these weeks leading up to the school year. She shows a stunning amount of patience, though, while she waits for Alecto to hand off her new belongings to Amycus so Alecto can be measured, and she makes no comment as her magical tape measure wraps around Alecto's thick limbs and minds the girl's considerable waist.

      But Petronelle's disgust is apparent, and Petronelle turns away from the sight. If Alecto cared more about her appearance than about the punishment she and Amycus will receive later, she would cry right there.

      "I have everything I need, so we'll get you squared away shortly," Malkin says, her tone somehow kind as well as businesslike. (Alecto thinks of her nanny house-elf. She misses the elf, who disappeared one day years ago, after Alecto proved herself fully capable of looking after Amycus as well as herself.)

      Without guidance as to what comes next, Alecto shares a glance with Amycus. He shrugs, barely managing not to drop her things, and Petronelle's sigh catches their attention. They look to her and follow her eyes to a richly dressed, beautiful older girl in here with her parents.

      "Alas, Narcissa Black," Petronelle thinks aloud. "What a mother deserves in a daughter…"

      Brother and sister flinch, and Alecto swallows the lump in her throat as Petronelle faces her once more. Petronelle reaches behind Alecto and tugs on her daughter's plaited honey-blond hair.

      "…but some make do," Petronelle mutters.

      Petronelle can't do anything about Alecto's body shape, but she can primp her else as she likes. When they send Alecto off on the Hogwarts Express, Alecto's hair is combed straight and pulled into a tight bun behind her head. It's painful and a poor imitation of Narcissa Black's effortless coif, but Petronelle sees it as an improvement.

      Yet Hogwarts is no time to exhale. Yes, Alecto is Sorted into Slytherin—like her father and his father before him—but also in Slytherin is sixth-year Narcissa Black and a gaggle of beautiful people around her, above her, below her. They have names Alecto knows only from her father's longing and her mother's jealousy.

      Malfoy.

      Lestrange.

      Rosier.

      Even in her own year is the youngest Black, a beautiful boy named Regulus, and he throws the same vibe as his near and distant cousins. They are the last of a dying breed, even though not all pureblood families are wholly pure anymore, but they still are out of reach, are above Alecto and her brother.

      Akillios Carrow's children will always be less.

      It's a fact that Alecto comprehends with stunning clarity now. Some of her father's misery at last rubs off on her (or it's genetic), and Alecto grows more subdued as her first few weeks melt into months and she keeps her head down at Hogwarts. Two teachers take notice, with Slughorn being a good Head of House and informing her that she can always speak with him about anything and McGonagall peering at her over the rims of all-knowing spectacles without saying a word. But Alecto knows better, and Petronelle has all but carved the lesson into her daughter, to keep her mouth shut.

      The only remarkable thing that school year comes after the holiday break. Up until this point, Alecto has made a concerted effort to avoid being around too many of her fellow Hogwartians, as some of the older Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls begin to point and gossip at the "little try-hard copying Narcissa's style" whenever Alecto passes by. But, when the students return after New Year's for the rest of the term, there's a commotion in the Entrance Hall before dinner.

      Alecto, short for her age, can't see worth a damn past the other students. There's enough din, too, that she can't make out the bickering either, least of all when the prefects get involved and shoo everyone into the Great Hall for supper. She believes she missed out on the most interesting thing to happen all year…

      …until her tablemate pipes up, "Well, tha' was a lark."

      Alecto glances at the slim boy a seat and a half up on the bench at the Slytherin table. Ugh. She knows his name, doesn't she? Sprout's made them partners before in Herbology, twice… Del…something… "I didn't see it," she admits, stabbing her dinner with her fork as if she doesn't care.

      The boy's manners are lacking—he uses his fingers too much—and by his ears he's got a lock of hair colored violet for some reason. He snickers. "You didn't see it? The Black brothers an' Potter?"

      Alecto feigns interest in her goblet, mulling over the second surname. It sounds so familiar, as if she's on the verge of recalling something important…but, no, she can't picture that name in her father's or mother's voice. Deciding to test the waters, Alecto asks her classmate, "Why should it matter if I saw them and Potter?"

      He snorts. He's got all the cockiness of someone at least two years older than Alecto (it truly wears on her nerves). "You do know Black's sort isn't supposed to be minglin' with Potter, don't you?"

      Alecto's brow pinches together. She hopes it conveys irritation and not confusion.

      "Not the kind of mistake Delwyn Scabior would get caught dead makin', mind you," he continues, pointing to himself with a greasy thumb between bites. He licks his fingers, raises his eyebrows, and jerks his head behind them. "But take a good, long look at the Gryffindor table."

      She pretends to ignore his direction…but curiosity gives way. When Alecto deems Scabior's attention divided between the mess on his jumper and the mess on his plate, she twists her head around, searching for what's apparently obvious to everyone else in the know.

      It takes her a moment, because they don't look alike from behind. But then she sees him turn, the elder Black brother, and it clicks:

      The elder Black, Regulus' brother, is a Gryffindor. Scabior hadn't implied that it was the Blacks against Potter—it had been some squabble pitting Regulus against his brother and Potter.

      Scabior frowns and scoots another inch away from Alecto when she turns back to the Slytherin table. "What you smilin' for…?"

      But Alecto doesn't answer him. He doesn't deserve her answer. He wouldn't appreciate it—not the way Amycus will.

      After all, it's nice to know that these pureblood families that are "above" them are more broken, possibly closer to the ground than believed….

      Alecto's gloating carries her through the end of the school year but doesn't last. How can it, knowing she will return to that house? Even with Amycus waiting for her?

