PROLOGUE

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

ELLADORA

New York glimmers in the evanescent light of dusk, skyscrapers covering the violet horizon, and rain drizzles over the bursting streets. Following the revival of the stock market as the United States left the grim days of World War II and the Great Depression, the city obtained a newfound radiance, extending open arms to the unusual and the innovative. That was what had attracted Elladora Selwyn to the East Coast, the promise of a fresh start, somewhere far from the British Ministry of Magic, away from the corpses and wounds that had not healed since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Her umbrella is dark, dainty, and lace-gloved fingers grasp its hilt to steady it against the morose weather. Though the raindrops sometimes hit the tall slope of her nose, she allows the object to rest leisurely on her shoulder, more of an accessory than anything. Elladora's hair, along with her clothes, has been spelled with an anti-water charm, protecting her from the grizzly coldness of the flourishing metropolis. The streets are jammed, jumbled bodies pushing against each other in order to advance, and car honks pollute the surroundings. Still, she moves like a lioness, and both men and women allow the lady to pass through. Two years after Hogwarts, and she still has it in her—the same elegance that demands respect, the lovely smile that makes hearts thud heavily.

Selwyn stops by a bifurcation, eyeing the red stop sign that prevents her from crossing, and frowns. Ah! Bloody muggle inventions and the inconvenience they pose to her existence. Her fingers grip the umbrella again, and she focuses viridescent eyes on the device, lips moving in a silent chant that has it switch immediately to green. Harmless magic. Sly smirk on her face, and she crosses the street to the bewildered honks of passing cars, who barely have time to register the change in traffic.

Across from her, a tall cathedral meets the sky, endless levels rising imperially over the moving crowds. It is made of stone, grey walls facing the streets, and the windows are arched with wooden boards crossing the glass panes. It reminds her of Hogwarts, and that is why she hates it. Still, she has to pass it every morning on her way to work, and perhaps, this is the universe's way of reminding her of her sins.

Not that Elladora forgets, anyway. The war replays on loop in her nightmares, and she has not had a good night's sleep in the past two years. Some nights, she imagines Ren's body dangling from a rope, disfigured and beaten. Other times, she recalls Varya's disappearance and the way it had destroyed the Death Eaters, driving Tom Riddle to the brink of insanity.

The cruel leader had, against all odds, managed to keep it together despite the apparent ache at losing something he had always considered his. Elladora believes that, strangely enough, it was Dumbledore's betrayal that made Riddle stay on track with his purpose, becoming less of a monster and more of a tyrant. Had it not been for that, the girl deems that Tom would have risked his sanity for immortality, and would have created more Horcruxes. But that could not happen. He could not lose his intellect, not until he outsmarted Albus and got the Obscurial back.

For that reason, the man decided to send Elladora to New York and have her butter-up to the politicians that led the Magical Congress of the United States of America. With Lopheus Evergreen gone, they needed another pair of ears on the continent, and the poisoner was more than willing to distance herself from London. Now, she works across from MACUSA, carrying out an underground railroad for dark artifact smuggling in and out of the Americas. Selwyn takes pride in her trade. It is not an easy fit, especially not for a twenty-one-year-old novice businesswoman, but as Icarus once teasingly told her—she has the charm of a siren, the sort that men willingly bow to.

"Fucking Lestrange," Elladora mumbles as she enters the building the boy bought for her under a faux identity. One year ago, it had been nothing more than a run-down, good-for-nothing rubble, with dust covering every inch and spiders crawling in the corners. But she made something of it, and now every Tuesday and Thursday, the basement rocks the streets with jazz music and suavity—L'arbre Des Roses is more than a speakeasy; it is a way of debauchery, where magic meets sin in an explosion of experience.

Selwyn walks inside, hangs her damp umbrella in the foyer, and steps right into the hallway leading to the basement. The speakeasy itself is only accessible to the elite, the bourgeois that survived the Great Depression, and any traders who need a place to carry out their bargains. She takes commissions for most, and she gets to call dibs on any object that enters through her door. This has served Tom Riddle more than once and allowed him to eventually purchase the Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley, London.

The salon is dark. The servers are instructed to turn off all lights by dusk and leave through the back door. Carrying out such surreptitious activities across from the MACUSA headquarters is reckless, and the thrill of it feeds Elladora in ways she cannot express. She turns on the candelabra and takes in the grandeur of her business—circular velvet sofas and round tables occupy most of the floor, and they all stand facing towards a small stage meant for any comedy shows or jazz nights. Diamond chandeliers hang from high ceilings, golden and sparkling, and the bar is towards the right end, decked with the finest liquor money can buy. Some of it is a gift from the Malfoy vines in Venice, though the Prosecco itself is nothing compared to the exquisite marble fountain that Abraxas had assembled for Elladora when she first opened L'arbre Des Roses.

