Gemma had never meant to create instability in the campgrounds or in anyone's lives, for that matter; it just sort of happened in a slew of exponentially quick events, too fast to count by any numeric reasoning, and inexplicable even to those who participated.

Predictably, her grandfather was absolutely furious, his bushy white eyebrows furrowed together in an expression that damned onlookers to be forever unfortunate-at least, that was how Gem interpreted it. Generally speaking, her grandfather only exerted his emotional palette under extreme duress, making his then current outburst strangely inappropriate. After all, he had raised her to be a strong, independent protestor of the generic evils of the Western World, as well as an explorer of the bizarre and obscure wonders of the known universe. Her room in their trailer was filled with shelves covered with oddities that she had discovered by the railroad tracks near the campsite-little bits of paper covered with indecipherable writing in scratchy black pen, different petrified forms of salamanders, an-it was truthfully the ultimate prize in her expansive collection-what appeared to be a wand shattered into multiple fragmentations. All of these things, along with her grandfather's quiet yet stern demeanor, led up to her blossoming into a young academic with little to worry about, until now.

"Gemma," whispered the brawny, far too well built man as he gripped the shoulders of his comrade and grandchild, who was quick to realize that she had misinterpreted his expression entirely, "you need to run."

Only once before had he told her to do so with such vigor, and Gemma tried to think of any reason why this would be necessary, a slight squint affixing itself to her charcoal eyes. "Granddad, what did-"

A loud scream pierced the air, and suddenly, a blast of fire erupted from nowhere and ripped into their trailer. "Please," said her grandfather, handing her a long, thin box that he had seemingly retrieved from nowhere. "You have to leave, now."

He kissed her on the forehead and went to the shed where his firearms were stored, and Gemma began to run.

The forest surrounding the campsite was thick with smoke and almost electric flashes of light, incoherent shouts from whatever was assaulting them, and snowflakes of ash. Gemma felt herself grow dizzy from the exertion and tried to breathe regularly, snot running down her face as she crouched behind a tree and opened the box. Inside was something that looked like an ornately carved wand (far better than the gimmick-filled toys Gemma had played with as a child) that almost radiated heat at the touch. "Wow," she whispered, completely distracted in the moment, her fingertips brushing over the grips. "What in the world-?"

Suddenly, someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off of the ground. "Who are you?" demanded the masked figure in a low growl. "Suppose you were trying to run off, weren't you?"

"Well, obviously," said Gemma, shoving the wand into her back pocket. "I didn't exactly want to stay around and get burnt to a crisp."

"Little bitch," said the man, ripping off his mask. His face was lined with scars and he almost appeared feral. "You're coming with me."

He grabbed her by the hair and begin to yank her back to the campsite. "Let me go," said Gemma, trying to release herself. "Please!"

The man didn't answer and threw her to the ground, placing his boot onto her back. "Move and you're dead."

Gemma bit her lip and glanced up, still flat on her belly. Another masked figure-this one clearly female-strode into the clearing where she had grown up, followed by an entourage of other similarly clad hooded figures, armed with something that didn't necessarily seem real.

The woman in black sauntered past the burning wreckage (and with Gemma's growing horror) and grabbed her grandfather, pulling him up to be in full view of the surrounding following. He was bleeding heavily, his spectacles broken and imbedded into the left side of his face, his hunting digs ripped and charred. He looked up, more disoriented than he had ever been in Gemma's childhood, and began to try to fight off his assailant.

"Wulfric," drawled the woman in a smoky contralto, grip tightening on his shoulders. "I completely underestimated you, my friend."

The man's boot dug a little deeper into Gemma's back, and she bit her lower lip and tried to stop trembling. Her grandfather mumbled something completely inaudible.

"F-f-fuck you," coughed her grandfather, a man who never used foul language in front of anyone. In response, the lady in black laughed and breezily brushed her wand (because really, it couldn't be anything else) across the mask. It disappeared into smoke, and Gemma wanted to scream.

"Oh, darling, I'd love to, but I'm afraid that would ruin everything," she said, her eyes burning like twin coals. "Now, after all these years, I'm sure you'd like to be informed of something-"

"I honestly do not care to hear your pleasantries," coughed Wulfric, blood appearing at his lips. "But due to being a g-g-gentleman, I must endure."