      The summer, much like the trip to Diagon Alley last year, lasts the blink of an eye. Akillios would care more about Alecto's slightly higher than average marks if he were around more. And Petronelle? Marks don't matter much to her.

      This is quite obvious when Alecto makes the mistake (only once) of switching back to her old plait on a day too hot to be spent outside. During the school year, Alecto was too nervous to touch her hair for fear that Petronelle would morph into being from the shadows and pounce. But here at home? She's supposed to be able to relax at home, yes?

      No.

      Petronelle walks past the back room, where Alecto and Amycus keep out of the way on a worn sofa and enjoy the coolness of treats sneaked to them by one of the house-elves. She grinds to a halt in the doorway, her head turning mechanically. "What," she snaps, "is that?"

      Amycus hides his frosted confection under his arm, but Alecto's is gone already, and she has a far worse feeling about her mother's tone. The goosebumps on her arms agree as Petronelle enters the room, heels clicking on the floor, because no rug or carpet can do anything to muffle the heavy, decisiveness of her footfall. Words form a lump in Alecto's throat, but she can't push them out. The best she can do is to meet Petronelle's eyes.

      With Alecto in reach, Petronelle's left arm strikes like a viper and yanks on the plait behind the girl's head, hard enough to draw tears, though Alecto's not stupid enough to cry out. "I repeat: What is that?" Petronelle yanks again on Alecto's hair.

      "M-My hair!" Alecto yelps. She squeezes her eyes closed, to keep the tears in, to keep the sight of a frightened Amycus out.

      "Is it? I thought we did something about it before you left for Hogwarts, girl. Did we not attempt to put lipstick on a troll? You may not be Narcissa Black, but you can strive for that." Petronelle releases her. "Fix your hair and keep it that way—or else."

      Alecto nods numbly.

      But Petronelle lingers. In his flinching to Alecto's pain, Amycus lost sight of his secret treat, which Petronelle snatches up now. She crushes it in her grip. "And no more sweets or snacks. You will eat only what I tell you, when I tell you. Do I make myself clear?"

      The siblings nod, and only then does Petronelle exit.

      (Alecto loses half a stone by the time second year begins, but she gains it back, eating well at school…only to have Petronelle watch her like a hawk at home. Twelve-year-old Alecto takes a quiet, defiant stance, after the holidays, looking up Enlargement Charms, hoping that hiding inside jumpers and robes she's spelled two sizes too big will mollify Petronelle for now.)

      "It will be different, won't it? Hogwarts—the both of us," Amycus keeps saying. He's been on repeat since Easter, and each week that passes is the same. No matter that he came to this house on a dark and stormy night and should have not an ounce of hope in his body. The boy's tiny eyes have a spark of life in them that Petronelle cannot snuff out, that Alecto will not let her snuff out.

      "It should," Alecto agrees, sitting on her bed, flipping absentmindedly through her Defense text. It's only a second-year textbook, but every year she searches cover to cover, looking for something to protect them from Petronelle's stings (they haven't stopped coming; Alecto just refuses to think about them too often). Alecto wonders what magic her third-year books hold for her…

      Amycus goes quiet, and it takes a minute before Alecto pulls herself from her task to find him studying her.

      "What, Amycus?"

      He frowns. "…you do like it there, don't you, Alec?"

      Alecto huffs. "What? Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

      He slows his pacing in the middle of their room and draws near. "You tell me all about your classes. You've told me a little about the teachers. But you never mention anyone else." His frown is small, but it deepens, as if he adds, "You never mention friends."

      Alecto bristles at the implication…but he's not wrong. She can't imagine befriending anyone outside her House. But inside? It's not much better. She stands the best shot with someone her own age, but the gamut runs from Regulus Black (untouchable, pureblood royalty) to the grimy likes of Scabior (unknown oddball—and that streak in his hair was bright orange this past school year instead of violet). Alecto doesn't know where she stands on this scale, but she knows she stands alone.

      "Alec…?"

      She flicks her eyes back to Amycus' face. Alecto musters a smile for him and holds an arm out until he comes close. She pulls him in tight, hugging him as though not ten years have passed. "Starting this year, I will have you, and all I have ever needed is you, Amycus."

      He wraps both arms around her neck. "And all I need is you, Alecto. Slytherin will be adding yet another Carrow to its collection," he promises.

      Alecto stiffens, the memory of the Black brothers in warring Houses looming over her. Scabior, everyone's reliable gossip even when nobody asks, mentioned to her in passing at one point that it's not just opposing Houses but opposing ideologies, too. Hogwarts has put much between siblings.

      But Alecto relaxes when, months later, Amycus is one of the first students in his year to be Sorted. The hat goes on his head, grumbles for a moment under its breath, and yells out, "SLYTHERIN!"

      There are the usual claps and cheers at Slytherin table, but Alecto's vision swims as Amycus all but runs towards his big sister that evening. Her jaw hurts, too, and it's not until they're settled and the Sorting continues that Alecto understands:

      It's the first time she's cried tears of joy. It's the first time she's ever grinned so hard, it hurt.

      She is happy.

      It feels wrong.

      But she ignores that thought when she catches Amycus' giddy smiles too many times at dinner that night.

      …she was wrong to ignore anything.

      Alecto's third year begins a tad more easily, now that Narcissa Black is graduated and has taken her beautiful shadow with her. Sure, Alecto still gets grumbles here and there about her looks, but she's resigned to hearing the "fat cow" remarks and sneering in return until the speaker is spooked off instead. Alecto likes spooking people a bit; it feels right, like a power someone like her was never meant to have.

      But, a month into their studies, Amycus stops swinging his legs under the table at the library and leans his sister's way. "Say, Alec…," he starts.

