The fire in the grand fireplace located in the main hall of Carrow Mansion flared up a brilliant green. Hestia and Flora emerged from the flames, shaking their clothes out a little.
Selene Carrow, who was sitting in one of the elegant velvet armchairs reading a book and sipping a cup of tea, looked up when she heard the sound of the Red Flu flames. Upon seeing her two daughters, a warm smile spread across her face. She stood up to greet them, but before she could take a single step or utter a word of welcome, something unheard-of happened.
Hestia and Flora ran toward her and threw themselves into her arms. Both wrapped their arms around their mother, crushing her in a deep embrace, overflowing with the happiness radiating from their bodies.
Selene froze for a split second. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sudden display of affection. Her girls never initiated a hug with her; they almost never took the initiative for physical contact that wasn't directed exclusively at their beloved Aurelian. Usually, it was always Selene who had to approach them and hug them first.
Recovering from the shock, Selene smiled sweetly and returned their hug, stroking her daughters' dark hair.
"My girls," Selene murmured, pulling back just enough to look at their beaming faces. "How are you? What brings you here for this wonderful surprise visit?"
As she watched them, Selene let out an imperceptible sigh in her mind. She knew full well that her daughters spent more time with her fiancé at Gaunt Manor than with them in their own home. And, being completely honest with herself, she didn't blame them at all.
The rest of her husband's family had never been particularly tolerant of the twins; they considered them too strange, too intense, and even creepy. But ever since the day Aurelian Gaunt had entered the picture and put the entire stuffy, conservative Carrow family in its place with a display of power, influence, and skill, the criticism and mistreatment had ceased entirely. Deep in her heart, Selene was infinitely grateful to that young man for taking care of her daughters, for protecting them, and above all, for loving them just as they were.
As their only answer to her question, Hestia and Flora raised their left hands at the same time. With dazzling smiles and undeniable pride in their eyes, they showed their mother the two white gold rings set with beautiful rubies.
"Aurelian proposed to us, Mother!" Hestia squealed, her excitement taking her breath away.
Selene raised an eyebrow, looking at them with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
"But, my treasures. . . you've already been engaged to him for years. It's an official contract between him and your father—there was no need for that."
Flora rolled her eyes, snorting at her mother's old-fashioned mindset.
"Of course we know that, Mother! But that was just a simple agreement, something between families," Flora replied, gesturing with her hand. "The fact that he got down on one knee and asked us, with these rings… it makes it infinitely more special."
"Exactly," Hestia continued, supporting her sister and caressing the ruby devoutly. "Even though we already knew, this proves that he truly loves us. That he wants us by his side just as much as we want him," she sighed. "It was a truly magical moment, Mom."
Selene shook her head slowly. She could never fully understand her daughters, nor the complex and dark ideas that governed them, but seeing them so full of love and joy was enough for her.
Without wasting another second, Hestia and Flora took her by the arms, pulling her back toward the armchairs. They made her sit down and, positioning themselves on either side of her, began bombarding her with details about how they wanted their wedding to be. They spoke at a dizzying pace about French silks, what the lighting would be like, black roses on every table, and an absurdly exclusive guest list.
Selene listened to them with her full attention, nodding at each of their demands. She smiled tenderly at the longing, the excitement, and the deep passion she sensed in every word that came from her daughters' mouths.
Amid the avalanche of ideas for their wedding, the doors to the parlor swung open. The family patriarch, Alaric Carrow, entered the room wearing an expensive robe with the Ministry's emblem embroidered on it. Upon seeing his daughters, Alaric barely slowed his pace. He gave them a quick greeting—he almost seemed disinterested—grabbed a handful of Flu Powder from the shelf, and disappeared up the chimney on his way to his office.
Selene watched the green flames fade with an icy stare.
Ever since the Dark Lord had become Minister of Magic, Alaric had been behaving in an increasingly arrogant, insufferable, and haughty manner. And as if that weren't enough, the fact that Hestia and Flora were going to marry the only son and heir of his beloved and idolized Lord had inflated his ego to stratospheric levels. To Alaric, his daughters were simply his trophies and most prized possessions. Selene knew it was best not to say anything to him to avoid pointless arguments at home. She no longer had the strength or desire for conflict.
Besides, if Hestia and Flora were the way they were… Selene knew it was their father's fault. That obsessive intensity, that emotional detachment from the rest of the world, and that inherent darkness in their hearts—the girls had inherited it from him and from the twisted blood of the Carrows.
Pushing her husband out of her thoughts, Selene turned her full attention to the two young women who were still arguing heatedly over whether the cake should be chocolate with strawberries or chocolate with raspberries.
