the chilly mist that had pressed against the Prime Minister’s windows drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up, shadowy and ominous. There was no sound apart from the whisper of the black water and no sign of life apart from a scrawny fox that had slunk down the bank to nose hopefully at some old fish-and-chip wrappings in the tall grass.
But then, with a very faint pop, a slim hooded figure appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The fox froze, wary eyes fixed upon this strange new phenomenon. The figure seemed to take its bearings for a few moments, then set off with light, quick strides, its long cloak rustling over the grass.
With a second and louder pop, another hooded figure materialised.
‘Wait!’
The harsh cry startled the fox, now crouching almost flat in the undergrowth. It leapt from its hiding place and up the bank. There was a flash of green light, a yelp, and the fox fell back to the ground, dead.
The second figure turned over the animal with its toe.
‘Just a fox,’ said a woman’s voice dismissively from under the hood. ‘I thought perhaps an Auror – Cissy, wait!’
But her quarry, who had paused and looked back at the flash of light, was already scrambling up the bank the fox had just fallen down.
‘Cissy – Narcissa – listen to me —’
The second woman caught the first and seized her arm, but the other wrenched it away.
‘Go back, Bella!’
‘You must listen to me!’
‘I’ve listened already. I’ve made my decision. Leave me alone!’
The woman called Narcissa gained the top of the bank, where a line of old railings separated the river from a narrow cobbled street. The other woman, Bella, followed at once. Side by side they stood looking across the road at the rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness.
‘He lives here?’ asked Bella in a voice of contempt. ‘Here? In this Muggle dunghill? We must be the first of our kind ever to set foot —’
But Narcissa was not listening; she had slipped through a gap in the rusty railings and was already hurrying across the road.
‘Cissy, wait!’
Bella followed, her cloak streaming behind, and saw Narcissa darting through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street. Some of the street lamps were broken; the two women were running between patches of light and deep darkness. The pursuer caught up with her prey just as she turned another corner, this time succeeding in catching hold of her arm and swinging her round so that they faced each other.
‘Cissy, you must not do this, you can’t trust him —’
‘The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn’t he?’
‘The Dark Lord is … I believe … mistaken,’ Bella panted, and her eyes gleamed momentarily under her hood as she looked around to check that they were indeed alone. ‘In any case, we were told not to speak of the plan to anyone. This is a betrayal of the Dark Lord’s —’
‘Let go, Bella!’ snarled Narcissa and she drew a wand from beneath her cloak, holding it threateningly in the other’s face. Bella merely laughed.
‘Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn’t —’
‘There is nothing I wouldn’t do any more!’ Narcissa breathed, a note of hysteria in her voice, and as she brought down the wand like a knife, there was another flash of light. Bella let go of her sister’s arm as though burned.
‘Narcissa!’
But Narcissa had rushed ahead. Rubbing her hand, her pursuer followed again, keeping her distance now, as they moved deeper into the deserted labyrinth of brick houses. At last Narcissa hurried up a street called Spinner’s End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she passed boarded and broken windows, until she reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room.
She had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.
Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.
‘Narcissa!’ said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’
‘Severus,’ she said in a strained whisper. ‘May I speak to you? It’s urgent.’
‘But of course.’
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.
‘Snape,’ she said curtly as she passed him.
‘Bellatrix,’ he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.
They had stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it were not usually inhabited.
Snape gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.
‘We … we are alone, aren’t we?’ Narcissa asked quietly.
‘Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail’s here, but we’re not counting vermin, are we?’
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and, with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.
‘As you have clearly realised, Wormtail, we have guests,’ said Snape lazily.
The man crept hunchbacked down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it were encased in a bright silver glove.
‘Narcissa!’ he said, in a squeaky voice, ‘and Bellatrix! How charming —’
‘Wormtail will get us drinks, if you’d like them,’ said Snape. ‘And then he will return to his bedroom.’
Wormtail
