DOROTHEA {fred weasley}

seventy seven

Ezra sat on the windowsill of his father's old study, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching the moonlight bleed across the frost-glossed gardens of the manor. The night felt too still.

He was trapped here, more than he ever expected to be. He lay next to Dorothea most nights, hatred burning between them. They hadn't touched once since they had been married, he couldn't bring himself to. 

Two months had passed since that night at the Burrow, and it had confirmed every fear he had ever had about the witch. She had never been his, but this was different. Now, he feared, she belonged to a different side completely.

Dorothea wasn't who he had always thought she was. He had loved her, for years. Yet she had lost sight of herself, lost sight of everything important. It seemed only he understood that, though. The Dark Lord favoured her. She and Draco Malfoy were his favourites, everyone knew it. He was a Nott yet he felt useless.

Only in the recent weeks, however, had he finally been given a task.

The Dark Lord couldn't read Dorothea's mind, and it was infuriating to him. He had no way of truly knowing if she was loyal. And there were whispers about her. The only thing the wizard could see when he did try to probe her mind was a dark haired girl and a red headed wizard. Flashes of the same girl and boy, always on her mind, but never clear enough to see.

When Voldemort had spoken to Clementine, she knew instantly who both were. And one would be easy to reach.

Ezra had his eyes closed as he mulled things over. Behind him, the room smelled of old books and dying magic. The fire had gone out hours ago. He hadn't moved.

The Dark Lord knew nothing of Dorothea's other relations, and somehow, Ezra still felt a sense of loyalty to her. Or was it shame on his behalf? He didn't want the entire wizarding world knowing that his wife had been involved with a Weasley. 

To Voldemort, the only thing Dorothea cared about was the girl. Elvira Jones. She was all that stood between Dorothea and complete loyalness. He was a smart Lord, and the girl, as powerful as she was, was holding something back. He knew that. 

So, it was Ezra's job to eradicate it. 

He had known, of course, that this would come. That he'd be given a task and it would be impossibly difficult. His brother Theo had worriedly spoken to him plenty about how Draco was a shell of his former self as he tried to carry out his own task. Ezra had no idea what it was but he felt sure it couldn't be as cruel as his.

The man drew in another drag, held it, exhaled slowly through his nose. The smoke curled in front of his eyes, hazing the edge of the truth.

He hadn't seen Elvira in almost a year, not since school. His initial research told him she had moved to London recently. She'd be easy to reach. He could lure her in with a story about Dorothea, and then, he could kill her. 

He closed his eyes. The pain there surprised him.

They'd grown up like a triangle , Ezra, Dorothea, Elvira,  all magic and secrets and the hot ache of adolescence. Elvira had been the sun in their cold, dark little world: warm and golden and loud. She used to braid Dorothea's hair on the Slytherin common room floor. She used to dare Ezra to skip class and race her up the Astronomy Tower, lacking any of the pressure that was on himself and Dorothea.

They'd been a kind of family, he supposed.

But Voldemort didn't tolerate softness. He didn't permit attachments. He thought he could keep Dorothea.

He rubbed his fingers together. They were shaking. He hadn't noticed.

Across the room, the door creaked open.