The woman growled pointed her wand at his throat. "Your sons are dead," she sang, appearing to be somewhere between deranged and hysterical, her tone tainted with something more than anger. "Poor 'Stan couldn't live with the mere thought of never escaping. Slit his wrists, bled all over the floor…"

She dug her high heeled boot into his upper thigh. "You would know that, right, being such a good father?"

"My sons were corrupted," said Wulfric, gasping for air.

"Isn't it funny," she continued, "that you never let Roddy even see her?"

Wulfric's eyes were bulging. "Wasn't-wasn't his to see," he exasperated. "Or yours, you whore."

Her fist smashed into the side of his face. "Where is she."

He didn't answer. The man placed a little more pressure onto Gemma's back, and her eyes stung.

"Wulfric. Where is she?" said the lady in black, her voice slightly strangled.

His eyes were vacant, and Gemma waited. "Not-not telling."

She screamed and there was a blinding flash of green light. For a moment, Gemma couldn't see anything; then, her grandfather was lying on the ground, completely still.

"No," she said as a man with a sleek mane of blond hair rushed up to the woman who killed her grandfather, putting his hands on her shoulders as she hung her head. "You-"

"QUIET," roared the man above her, and all she could see was stars. "Malfoy, I found this in the woods. Can I have some fun with her?"

Gemma couldn't breathe, but Malfoy-who she could only assume was the blond man-soon was approaching her. She could only see his boots until he stooped down and looked at her face. He blinked once, then twice, then stood back up and walked back to the corpse. "Bellatrix," he murmured, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe what we've been searching for is underneath Greyback's foot."

A blast of cool air whistled above her head, and the pressure was alleviated. Gemma gasped, trying to get up, but someone was examining her, looking at her hands, her face, her hair. She wanted to fight, but the lady in black was stroking her tangled short hair, looking at her face with a tearful expression. "Darling," she whispered, smoothing back her bangs. "Why didn't you fight him?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Gemma, attempting to push the killer off, wanting to strangle her with every fiber of her being. "You just killed Granddad, do you actually believe-"

Bellatrix's eyes widened drastically. "He never told you about me?"

"Ha, funny," said Gemma, glancing over at her grandfather's body. "Because he would be the type to tell me all about his future murderer, who would be completely insane and be magic or something stupid or maybe I'm just dreaming and this is all just a really horrible-"

Bellatrix wasn't listening. "Lucius," she mumbled, looking stunned. "She doesn't know. How-how could he-"

"Wulfric did go downhill after everything," said Lucius, eyeballing Gemma. "Then again, she could be a Squib."

Gemma squealed as Bellatrix smothered her in an embrace. "What kind of monster was he?" she said hysterically, clutching onto the girl in a state of utter frenzy. "He didn't tell her about us, about her blood, about magic-"

"Calm yourself, Bellatrix," said Lucius, lighting a cigarette. "She still can learn."

"That bastard!" howled Bellatrix, squeezing Gemma. "How dare he raise her like an idiot Muggle?"

What the hell is a Muggle? thought Gemma, struggling to get out of Bellatrix's arms. She had always been small, maybe even impish in appearance, but she simply could not escape the prison of fabric and muscle that belonged to the arms of her attacker.

"You could never trust Lestrange," continued Lucius with the condescending tone only the upper class can have. "He was completely ridiculous when it came to Mudblood policies…I'm surprised Rodolphus even turned out all right."

"What is the Dark Lord going to think?" demanded Bellatrix, and Gemma could hear her heartbeat rattling in her ribcage. "Oh, God, Lucius, she was supposed to be a prodigy. I should've never-"

"Don't blame yourself, Bella. I really can't stand your self loathing."

At that exact moment, Gemma dug her teeth into Bellatrix's wrist and catapulted herself off of the ground towards her grandfather's body. "Granddad, please be alive, please be alive," she muttered as she checked for a pulse. "Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream-"

"For the love of Slytherin, please stop making a fool of yourself," said Lucius, lifting her up by the shoulders and holding her against him while she struggled exponentially. "He's dead, child. Dead. It's not like the Killing Curse doesn't live up to its name."