      "Shush. What did I tell you about Madam Pince?" she hisses in undertones. She never lifts her eyes from her Care for Magical Creatures essay.

      "Right," he whispers, adjusting his volume as though they're wary of Petronelle patrolling the stacks in lieu of the hook-nosed Pince. Half a beat later, he slides his book towards her, bumping into her right arm.

      Alecto grimaces and shoots him a look. "Amycus, you just made my ink blot. What is it?"

      Amycus gestures to his book.

      Alecto looks. "Yes, it's my first-year Defense text. You're treating it well—thank you. What, are you stuck on your assignment?"

      Her brother bows his head and drops his hands into his lap, twiddling his thumbs. He shakes his head.

      "Amycus, out with it. I've still another ten inches to write."

      "I've been thinking…"

      Alecto quirks an eyebrow.

      Amycus lifts his head. He glances up the aisle, both ways, checking to ensure they have no one's attention. Then he leans in. "I've been thinking about this class, a lot," he says, his volume lower than a whisper.

      "Why?"

      "Well, some of it's defense against creatures, yeah? But some of it's defense against spells. And—"

      Alecto's irritation vanishes, replaced with panic. "Amycus, don't."

      He makes a face. "Don't what? Alec, what if this class is key to protecting ourselves from her?"

      She shakes her head vigorously, hard enough that Alecto drops her quill and darts her hand into her hair, checking that her chignon's still in place. Then she pushes the textbook away and grabs Amycus by the shoulders, nearly shakes him. "No book, no class holds the key or any answers to her, Amycus. Just—Just do the work you're assigned, do it well, and each year will fly past you."

      Amycus stares at her, searching her eyes for the truth she won't tell him. Not finding it, he sighs and nods. "…all right."

      "Please, Amycus. For me. We can survive school—and then we will be free."

      He nods again, more agreeable this time. "Fly-out-of-here free?" he inquires.

      She spares him another glance, finding him bemused. "Why? Flying lessons not what you expected?"

      Amycus shrugs. "I'll get the hang of it. I'm not so clumsy I can barely fly and I'm not gifted for Quidditch, but I'll get the hang of it," he assures her.

      Alecto's smile is fleeting. "Good. Flying, your studies, making your own friends—but none of that protection nonsense, all right?"

      He gives her a tiny glare before returning his attention to his schoolwork. "I don't need friends. All I need is you."

      Alecto's heart tightens, hearing that. And she hopes she is enough, for him.

      But the Christmas break proves that having both of them off to school is more than Petronelle can handle.

      Akillios is gone for half the break and sleeps away the rest, so Petronelle takes every last advantage, starting from day one. The stings come and don't stop, and the holiday break feels quite literal when Alecto and Amycus each clutch their writing arms to their bodies, wondering if Petronelle's had her fill of her go-to spells.

      But they never get to check whether she truly broke their arms. For, with a flick of her wand, they're Healed (how can someone so cruel know magic that is supposed to save?). All the brother and sister have for evidence is their bruises, but Petronelle takes care of those, too, with a poultice and a spell the day before they return to the castle.

      It's as though none of it ever happened.

      Only when they catch each other's eye in the train compartment back to Scotland do Alecto and Amycus realize that, no, they're living the same nightmare per usual, and the level's been ramped up without warning.

      This makes it more urgent for Alecto to scour her texts and to seek out other books in the library, because seventh year is no longer a date of freedom for her and for Amycus. It also becomes their expiration date. Especially with no friends for either of them—who will come looking for the Carrow siblings if Petronelle's Dark fancies finally go too far?

      Easter, summer… Alecto briefly learns of the Unforgivable Curses in as much detail as the school will allow in her fourth-year Defense class, and they frighten her. But they do not frighten her nearly as much as the gnawing possibility that Petronelle desires to use them on Alecto and Amycus…

      Fearing a repeat of last Christmas, Alecto urgently pens an owl to their father, begging him to let them stay at the castle for the break. She adds in embellishes about extra coursework that could see her top of some classes and throws in one truth about her abysmal Herbology marks. It goes without saying that wherever Alecto is, Amycus will be.

      Akillios does not answer her until the day students are meant to leave. The owl comes at the last minute of breakfast, and Alecto tears the letter open, with Amycus nearly hanging off her arm. But his answer is clear in his swirling script:

      I will miss you two, but I am proud of you holding up the Carrow name. You may stay.

      He doesn't sign off with "love" or "your father" or even a well-wishing "fondly," only his name: "A. R. Carrow." But Alecto and Amycus are too relieved to care.

      "I never thought that would work," Amycus admits aloud later when they're in the empty common room. The few older Slytherins who are staying are downstairs in the dorms, so the brother and sister can hog the fireplace to themselves. Good thing, too, with Amycus shivering himself out of his robes yet again.

      Alecto nudges him closer to the fire, ignoring the glare he sends her. "There's still some part of our father in there, even though he rarely shows it these days. So long as that part crops up…so long as it exists…she cannot win, not truly," Alecto assures her brother.

      Amycus nods. Despite his annoyance over Alecto's fussing for him to stay bundled during the cold months, because the castle's far colder than their house (temperature-wise, that is), he scoots to his left and leans against her. "What on Earth did we ever do to deserve her?" he asks, his voice frail and whisper-soft.

      Alecto shakes her head. She knows he knows that he's not Petronelle's kin—Petronelle has made that expressly clear to the boy from before he could understand words—but Alecto wonders the same. What did they ever do to land themselves with Petronelle Carrow née Blishwick for a mother?

      And, Alecto wonders with a covert glance to her brother's darker blond hair and skeletal frame, what ever became of the woman who did give Amycus life?

