Thirteen years after The Battle of Hogwarts, two wizarding children are about to embark on their own adventure. They both have been lied to their entire lives, one to protect her from the wrath of the wizarding world, and the other to protect him fr...
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The figure in the dark cloak was bent over a low table covered with a wide array of bottles, brushes, a book with a hole in it, and bowls of what looked suspiciously like blood. A large yellowed book was splayed open in the midst of the mess, and the figure was running a finger along its lines of runic text. Another figure was slumped on the floor—an old man in rags. He was surrounded by a pentagram and hundreds of runes drawn in a glistening ruby liquid. Beside the prone figure a large brazier burned, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Bel let out an involuntary gasp as the sight forced the air from her chest.
The hooded figure whipped around at the tiny noise, revealing the harried face of Jacob Zagyva. He quickly broke into a sickly sweet smile as he pointed his wand at the intruders, and shouted "Incarcerous" before any of the younger students could even raise theirs. Thick ropes spiraled from the tip and rapidly curled around the legs and arms of all ten children, binding them together into a tight knot of tangled limbs. He languidly strode across the gleaming smooth stone floor, careful not to step inside the homeless man's pentagram or smudge any of the other strange marks surrounding it. "Well, well, well," he gloated. "If the Potter prat didn't figure it out after all this time. It was quite amusing the way you chased the little princess around the corridors all year, never even looking in my direction."
"I'm not a princess!" Bel snapped at Jacob as he knelt down before them, still grinning.
"You should have covered your tracks better!" retorted James, his eyes shining with pent up fury. "We figured out it was you as soon as I accused Bel. You shouldn't fight with your girlfriend in public!"
Jacob recoiled a fraction of an inch at that, but the smile did not slip from his lips. "Oh, I think you are a little princess," he continued, patting her head. "You look too much like your parents to hide for long. Perhaps it was for the best that you found your way here, even if you did bring all these...guests. It is much too late to stop me. The apex of the conjunction is only moments away, and you will make a wonderful gift for your father. Your little friends, too. Admittedly, it is not Harry Potter gift wrapped, but his children and the blood traitor's prats are not a bad substitute." He unconcernedly turned his back on the trussed prisoners and picked his way back to the table at the back of the cage. He picked up the bowl of blood and a brush and continued to ink the strange hieroglyphs onto the floor.
"Her father is Abraxos Black and he's dead!" Scorpius shouted across the cave as the shock of Jacob's brazen statements wore off.
Jacob did not even bother to look up from his macabre art project as he replied in a silkily patient voice. "I find that highly unlikely, although I do believe he's dead. Your father is Lord Voldemort--once known as Tom Riddle--and death is not nearly as permanent a state as many believe." He laughed at the blank shocked look that appeared on many faces. He finished the last rune and replaced the bowl and brush. "Did you not tell your little friends princess, or were none of you bright enough to figure out what The Book of Necromancy is really for?"