It stands in the center, a serpent crawling around a fallen pillar, and from its mouth pulses the fountain spray. It is small, but artistic, and definitely a centerpiece in the whole salon. Some of Selwyn's clients say that it has become a tradition to throw in a galleon before every trade in order to achieve success. Flummery, but Elladora does not complain, not when it means collecting at least ten galleons every night for nothing.

The poisoner's eyes skim the surroundings, and then she sees the figure standing in the corner, form covered in a darkened robe and shoulders broad. Her heart skips a beat, and she reaches out to the wand stuffed in her boot, then begins approaching the invader slowly.

With a quick motion, Elladora digs the wand into the intruder's side neck, pressing against their artery harshly, and preventing any sudden attacks. Then, she grabs their hooded head and slams it against the table severely, earning a muffled groan. The figure pulls off a pointy knife from their belt, slashing at Selwyn and having her stumble backward. In the flurry of the moment, she catches sight of their face.

"You fucking idiot!" Elladora screams furiously at Avery, who gives her a sheepish grin as he massages his forehead.

"Now, is this how you treat an old friend?"

"You fucking idiot," the poisoner repeats, but now her voice wavers with emotion as she marches towards the man and hugs him tightly.

"This is certainly new," mumbles Nicholas, not used to getting any sort of affection from the witch. Their relationship had always been rocky during their school years, primarily due to their quick fuses and recalcitrant personalities. Still, he embraces her right back, taking in the commodity and familiarity of Elladora's smell. It brings back memories. Not good, nor bad. Just memories.

The poisoner takes a step back after a few seconds, trying to take the man in. Nicholas looks the same—his profile is all jagged edges and hollow cheeks, the slightest stubble on his chin, and Selwyn can pinpoint every scar that runs from his right eyebrow to his temple. She cannot remember where they came from, but they have always been there, a mark of the mischievous.

"We have not heard from you in months," breathes Elladora as Nicholas gets up from his seat, waltzing over towards the bar and taking a bottle of hard liquor from the shelves. He sniffs it, and his face turns sour—the brand is not for his liking. "We thought something had happened to you."

Avery shoots her a lopsided smile, "Now, that is simply ridiculous. If I ever die, I am going out with a bang, and it will be plastered all over the Daily Prophet. I was chasing a lead on the necklace."

"Evergreen?"

"That little bitch crawled off of the face of the Earth," rasped Nicholas, slamming a glass against the polished tabletop. "And along with her, Petrov's Horcrux. Now, Riddle will never let me return empty-handed, so I had to erase my tracks a little. Get his heart racing and all that."

"He will have your head for disappearing like that. Riddle thought he would have to send someone else after her."

"Oh, no, which head are we talking about?"

"Piss off."

Nicholas gives her a charming smirk, one that used to be infamous during their Hogwarts days. It treads the edge of demented, and that sort of thing attracts girls, oddly enough. There is an effortless appeal to the man as he pours himself a glass of whiskey, then downs it in one go, nose not even scrunching.

When they were young, Avery's parents often sent him away whenever they had guests over, and he always stumbled over to Lestrange's house and drunk himself numb. Then, during the summer between fourth and fifth year, the assassin had finished two bottles of wine in one sitting, causing him to become rather unwell. It gave Lestrange and Selwyn quite a scare—Nicholas threw up for hours. After that, he started regulating his intake, and his anger found its expression in his constant killing missions. Sometimes, Elladora was scared to ask how many Avery had killed. A few dozens, certainly, and the numbers had doubled since the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Why are you here?" Elladora asks eventually, once Avery has dismissed the bottle of whiskey and started staring at her with intent.

"I told you," he says simply; it becomes rather irritating. "I have been following a lead."

"And it brought you to me?"

"Sort of. It brought me to the Magical Congress of the United States of America. You just so happened to be across the road, and I was thirsty."

The poisoner debates slapping him across the face. Hard. But then Nicholas digs into the pocket of his trench coat and pulls out a crumpled pamphlet. The edges are torn, as if someone ripped off tiny pieces due to nervousness, but that gesture does not seem fitting for the assassin. He probably robbed it from a man's pocket or charmed his way into acquiring it because, as Elladora scans the title, this is not the sort of flyer that ends up in the hands of just anyone.

She lifts an eyebrow in intrigue, "An auction?"

Avery nods, restless, "Not just any sort. The prize is said to be a necklace, a dark object. Sounds familiar?"

"It could be anything," argues Selwyn. She has traded her fair share of jewelry on the black market. Still, an auction on a dark artifact going on in New York without her knowledge? That means that whomever the source is, they avoided her on purpose. Nobody walks in the city and tries to deal without hearing Elladora's name at least once.