      She replays the scant memory in her mind's eye. The memory from eleven years ago would be good if her head hadn't met so many walls and solid objects (and, oh, she cannot recall the nanny house-elf's name, damn it all!), but what fuzzes into view is enough.

      Petronelle not in sight but in the kitchen with the house-elves (they're long-gone now; she's only kept the one, thinking she can keep it on a short leash so it won't aid the children).

      Alecto downstairs with the nanny house-elf, a curious nearly-three-year-old delighted to see her father home.

      And Akillios, home and out of the rain at last…

      …with a lumpy baby Amycus in his arms.

      That's about all she recalls. She has a vague recollection of her father shoving Amycus into her arms, encouraging her upstairs before a shouting match between her parents ensued…but that seems like a daydream. Her parents fight (fought?) all the time, so it's too easy to substitute a more recent memory, to write over the past.

      But, aside from that, Alecto doesn't recall at all feeling scared of Akillios that night. Petronelle? Of course—that's a given. But her father held no ill will for anyone…until Petronelle threatened the children, ah, yes, that's how that went…

      Alecto thumbs her chin. Akillios protected them that night. So it doesn't fit, thinking he might've taken Amycus from his own mother hours before, never mind what state the woman might've been in…

      "Alec?" Amycus sits up straight and raises one eyebrow, curious as to where her mind's flown.

      "It's nothing," Alecto insists, tamping down her own curiosity. "Just…happy to be here at the castle with you."

      But, really, she ought to know better by now. Where Alecto goes, Amycus follows. The same goes for her train of thought.

      She tries not to think of it when they can't avoid going home for Easter and, while Akillios and Petronelle enjoy their late afternoon liquor outside, Amycus stunningly steals away for several minutes. Alecto thinks her brother seeks a new hiding spot since he's forever growing taller, slowly but inch by inch, so he's got to find some new nook or cranny to fold his gangly form into in order to stay out of Petronelle's way.

      But when Alecto isn't joined by him later in their room, she gets curious and goes searching herself. Thank Merlin the adults are still outside. Who knows where the hell Amycus is?

      Upstairs is quiet. The downstairs, too, save for their lone house-elf keeping busy with the laundry. But the ground floor… Alecto creeps—not easy as she's growing into her curves, but she knows to roll carefully on her feet to muffle the sounds—and checks each room.

      With the sitting room, dining room, kitchen, back room, and hallways clear, the vein in Alecto's neck pounds with anxiety as she draws up on Akillios' study. The door looks closed, but, upon closer inspection, it's open by a hair. She gently pushes it open, willing it not to make a sound.

      Amycus stops rifling through the desk drawer on the right and whips his head up. His posture eases, finding his sister. "Close the door," he says lowly.

      Alecto enters and does so, but only because she wants to delay their punishment. She Seals the thing, too, to further delay the inevitable. "Are you daft?!" she hisses. Something cool settles in her chest but lights her face aflame. Is this fury? Is this fear? She can't tell anymore. She feels so much, things get mixed up sometimes.

      "There has to be something," Amycus hisses back. He keeps on sorting, though he pulls nothing free and leaves everything in place, so nothing seems touched.

      "Something on what?"

      "About her, Alec."

      "Who?!"

      Amycus lifts his eyes. "My mother. We can't stay here forever, Alec. We won't survive."

      Alecto's mouth pops open. She hates this. She hates that Amycus hasn't listened to her about behaving. She hates that it never occurred to her that he, too, would be curious and be smart enough to go searching for information. …she hates that she can't protect them, that he knows she can't protect them, and so he searches for a third (second, really) option.

      "If you're not going to help, at least stand guard," he says.

      Alecto scowls at him. But she hustles to the nearer bookcase and flips through each volume on each shelf, one by one.

      Their only warning is the click of the back door and Petronelle's clicking tongue. "'Bottle's empty,' my arse—he put half of it away himself," she grumbles under her breath as she walks past the study door.

      The siblings freeze. They listen for the sounds of Petronelle rummaging for something else to drink in the kitchen. Glass clinks, then she exits, stopping for two seconds outside the study door. But she keeps going, pulling the back door shut behind her a moment later.

      Amycus audibly swallows the terrified lump in his throat. He exchanges a look with Alecto, who glares at him. He nods, but it doesn't mean he's done searching.

      Alecto gets half through the bookcase when Amycus pulls a folder from a slim, bottom drawer. "What are you doing? Put that back! It's one thing to peek; it's another to take, especially from Father, Amycus."

      But he shakes his head. "I'll return it in a sec," he promises, but his voice is hollow as his eyes scan the papers inside and his brow pinches together. He drags a finger along the lines on the top paper. "How do you pronounce this? 'I-o-l—'"

      She stifles her grumbles, tidies the bookcase so it appears undisturbed, and joins her brother at Akillios' desk. She reads over Amycus' shoulder, finding a selection of letters…but these aren't folded or curled. They've never travelled anywhere. They were never sent.

      "Alec."

      "Right, right." Alecto's gaze goes to where her brother's bony finger points out the name in their father's familiar handwriting. "Oh. There was some Charm Flitwick taught last year with a similar sound in it. When you put an i and an o together, usually prefacing an l, it makes a 'yo' sound."

      Amycus frowns. "So… 'Yolanth'?"

      "'Iolanthe,'" Alecto corrects, stressing the long vowel ending the name. "It's…a pretty name," she comments, partly because she thinks so, partly because it feels right, like the comforting thing to do, believing that they have, indeed, discovered the information Amycus wanted.

      He exhales. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, having a name at last. "Iolanthe," he echoes.

      "You have her name now, Amycus. Please, let's find out more another day."