Bellatrix strolled towards them, blood running down the length of her hand. Her expression kept bouncing back between pain and fear and something far too disturbing to be called love, and she linked hands with Lucius. "To the Manor."

Lucius shrugged, and suddenly everything felt constricted. Gemma couldn't breathe, let alone look at her surroundings, and then it was over and she was standing in front of an iron wrought gate, swallowing huge gulps of air, barely able to stay upright. Her captors looked completely undeterred by whatever had happened, and Lucius waved his wand and murmured "Alohomora," in front of the lock on the gate. It swung open, and they continued to half-drag her through a labyrinth of gardens.

"Do you think she's defective?" whispered Bellatrix, voice quavering. "Lucius, what if she really is a Squib?"

"What's a Squib?" asked Gemma, staring at the ground moving beneath her. "It's a pretty ridiculous insult."

"A Squib is someone born without the ability to cast spells despite being born into a wizard family," said Lucius, his grip softening. "However, I highly doubt that you're actually defective, as Bellatrix so lovingly put it."

"Shut up."

"I'm not from a wizard family," said Gemma, glancing up. "Granddad is-was-all I had."

Bellatrix let out a sound crossed between a sharp laugh and a sob. Lucius was quick to continue. "We actually believe differently."

"I'm sure you do," retorted Gemma, who was still caught on the possibility of waking up from this nightmare. "Then again, I'm not sure exactly what you're up to, murdering Granddad and all."

"Such matters will soon be discussed on a more pleasant forum," said Lucius. He lifted her head. "See? That's where you're going to live."

Gemma had no words. After all, ridiculously large mansion style houses were not a common commodity in the campsites where she grew up.

Lucius let go of her, and she found herself being held tightly by Bellatrix. He mumbled something and dug into his robes pockets before retrieving a silver key. "Perfect," he said, unlocking the enormous door. "Welcome home."

Gemma was released by her captor and stumbled into a great corridor. "Wow," she whispered, staring at the ornate chandeliers and oriental style rugs and dark oak floors. "It's…"

"Gaudy," said Bellatrix, walking past her and taking off her coat. "You should've seen my residence. It was excellent."

"Sure," said Lucius, whisking his wand and letting the coats fly into the distance. "God, Bella, could you try to go one minute without completely bashing your host?"

Bellatrix snorted and looked at Gemma expectantly. "You're managing quite well," she commented, and Gemma remembered that moments ago she had been trying to wake up her grandfather. "Then again, that's to be expected."

"Sure," said Gemma numbly. Something-a horrible, fascinating idea-kept popping up in her brain, but she couldn't block it from her thoughts. "Um. Assuming that you have some kind of motive? What are you going to do with me?"

Bellatrix studied her before glancing away unexpectedly. "You'll see, pet."

Gemma felt herself sink and followed them into a large drawing room with heavy velvet curtains and a roaring fireplace. Sitting upon a patterned sofa was a boy who looked startlingly like Lucius and a thin woman with long bottle blonde hair. They were seemingly engaged in a frivolous conversation, but when Lucius stepped in they both sprung upwards, the woman embracing him. "Dear, you absolutely reek of smoke," she said, gazing into his eyes. "Was it successful? Is Bella-"

She saw Gemma and inhaled. "Oh," she said, a smile splitting her features. "Bellatrix, is this her?"

Bellatrix said nothing, simply smiling before she nodded, quickly wiping at her eye. The other woman squealed and suddenly Gemma was encased in yet another pair of arms. "Oh, you're beautiful," she said, stroking her hair. "She's perfect, Bella, how-"

"She doesn't know magic," said Bellatrix, coughing.

The room temperature dropped a few degrees. "Are you certain?" asked the woman currently holding Gemma. "Please don't look at me like that, Bella."

Gemma wriggled out of her arms and tried to regain her balance. She still felt horribly dizzy and had no idea how she was even conscious. Everyone was staring at her. She was aware of that much. Exactly why, however, still eluded her. "Okay," she said after a brief silence. "I'm assuming that this is either a huge joke or some terrorist plot, but you can stop now if it's the first one. Please."

