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ON THE LAST DAY OF THE HOLIDAYS, Este was making her way down the stairs when she caught a glimpse of the black-coak figure brushing past her and down into the kitchens. "Merlin, I must be hallucinating," Este said nervously to her Grandmother's portrait. "Surely it wasn't that slimy git Snape?"

Grandmother looked at her, slightly disappointed at her presence, "Oh you aren't hallucinating, dear girl. That was Snape. Pity he was a halfbreed... Quite a smart lad."

Este rolled her eyes and followed Snape down to the Kitchen, she pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius. "Oh, hey, Kiddo!" Sirius greeted her merrily, perking up.

Este ignored him and turned to Snape, "What are you doing here?"

"Manners, Black," Snape sneered coldly.

"Fuck off, you're in my house. Why. Are. You. Here."

Snape scoffed and before he could reply, the door opened and Harry walked in, "Er..."

That's why Snape was here.

Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair. "Sit down, Potter."

"You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my daughter's house, you see."

An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table. Este stayed inside the room. edging around the corner. "I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black —"

"I'm his godfather," said Sirius, louder than ever. "I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel . . . involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang.

"Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order." It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry. "The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" said Harry blankly.

Snape's sneer became more pronounced. "Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

"Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?" harry blurted out.

"Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Who's going to be teaching me?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said.

"Merlin," Este said with amusement. Poor Harry... Extra lessons with Snape — what on earth had he done to deserve this?

He looked quickly around at Sirius for support. "Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them." He turned to leave, his black traveling cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait a moment," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair. Snape turned back to face them, sneering.

"I am in rather a hurry, Black . . . unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time. . . ."

"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

"Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly.

"Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand tip to his face.

"Sirius!" said Este loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear her.

"I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better —"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?"

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform . . . gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand.

"NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't —"

"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

"Harry — get — out — of — it!" snarled Sirius, pushing him toward the table with his free hand.

Este grabbed Harry as he almost slammed into the table, "You alright?"

Harry nodded.

The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh. "Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!"

He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking toward the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each of them, trying to force them apart.

"Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?" Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Este looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment.

At the door, he looked back. "Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter." He was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side.

"But what's been going on?" asked Mr. Weasley again.

"Nothing, Arthur," said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends. . . ." With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. "So . . . you're cured? That's great news, really great. . . ."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward into a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly.

"Yes, Molly dear," said Mr. Weasley meekly.

That night's meal should have been a cheerful one with Mr. Weasley back amongst them; Este could tell Sirius was trying to make it so, yet when her father was not forcing himself to laugh loudly at Fred and George's jokes or offering everyone more food, his face fell back into a moody, brooding expression. Este was separated from him by Mundungus and Mad-Eye, who had dropped in to offer Mr. Weasley their congratulations; she wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him that he should not listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them did not think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place, but she had no opportunity to do so, and wondered occasionally, eyeing the ugly look on Sirius's face, whether she would have dared to even if she had the chance.

That morning, she departed for King's Cross, the rest of the children would be arriving by the Knight Bus. She hugged Sirius goodbye and begrudgingly gave Harry a half-hearted one after Sirius insisted she says goodbye to him too. She caught a cab and made her way to the station where she would meet with Atlas. The drive was quick and Este watched as they passed the shops and buildings before finally arriving at Kings Cross. Atlas was waiting with a cart and when he saw Este get out of the cab, he strode over toward her and silently began to help her haul things onto the cart. And after they finished, Este paid the driver and together, they made their way to the station.

"How was it?" Atlas asked casually as he pushed her to their shared cart.

Este grinned, "It was wonderful──thanks for the charm, by the way," she held out her bony wrist and showed him her bracelet.

Atlas smiled, "I'm glad you like it, Es──plus, your watch was much nicer than the charm i gave you." They didn't even notice that they had already arrived on Platform nine and three quarters──they had continued to chat all the way to when they hauled their trunks to the overhead cabin and settled down they only stopped when the door slid open and Draco Malfoy appeared.

"Good summer, Blacks?"