      But he drops his eyes to the letters once more to read. He squints where Akillios' flourishes are harder to decipher. "Wait. Here—it says, 'You didn't have to go. You were beloved.'" He snaps the folder shut, much too loudly for Alecto's liking. "There! You see? My mum left him! She probably found out about him already having a family."

      Alecto squirms. It takes all her willpower not to snap back, "Then why the fuck would she have left you to a fate that guarantees your death?!"

      At least Amycus adjusts the untouched letters and puts the folder back. "We just have to track Iolanthe down, Alecto, I promise. Then everything will be different."

      Akillios' and Petronelle's voices grow louder at the back door. Alecto flicks her wand, twice: once to adjust the last things in the study and once to Unseal the door. She shoves Amycus through the crack in the door but has to widen it for herself. They make it out and Alecto remembers to close it before the adults come inside.

      Upstairs, in their room, Amycus' spark of hope flares and puts strong color in his cheeks. He paces, as he's wont to do when thinking hard on a single subject. "Everything will be different," he repeats to his sister.

      Alecto drops onto her bed, exhausted from all the cloak and dagger downstairs. "You can't know that, Amycus." She can't bring herself to add, "You're thirteen; don't get your hopes up."

      As if they're twins, he glowers at her as though he knows she thought it. Then he turns, giving her the cold shoulder, which only lasts until they're back on the train to Hogwarts.

      Alecto spends the rest of her fourth year and Amycus' second listening to his grand schemes. Sometimes he thinks he'll read the rest of Akillios' unsent letters. Sometimes he has half a mind to drag Alecto back into the study to search for anything else—"After all, we don't have Mum's last name, and we've got to have a last name before we go looking for her, right?"—which Alecto politely dissuades him from, citing their previous close call. Sometimes…sometimes he thinks to confront Akillios, simple as that.

      When the school year ends and the Carrow siblings get off the train, Alecto hears a holler behind them. It sounds faintly like, "See you next year, Amycus!" But when she turns her head to find the source, Amycus blocks her view. "Who was calling out to you?" she asks.

      "Nobody," he insists, an annoyed edge to his tone. He nudges her forward on the platform at King's Cross.

      Akillios and Petronelle collect them as usual. Alecto and Amycus receive Petronelle's welcome-home gift, as usual (the stings, before dinner—can't have them losing it all over the new rug Petronelle bought last month). Alecto and Amycus lay low in their room, as usual, as long as they can, waiting for an opportunity, for when Petronelle is not home.

      It's not until late July that Petronelle stampedes downstairs to the vestibule, a letter from Gringotts crushed in her angry grip. Something about funds? Alecto's not certain, but at least Petronelle's snarls are not meant for her and her brother today. Petronelle leaves that morning, with no indication as to when she'll be back.

      Alecto and Amycus lock eyes. "Now or never," she says, much to her brother's excitement. "But! If this doesn't work, drop it, Amycus. We—We can try searching for her, after Hogwarts," she fibs. (She can't really make this promise. No, not when Iolanthe abandoned Amycus, poor Amycus, Alecto's Amycus. Alecto resents her for this, even though they've never met and maybe never will.)

      Amycus, sallow-faced, nods in jerky movements, suddenly unsure of himself.

      "Amycus!"

      He jolts at the strength of Alecto's voice. But he nods once more, taking her strength and turning it into his own.

      The siblings pad down the staircase and check the back room first, for it's Akillios' favorite wallowing spot. With that empty, the study is their next likely guess, and he is there, at his desk, a book to his left, quill in his right hand. He doesn't hear them enter, nor does he look up. But then he states, "Alecto, Amycus, I am quite busy. Another time, please."

      Alecto raises her eyebrows. Their father, busy? Actually, it strikes her that they don't even know what it is that keeps Akillios "busy" when he's awake and sober. So many old families simply…have money to live off of, that it never occurred to her that the Carrows wouldn't be the same.

      When his children don't recede, Akillios huffs and looks up at them, really sees them. He blinks and gapes a bit, as if coming out of a daze. It's the first time he's looked at them properly in years. Is he shocked to find that his little girl and little boy are growing up, growing too fast? Does he even know that Alecto has O.W.L.s this coming year?

      "We're sorry to interrupt," Alecto begins with a tiny tip of her head. She bumps Amycus' back so he stumbles forward.

      "No, no, it's all right. I always have a minute for you two." (Liar.)

      Amycus shoots Alecto a concerned glance, unaccustomed to this soft, happy grin on Akillios' face, but she shrugs, because she can't explain it either. So Amycus clears his throat and faces the older wizard. "Actually, I have a question, Father."

      "A question! Made it through two years of school and you only now have a question." Akillios laughs; that healthy color beneath his stubble is back. "Ah, my boy, my Amycus… Please, go ahead and ask away."

      "Well…"

      Akillios raises his eyebrows. He gave his children two things: dark eyes and a strong brow. Else, they have nothing in common. His eyebrows lower over those dark eyes now, and he cocks his head to one side. "Amycus, out with it. A Carrow does not dawdle. A Carrow is confident."

      Alecto bites her tongue to keep from calling Akillios a hypocrite. If Carrows are confident, then why does Akillios not stand up to Petronelle? Why has he kept her this whole time? Why has he not protected them the way he ought to?

      But Amycus finds his voice as he clenches his fists at his sides. "Where is Iolanthe?"

      Akillios pales and his face falls, hearing that name. "Who?" he asks, the word barely a sound between his thin lips.

      "Where is Iolanthe?"

      "Where did you hear that name?"

      "Where is Iolanthe?"

      "Stop saying—"

      "Where is Iolanthe?"