The boy narrowed his eyebrows. "What is she talking about?"

Lucius closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. "She doesn't know."

"How?" asked the woman, looking nearly horrified. "Did Wulfric-"

"Mmm," said Bellatrix, eyes closed. "Bastard didn't even tell her about us."

Lucius's wife-what else could she be?-raised a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes," said Bellatrix in an oddly high pitched voice. "Narcissa, I-I'm sorry, I can't-"

Is she actually crying? Why is she crying. Please stop crying. Narcissa suddenly glided over to the trembling wreck that was the formerly imposing Bellatrix, and Gemma coughed into her hand as soft words were muttered in some attempt to soothe. Whilst this was going on, the boy who looked like Lucius approached her, evidently discomfited by the entire situation. "Seeing as they're busy, do you want a tour?"

"Not particularly," whispered Gemma, still blinking. "Do you know what's going on?"

He sighed. "I'm still rather shocked that you haven't figured it out yet," he said, extending a palm. "I'm Draco."

"Gemma," she said, not taking his hand. "She…she killed my granddad."

Draco snorted. "Typical Bella."

"How can you laugh about that?" hissed Gemma, eyes welling up with tears. "God, you're all terrible."

Draco's shoulders drooped, posture decompressing. "Essentially, yes."

Gemma groaned and turned back to face Lucius. "Please tell me what's going on. Is this a prank, or some sick joke, or maybe I'm on some television bit-"

"Hardly," said Lucius simply, sitting down in a velvet armchair. He seemingly brought a pipe out of nowhere and lit the snuff with his wand, thoughtfully looking out of the large windows and ignoring Narcissa and Bellatrix completely. "We really should have gotten you some proper robes."

"Robes," said Gemma in monotone. "Because that's a thing that you wear."

Draco nodded and slumped onto the sofa. "Muggles have it so easy when it comes to wardrobe choices," he said bitterly. "If I could wear jeans-"

Lucius's stern gaze shut him up promptly. He then turned back to Gemma and continued his soliloquy. "I am sorry for your grandfather. Bellatrix can tend to be a little…explosive."

"That's hardly an excuse," muttered Gemma grimly, sitting next to Draco rather inharmoniously. "I should find a phone and call the police on her."

Lucius laughed harshly. "They wouldn't interfere if they knew what was good for them."

"Are you a Communist or something?" demanded Gemma, gaining attention from Narcissa. "Because they were all over the news for ages, and I swear, if you're trying anything-"

The temperature in the room dropped drastically, and Gemma shivered before noticing an enormous snake slide into the room effortlessly. She squeaked and pulled her legs up against her. "What is that?!"

Draco held a finger to his lips, and a tall, thin man wearing long, tattered robes appeared from the doorway. With escalating terror, Gemma realized that he had serpentine features and cold, red eyes. In that moment, she knew that the woman who killed her grandfather was not the leader of the operation and that far darker forces were meddling with her life.

The man waited for what seemed like hours, staring indifferently at Gemma. "So," he said quietly. "Bella. Come here."

Still wiping at her eyes, Bellatrix stumbled over in his general direction. He looked at her pointedly, not even taking the moment to blink. "You're distressed."

She grew several shades paler. "Nothing unmanageable, my lord."

His large white hand brushed her left cheekbone, almost carefully. "Are you sure?"

Bellatrix nodded frantically, and he narrowed his eyes. "Of course," he said, looking at Gemma. "And this is the girl."

The drawing room was eerily silent. Gemma felt as though she should say something-anything, really-but fear had paralyzed her tongue, rendering her useless. "Interesting," said the man, retrieving his wand. "I knew Wulfric was up to something, but he was quite talented at blocking me. What a shame he never taught her."

It felt like something was curling in her brain, moving about and sequestering her thoughts. "Gemma," he said, but she could barely hear his voice over the pounding in her head. "Do you know anything about this world?"