Este looked at him, "Fine, good summer, cousin?"

Draco sat down next to Atlas, "Alright, thank you for the shoes──they're very nice and comfortable."

"I see you're wearing them," Atlas nodded, "I had them custom-made in Italy."

Draco bobbed his head gratefully before turning to Este "Though I didn't find your gift very thoughtful, Estele."

"Oh, c'mon it was funny."

"I. Don't. Need. A. Hair. Toner!"

"Oh please," Este rolled her eyes, "You're telling me, you aren't grateful for the purple shampoo and toner I sent you? It's meant to keep the yellowness of your hair at bay!"

"My hair is perfectly Malfoy silver, you absolute cunt!"

"Don't kid yourself, cousin."

Este and Draco continued to argue as the train moved passed all the meadows and scenery. Atlas had gotten used to their arguing and at this point, he just shut them out. They continued arguing until the cart lady came up to their compartment, asking if they wanted to buy anything and at that point, they begrudgingly stopped their argument to buy themselves pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and a few sweets. Night had begun to fall and as the Hogwarts Expressed pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the three cousins got off the train and all joined a carriage that pulled them up to Hogwarts.

♰

Este Black's morning coffee was always accompanied by the daily prophet. But this morning when her Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, and her heart dropped and her face paled. She placed a hand over her mouth, trying to resist the urge to puke. "What is it, Elle?" Atlas asked worriedly, noticing his cousin's drastic change in attitude. For an answer, she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.

Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at them, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Augustus Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But Este's eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at Este the moment she had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though, in her portrait at Grimmauld Place, Este had seen it sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at Este through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Este, Atlas, and Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty.

Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Mattheo had noticed and snatched the paper from their grasp. A dark shadow cast over his face as he handed them back the Daily Prophet. And as Este took it back, she finally glanced at the title.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT" FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

"Black?" said Este loudly. "Not — ?"

"Shhh!" whispered Atlas, coldly, "Not so loud — just read it!"

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals. "We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached!"

"I don't believe this," snarled Este, "Fudge is blaming the breakout on him?"

"What other options does he have?" said Mattheo, bemused, "He can hardly say, 'Sorry everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out too.' I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone Potter and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?"

Atlas grabbed her prophet, ripped open the newspaper, and began to read the report inside while Este looked around the Great Hall. She could not understand why her fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like herself or Atlas. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, and outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort's ranks. . . . Este glanced up at the staff table.

It was a different story here: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently.

"Shit," Atlas cursed.

"Oh, what now?" Este moaned.

"It's a fucking shit show," said Atlas, looking slightly disgruntled. he folded back to page ten of the newspaper and handed it back to Este.

TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER

St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death. Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokes wizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident.

"We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare, which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly. "St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."

"Bode . . ." said Este. "Bode. It rings a bell. . . ."

"I met Bode," Mattheo said slowly. "I saw him at the Ministry with Lucius . . ."

Atlas gasped, "I've heard Lucius talk about him! He was an Unspeakable — he worked in the Department of Mysteries!"

"This — this was murder. . . . A clever murder, as well. . . . If the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?" Este questioned, a bit hysterical. "I... I feel sick."

Atlas stood up, "C'mon, I'll get you to Madam Pomfrey."

Este nodded, standing up and following Atlas out of the great hall. "It's all connected, isn't it?" Este asked into the eerie silence. "It's all connected to him──"

"──Don't," Atlas said, his voice firm and cold, "Don't say his name, Este. Don't even mention him. Not in these halls at least." Este understood what Atlas meant──Hogwarts, had mice that listened in the walls, and gossip spread faster than the flu.

They arrived at the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey hurried over. "Alright, Miss Black?"

Este shook her head, "It's nothing much, Madam Pomfrey──I just feel a bit sick."

"Queasy?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Madam Pomfrey handed her a vial, "Drink it up and head to your classes."

Este nodded and downed the potion, "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." She and Atlas turned to leave.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. There was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumors were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack, and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had done.

Those who came from Wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors.

Harry was once again the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet Este detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them, the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year.