      "STOP SAYING HER NAME!"

      Amycus and Alecto flinch. Akillios does not raise his voice to his children—that is Petronelle's job. But…times change. And they have found their father's tipping point.

      Akillios' eyes are wide and dart between their faces. He shoves out of his desk chair and paws around the side of it, coming towards them, his movements wrong, one hand going over the other. At the front of the desk, he stops and attempts to find comfort sitting on the corner. "Where did you hear that name?" he asks again.

      Alecto slides her hand to Amycus' back, steadying him. They will say nothing. Let him guess.

      Terrifying one moment, Akillios is broken the next, his eyes watery and reddening. He pushes his ink-stained right hand into his fair hair. "Please," he breathes, "please don't say that name again."

      "Then tell us about her," Amycus insists. "She's my mother, isn't she?"

      Akillios stiffens. But he shudders and nods.

      "Father, where is she?"

      "Gone."

      "Gone where? Another city? Wales? Scotland? Ireland?"

      He shakes his head at each guess. "You don't understand, Amycus. Gone. Not coming back."

      "Why?! What happened? Did you do something? Did you say something—?"

      "I did nothing!" Akillios wails. It's painful, watching a once proud, a once strong man in pain. "And she's gone, Amycus! Never coming back! Forget about her!"

      The pitch in Amycus' voice rises. "I won't! I want to meet her! I want to see her—"

      "She's dead, Amycus. Long dead."

      More words which are barely audible… And yet they fill this suddenly too small room, a room that holds three Carrows and who knows how many secrets, enough that it ought to burst at the seams.

      Akillios drops his hand from his hair. His shoulders slump. He nearly slides off the desk to his feet. His head hangs low and limp as he continues, "I miss her so much… I'm so sorry… I miss her so much…"

      Alecto can see it from a mile away, that Akillios is not good company anymore, nor will he give them anything else. She ushers Amycus out of the study, and she glances once more at her father. Touch always used to comfort her, so she tries to comfort him now, going back, just to stroke the back of his pale, pale hand.

      Akillios never moves. Alecto and Amycus may as well never have entered his study today.

      "Is…is he going to be all right?" Amycus asks as they climb the stairs.

      Alecto doesn't answer him.

      Back in their room, Amycus paces, but this time he tidies his side of the room, as if they don't still have a month of prison left before school begins. "…I've never seen him like that. He seemed…sorry about her."

      "Harrowed," Alecto offers, reclining on her bed and reaching for last year's Defense text. (She can't help it; it's become not only her pastime but a comfort.)

      "Yeah, that." Amycus folds, unfolds, and refolds his school cloak before he drops it on the floor. He sits on the edge of Alecto's bed. "My—mum's dead, Alec."

      She waits a beat. Alecto puts her book down and meets his watery gaze. "I know. I'm sorry, Amycus."

      "But he… I don't think Father did it. You know?"

      She sits up, thumbing her chin. "I agree. He seemed desperate. He misses her…" She stops herself from adding her strongest thought, that perhaps Akillios misses Iolanthe for good reason. Perhaps Iolanthe was the first person he tried to protect…to save. And he failed.

      They are not twins. But Alecto sorely wishes that she wouldn't read the same conclusion in Amycus' eyes moments later.

      Downstairs, the front door opens and slams shut. Ah. Petronelle's home.

      Amycus darkly laughs. "Honestly…nothing she could do today could be worse than this afternoon."

      But, of course, that doesn't stop Petronelle from trying.

And now Alecto and Amycus know the truth. Do you, reader, debate what Akillios told them? Interesting! I actually toned Akillios' response down after a passing line Amycus tells Flora in "bad blood," partly because a father might censor the truth for his children, partly because I wonder if in "bad blood" that was just Amycus jumping to conclusions… Characters aren't always reliable narrators. (That's also why it helps to have a gossip like Scabior around. XD He is fun comic relief.) There are hints of a darker nature to both Alecto & Amycus in this chapter, as well, partly as a result of life, partly out of need. I actually feel for them, as I hope readers might, too. Last thoughts (a bit random XD): I always picture the dorms as the ones designed in the Lego games, since we only ever got to see the Gryffindor ones in the movies, hence my description of the Slytherin dorms being located lower than their common room. If you've never played the Lego HariPo games, I highly rec!

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (C'mon, you know you love a good Scabior cameo!)

~mew

And if you want to support at last, with you, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[camelliacats]

at last, with you (part 1/4)

The conclusion to the Carrows' tale with Rowle—a sequel to this and set partly concurrently with this.

Act I: "Pre-Hogwarts" [FFN] [AO3] |   →

Pairings/Characters: Alecto & Amycus Carrow, with OCs

Rating: light T

Words: ~2,170

Additional info: gen fic, family, angst, hurt/comfort, violence (non-graphic), Dark magic (implied), Marauder era, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: While incapacitated, Alecto rethinks her life—childhood, school life, adulthood—and wonders if there's still time for a tweak or two. Ch1: Alecto meets (and raises) Amycus.

Act I: Pre-Hogwarts

      The last things Alecto feels—thinks—are stings. She closes her eyes, and there they are again, the stings.

      Only, this time, she doesn't open her eyes, can't open her eyes after.

      Ah, how poetic. Her life is full of nothing but stings. She was born into them and she will die by them.

      She is nearly three years old and doesn't think home life can get any worse.

      Born of the marriage between half-blood Akillios Carrow and pureblood Petronelle Blishwick, Alecto spends her first days, weeks, months, years reaching out for hands that will reach back for her. When she is lucky and her father is home and remembers that he has a wife and a daughter, Akillios will sometimes scoop chubby little Alecto into his arms and toss her around like the joy of his life.