She struggled to look up. "Who-who are you?" she whispered, tears running down her face.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix warningly. The pain ceased and Gemma trembled on the couch, her brain still sending little shockwaves through her system. The man held her face in his cold hands, and she was forced to look at some sort of monster, eyelids rapidly shutting and opening, back and forth. "Please remember-"

Suddenly, Gemma was falling, deep into some indescribable darkness, her screams strangled by the void. She looked down and thudded against cold, hard masonry. "What the hell-"

A moan pierced the air followed by inaudible dialogue. Gemma stood up and tried to take in her surroundings: she seemed to be in a long hallway that curved back and forth and wasn't exactly architecturally sound. Running her fingertips against the walls, she felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she stepped as quietly as possible down the corridor, glancing behind her and swallowing. It was definitely turning out be an extraordinarily strange day-first the siege, then magically appearing in an enormous mansion, and finally this. What this was exactly, however, was still frighteningly not apparent. Gemma's mind was racing as she walked a little closer to the nearest doorway when two men precipitously rushed past her, nearly shoving her into the wall. "Wait!" she yelled, chasing after them. "Where-"

The moans were getting louder, and Gemma wanted to vomit. Another man ran through her, not even noticing her presence, and entered a room. Gemma swallowed and followed him, completely unprepared emotionally for what she was about to see.

A man with a coarse mane of reddish gold hair was chained to a wall, fighting off another, far more well groomed man with a wand. "Let go of me, you bastard!" he roared, punching him in the chest. "I need to-"

Someone screamed, and Gemma swiveled around to see a far younger Bellatrix. "What-" she began to ask as she started sobbing and clutching her chest. "Why-I don't understand-"

A thin, reedy woman wearing all white passed through her and lowered herself in front of the almost waifish looking Bellatrix, who was all tears and thick, glossy black hair. "Breathe," instructed the nurse, reaching into her large handbag and extracting a medieval looking device that made Gemma wince. "Now, Lestrange, I need you to calm down if you want to have a successful delivery-"

Gemma's eyes widened and she sat down next to Bellatrix. "Holy fuck," she said, realizing that the younger version of her tormentor was heavily pregnant. How did I not notice that? "You have a kid?"

Bellatrix seemingly ignored her and bit her lip so hard that she bled before looking at the nurse with glazed eyes. "Just get it out," she said, hiccupping back a sob. "It-" Her eyes bulged and she cried out.

There was a loud thud and the man fighting off the prisoner flew back unconscious. The prisoner in question had been released of his chains and held onto Bellatrix's shoulders, kissing her on the forehead. "Bella, shh," he murmured, and Gemma tried not to gag. "It's alright, pet, just try-"

Another set of dark clothed guards stormed in and ripped the man from her. "Rodolphus, no-"

"Your new cell is ready, Lestrange," hissed a guard into his ear, wand at his throat. "Cooperate or there will be heavier consequences."

The man named Rodolphus glared at them but did not resist getting dragged out of the room. There was the clang of a lock shutting, and Gemma's attention was turned back to Bellatrix and the nurse. "So I'm just an observer," she whispered, watching the nurse suddenly slap her in the face. "And this-this must be-"

Bellatrix threw back her head and screamed. The nurse was reaching underneath the cluster of sheets and then there was the crying of a newborn, and the nurse was standing up and toweling it off. Bellatrix blinked, tears streaming and tried to reach out for the baby. "Please," she said, fear overriding the pain. "Please, I promise I won't hurt her-"

The nurse scoffed and held the tiny newborn close to her chest. "That sounds ridiculous coming from you," she said in a tone that could only be described as condescending. "We will need a name for the birth certificate."

Bellatrix was openly sobbing now, and Gemma tried to block it all out with little success. "Please," she heard, and there was the sick slap of bloody matter on the floor. "Oh, God, was that-"

"Placenta," said the nurse, and the baby started crying again. "You'll be fine."

"You're taking my baby," said Bellatrix, and Gemma looked past her hands to see the flames in her eyes. "This is wrong. She-can you at least tell Cissy-"

"The grandfather has already applied for guardianship," said the nurse coldly, trying to soothe the baby. "A name, Mrs. Lestrange."

Bellatrix closed her eyes and laughed, still shivering. "Her name is Gemma," she said, and then the observer felt herself being sucked out of the memory and landed with a shock back into the present.