"Calm down, my girls, take a breath," Selene interrupted them gently, placing a hand on one of her daughters' hands. "I promise I'll help you with whatever you want. We'll make your wedding the most perfect and beautiful event the magical world has ever seen."
Hestia and Flora paused and looked at her with sparkling eyes.
"Thank you, Mother," they said in unison, rushing to hug her again.
Selene closed her eyes and held them tightly against her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of their hair. They were no longer those two frightened, lonely little girls who used to hide in the shadows of the mansion, trying not to be noticed. As she held them, Selene realized, with a lump in her throat, that her little girls… were now fully-fledged women. Women ready to rule their own worlds and start families with the men they loved.
The doors of Gaunt Manor swung open, revealing a Lord Voldemort who looked unusually exhausted.
Tom Gaunt shuffled into the foyer after a particularly hectic morning at the Ministry. The world, after all, was going completely mad, and for him, that only meant more and more mountains of work, more and more diplomatic meetings, and listening to even more complaints from his subordinates.
That very day, he'd had to hold emergency meetings with the magical representatives from Spain, Japan, and India. Gellert Grindelwald had already begun wreaking havoc across the globe, unleashing chaos on an international scale, and the magical governments were on the verge of collapse, struggling desperately to keep the Muggles from finding out about the attacks by diverting attention toward unexplained "natural disasters" or terrorist attacks. Keeping the Statute of Secrecy intact was becoming a Herculean task.
Amid all that political turmoil, the only genuinely good thing about his day had been his conversation with the envoy from India. The foreign wizard had asked him with deep fascination about Parseltongue and had extended a formal invitation to his homeland. According to the ambassador, there was an entire hidden community of wizards and witches in India who spoke Parseltongue naturally—an entire country where his strange gift was considered a blessing rather than an undeniable mark of dark magic.
It would be nice to see sometime. Although… Tom scratched the bridge of his nose wearily; deep down, he admitted with a touch of irony and guilt that Parseltongue's terrible reputation in Great Britain was, to a large extent, his fault, for having used it to terrorize the country for decades.
He let out a heavy sigh. The wizarding world was going to hell at an alarming rate, and what infuriated him most was that most of the world's Archmages weren't doing a damn thing to stop it or take sides. There were only eight Archmages on the entire planet. He, of course, was one of them—nine if you counted that damned Grindelwald. And, to his frustration, at least half of them preferred to remain in a comfortable, cowardly neutrality while the world burned.
He took off his jacket and loosened his tie, trying to shake off his lingering headaches. Today he had something far more important to do.
As he walked down the hallway toward his office, Aurelian appeared from the other end. As he passed by, his son didn't stop, but he gave him a smile and winked knowingly.
Voldemort snorted through his nose, feigning annoyance at his son's attitude, but he immediately changed direction and followed him in silence toward the main hall.
As he entered, Aurelian was already standing in the center. Without saying a word, his son reached into his tunic and pulled out the Resurrection Stone. He twirled it three times between his fingers.
The air in the room grew cold, and a figure began to materialize in the center of the room. Elaine had appeared.
Aurelian looked at his parents, gave a gentle, warm smile, and, without saying a single word so as not to disrupt the moment, turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him to give them complete privacy.
Voldemort remained standing by the door, staring intently at his beloved. Elaine was there, looking as beautiful as she had on the day his foolish decisions and delusions of grandeur had caused him to lose her, clasping her hands in front of her lap as she looked at him somewhat shyly, as if afraid of interrupting the thoughts running through the Minister of Magic's mind.
Feeling his legs grow heavy, Tom walked slowly toward one of the armchairs and sat down. His usual aura and demeanor faded away, leaving behind only a deeply weary and remorseful man.
Elaine smiled at him with a tenderness that tugged at his heart.
"Hello, Tommy," she whispered, gazing intently into his eyes. "How was your day today?"
Tom didn't answer right away. He remained silent, simply watching her, losing himself in every detail of her face, her eyes, and her beautiful smile. He was unable to speak, fearing that if he did, the illusion would shatter.
Elaine noticed his demeanor and the deep weariness in his eyes. Her smile widened. The translucent figure of his wife floated across the room until she settled into the armchair, sitting right beside him. Although he couldn't feel her warmth, Tom felt at peace—something only her presence could bring him.
Tom finally smiled—a genuine smile, free of any shadow.
It was his most closely guarded secret. Once a week, Tom Gaunt set aside his pride, his responsibilities as Minister, and the decisions of the impending war, and asked his son to use the stone. It was his most sacred moment. It was the only time when he could truly breathe, relax, and simply enjoy seeing, hearing, and loving his Elaine.
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