      When she is not so lucky, Akillios looks past her, thinking about how marrying a pureblood won't restore the Carrow line to its former glory, because his children will always be less. Akillios has no kisses or hugs for his daughter then, and Alecto must push her head under her father's hand when she longs for his warmth.

      When she is unlucky and Akillios is not home, Petronelle wages a war on Alecto, making a three-year-old believe it's the child's fault she wasn't born male.

      "The Carrow name was one I could bear," Petronelle snarls at her daughter, sending steely glares to the little girl who always lingers out of reach (lingers in safety, outside of harm's reach), "but this. Every pureblood wife knows: Multiple children are fine, if you can have them. But the best children—the firstborn should always be a son."

      Alecto drops her eyes to the ground. She's not even three years old. She doesn't understand the meaning of her mother's words, but her tone conveys the point well enough. Alecto can't help but wonder if she's been a bad girl after all.

      "Stop that!" Petronelle shrieks at her. She flings herself from her favorite blue armchair in the sitting room, aiming for Alecto.

      Alecto squeezes her eyes shut tight.

      "I told you—stop it!" Petronelle barks, towering over her, a sturdy, intimidating giant of a woman who would crush Alecto if only the scandal wouldn't put her in the papers. "Stop dropping your eyes when I speak to you, and don't cower. Nobody likes a coward, and I will have you meet my eyes, girl."

      Scared now more than before, Alecto forces her wavering gaze upwards. She must always look her mother in the eye before Petronelle produces her wand…

      …before the stings come.

      But she is also nearly three years old when her father, after one of many late nights out, comes home and brings with him something fascinating.

      That night, it rains, and Akillios' gray travel cloak is dampened to black by the time he steps through the door. His lightly whiskered cheeks are ruddy, and he hides something in his arms when Alecto leaves her nanny house-elf alone to prance to her father's side.

      "Killi? Is that you?" Petronelle calls from the kitchen. She's busy overseeing the house-elves cook supper and can't leave her post just yet.

      Akillios catches Alecto's eye and grins at his daughter's curiosity. "Yes, Pet. Sorry for the lateness," he answers.

      "You have no consideration for the rest of us," Petronelle chides. "Whatever it was, it had better be good."

      He freezes and pales, a motion which Alecto doesn't understand but summons her to his leg nevertheless, around which she wraps her arm. Her love makes him sigh. "That's my girl," he whispers, and his grin is back as he kneels before her. "How about I show you my surprise first?"

      Alecto's dark eyes go wide. A surprise! How extraordinary. Surprises never happen around here.

      Akillios untucks his arms and loosens some cloth. "Be very gentle now," he instructs, revealing a warm, wriggling present, "as he's still quite small." Akillios pauses and tilts his head at Alecto. "Alecto, meet your baby brother, Amycus. He's going to live with us from now on."

      Alecto's head doesn't quite understand love, but her heart's an expert in this matter, and the tiny creature in her father's arms endears itself to her with its silence and fragility.

      After all, she is silent and fragile, too.

      The lack of noise by the door draws Petronelle from the kitchen, however. "Why the hell haven't you even shed your clo—" Her words die on her tongue the moment she spies the baby boy. "Killi." Her voice sounds as though it's still in the other room, far, far away. "Killi, tell me you didn't."

      Akillios hardens, the warmth for his children absent as he faces his wife. "He's mine, Petronelle, and that's all that matters."

      "You mean to tell me that, all this time, you—'

      He pushes Amycus into Alecto's arms. "There you go. Yes, hold his head like that. Take your brother upstairs, Alecto—"

      "Don't you dare, girl! Give him to me and—"

      But, with Amycus in Alecto's care, Akillios stands and palms his wand. He steps in front of his children, and the nanny house-elf scampers upstairs behind them. "You will do nothing with him, Petronelle," Akillios informs her, his strong, powerful voice floating upstairs to Alecto's ears.

      It almost sounds like an order.

      Almost.

      But "almost" an order isn't an order.

      And some people simply are stronger than others.

      Alecto never resents her nanny house-elf, even though the elf's name doesn't stick with her into adulthood (and she has a good reason for that). But the nanny house-elf teaches her many things, just in case.

      "Just in case."

      The nanny house-elf says that, and sometimes Akillios says that, and it's not until Alecto's five, going on six, that the phrase starts to mean something to her.

      Alecto spends Amycus' first few years learning from the nanny house-elf how to nanny and, truly, how to mother. Alecto shows signs of magic (she hopes one day to go to Hogwarts and make her father and grandfather proud), but she can't use it purposefully at this point in her life, so she learns the hard way how to care for a baby, for a toddler, for a youngster nearly her own age.

      Akillios is proud of his daughter in these endeavors…or he might be, because Alecto never hears words of thanks or words of wisdom from him these days. Akillios exhausts his energy staying at odds with Petronelle over his affair and keeping her at bay with gifts from his family vault at Gringotts, so he has little time for his children.

      That's why Alecto experiences all of Amycus' milestones. His first crawl? In the room they come to share in the years before Hogwarts. His first steps? Taken in the sitting room on a day Petronelle was out shopping. His first words? "Amaa," said either to her or to their nanny house-elf one afternoon when he should've been napping.

      Alecto is his sister, so "Amaa" doesn't sit quite right with her, and she spends countless hours with him, saying "Alecto" slowly for him in the hopes he might mimic the sound.

      (He doesn't get it right until he's two, but until then Alecto answers to "Amaa" and, later, "Alleh," once he makes the l sound.)

      But age comes not only with accomplishments but with a price. All this time Alecto spends raising up her brother, Petronelle spends wearing Akillios down. Alecto begins to catch vigor in her mother's stare, and her nanny house-elf's "Just in case" begins to float through her mind more often.

      There are so many things to know, just in case.

      How to cook simple things, to feed oneself, just in case.

      How to clean oneself and tend wounds, just in case.

      How to spy danger—look for it, hear for it, sense for it—just in case.

      "Just in case" is a simple phrase referencing survival, and this knowledge clicks into place as bile rises into the back of Alecto's throat.

      Akillios tires by the time she is six and Amycus is four. This means he returns somewhat to his old ways: staying out late, never offering excuses as to where he's been, and longing for the days of glory, when so little fell on his shoulders.

      (Even at six, Alecto wonders if Akillios will walk through the door again one night, another new sibling in tow, and she can't make up her mind how she feels about that, much as she loves Amycus, much as the boy is a part of her.)

      But Akillios' pattern means a return to Petronelle's old ways, too. The only differences? Akillios won't care even if he were to learn of her violence now—

      —and, of course, she has not one victim but two.

      On days when they are subject to Petronelle's ire, she growls at them from the foot of the staircase. "Get down here, you mongrels!"

      Amycus shakes. His beady little eyes are wide with fright; he's never spoken much in his four years, but his eyes say it all to his sister.

      Alecto pulls him in close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tight. "I promise you: It will only sting," she says.

      (But, if that were true, then why does her heart hurt so badly, as though it breaks to pieces, when Petronelle's spells take hold of Amycus first that night?)

      "It always more than stings," nine-year-old Amycus whispers to his sister in the dead of night.

      Alecto daren't sigh for fear that that and not their conversation will carry into Petronelle's room. When the house remains quiet, with no indication Petronelle will come stomping their way, she turns in her bed to face Amycus in his across the room. "I know," she admits aloud.

      He shivers. "Does she want me dead, Alec? If so, then why not do that already?"

      This, too, gives her pause. It's occurred to her before, especially with Hogwarts around the corner for her, that Petronelle is waiting for the right moment to get rid of the child of Akillios' "other woman." But, if that were the case, then Alecto wouldn't've known such a terrible existence even before her brother came along… "She enjoys our pain, Amycus," Alecto says at last.

      Their room is quiet except for some rustling in his blankets. She wonders if the statement was too cold and has sent him sobbing, so Alecto gets up and forgoes her slippers to shush him in a hurry. "I'm not crying," he hisses at her, though his voice is wet.

      Alecto sits on the edge of his bed and looks over him in the moonlight. "Then what—?"

      He shivers again.

      She sighs and yanks a folded blanket from the foot of his bed. "No wonder. You're chillier than Ice Mice. Here, bundle up," she orders, and she tucks him in, at his sides and up to his chin. "There. Better?"

      Amycus shoots her a tiny glare…but his teeth stop chattering. "Better."

      "Good. Then go to sleep, Amycus."

      She returns to her own bed, and Amycus pipes up after she's back under the covers. "I know what comes next, Alecto."

      Alecto closes her eyes, trying to will tiredness to come back. "Hush up and go to sleep, Amycus. Keep talking and you'll get us in trouble."

      But his bed creaks. He sits up, pulling his blankets tight around him. "I know you're off to school later this year."

      She can't keep her eyes closed with this topic. "…I'll come home every chance, Amycus." She pauses, a new doubt seizing her. "…we're so certain I'll be off to Scotland, but that's not always the case. If…if she homeschools me instead, then that's different."

      "We won't be apart then?" he asks, hopeful.

      Alecto's body goes rigid, nightmares forming in her head at what Petronelle might possibly think up for them as an education. Each year, things get worse—can she survive another seven?

      Can Amycus survive another nine?

      "No, we won't," she confirms, her voice unwavering. "Try though she might, she will never split us apart."

      "Really, really, Alec?"

      "Really. Now shut up and go to sleep, Amycus."

      Their room is quiet once more, and Alecto wishes her nightmares away to no avail. She is torn between her protectiveness of her younger brother and the desire to escape to Hogwarts, to explore life outside these four walls. Her mind will not let her rest.

      But at some point she finds peace and sleeps. Only in the morning does she learn why: Brittle, little Amycus got out of bed and slept on the floor beside Alecto's bed that night, bundled up in blankets and within reach of his sister's hand, which escaped her covers and hung over the side all night long. She wakes to find her hand still in his weak grasp.

      Alecto shakes her head at the sight. So, she's not the only protective one around here after all….

D: Well! A tumultuous, heartrending beginning to a fic that became too long to be called a oneshot or twoshot, especially as I found clear arcs or "acts" in the story. Originally intended to be a straight-up Thorlecto, the universe that began with "bad blood" and evolved in "far from you" and esp "close to you" and spiraled a wee bit out of my control, the more I developed a backstory for Alecto and Amycus, this became a story about them, for them, in particular Alecto. Please stick around to see the bond between siblings strengthen and see how Rowle enters their lives! It's a dark (and a Dark) story, but it's a damn good one that you'll want to read. (Also, I want to gush: I feel that Alecto's parents' names are so very Potter-y, so I'm quite pleased with those even if their characters are quite lacking as people, *lol*.)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (After all, anyone hate Petronelle as much as I do??)

~mew

And if you want to support at last, with you, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

[kissedbyfire-carrow]

"They'll kill us if they find out."

“I’m not afraid of your damn sister. Antonin might break up with you though. Then I get to see you cry.”

[kissedbyfire-carrow]

"Are you actually wearing my underwear right now?"

“Uh. Yes? Try wearing my underwear some time, you’ll see why I prefer yours.”