"Maybe, but look at the name of the seller."

"Ophelia Snow," the poisoner laughs bitterly. "Winterbour, Evergreen, now Snow. She has a preference."

"Precisely," mumbles Avery, then his eyes darken. "But there is a problem. To get inside the auction house, one must have a specific trinket. It is like a right of passage—you bring the Master of the house this, and you gain access."

"And you do not have the key."

"No, I do not, because the key is an enchanted coin that is only given to trusty companions. Now, I was smart with this one, so hear me out. I tracked a wizard that came all the way from Germany and slipped a vial of Veritaserum in his luggage. It was seized at the border, and his bags were taken for investigation by the MACUSA Department of Confiscated Items."

"So, MACUSA has the enchanted coin?"

"Yes. For now at least," he gives her a bright smile, "until we steal it."

Elladora raises a pointed finger in his face, "Oh, no, no," she says, shaking the digit with disapproval. "There is no we in this, Avery. I am not getting dragged into one of your masochist schemes. Besides, I tapped out after the battle, and Riddle knows that."

"Riddle will not give a shit about your tap out if it means getting the necklace," scoffs Avery.

The poisoner narrows her eyes, trying to fish for a rebuttal, but nothing comes to mind. Indeed, there is nothing more important to Tom than securing the necklace, and she would very much prefer not to have the Dark Wizard show up on her doorstep, causing earthquakes in his path just to get her to do his bidding. Then again, Riddle might be caught up in his own nefarious deals back in London, trying to start his political party and go head to head with Albus Fucking Dumbledore. Still, chances of Riddle visiting her are low, but never zero.

"What could I even do for you?"

"What you usually do, sweetheart," smirks Avery, leaning over the counter and extending one digit to caress her cheek. Selwyn whacks his hand away, earning a pleased laugh from the tantalizing monster. "I need you to bat your pretty eyelashes and get us access to the Department. And I have just the perfect target for you."

With that, Nicholas gets up, grabbing his coat from a nearby stall and gesturing for Elladora to follow. She almost puts up a fight, says that the speakeasy must stay open and that she will be expecting visitors soon enough, but the assassin will not have it. He is here on a mission, and the woman suspects it has become quite an obsession for him. The last they heard of Nicholas Avery, he was visiting Iceland, trying to find a supposed Seer claim and trying to have him predict where Ophelia Evergreen might have gone.

As if that has ever worked for them.

Anyhow, the man went under the radar, and all connections had been cut off. Three weeks into his disappearance, Maxwell wanted to pack up and go looking for him, but Riddle stopped him. He needed Nott in London to oversee the finances of the empire he was trying to build, and, frankly enough, if Nicholas did not want to be found, then nobody would ever manage to coax him out of hiding. And if he was dead then, well...he was dead. Either way, it would have done the group no good to go and follow empty guesses.

But now, Nicholas is back, and with him so is danger.

Elladora cannot explain why or how, but she senses the darkness that she ran away from two years ago coming back, smothering her. She has been in its presence for so long that it does not hurt, but it unsettles her. Because she knows that she cannot go back to what they did before—the creatures, the hunting, the hiding, and death. So much death.

They go up the stairs and, in the doorframe, stand two potential customers, waiting for the sign outside to flicker to life and indicate that they are open. One of them is tall, with a crooked nose and dark glasses, whereas the other wears a top-hat that is a size too small for his balding head. They are traders. Elladora has dealt with them before. They are not the best in their market, certainly, and they sometimes try to rip others off, but she lets them come back because, hey, business is business. As long as they drown themselves in alcohol from their night's income, the retired Knight could care less.

Tonight, though, they seem fidgety. As soon as they lay eyes upon her, one makes to dig his fingers in his coat, most likely for a weapon. Avery is faster ( as always ), and right as the tall man raises the gun, he flings a knife at him, nailing his hand to the wall behind him. For the briefest second, his partner stumbles with his steps, and that allows the assassin to cover the ground and punch him squarely in the face. Blood splatters on the floor, and Elladora thinks she can see a tooth, but her attention is distracted by the other intruder, who has pulled the knife out of his hand and is now swinging it at Nicholas.

She knows the assassin can take two at once, and she knows that she has promised herself not to get involved in this kind of thing again. But call it instinct or operant conditioning, Selwyn slips behind the trader and kicks him right in his liver, having him topple to the ground. The knife slides from his grasp and almost falls between the sewer bars. They both lunge for it at the same time, colliding with the pavement and each other, but the top-hat man kicks it out of their reach right as Avery pushes him into the back door.

Elladora hears them fall down the stairs together, but she shifts her focus to the knife as the tall man grabs it, then tries to stab her with it. Her hands go up to grip his wrists, and she pushes against his weight, but he is more robust, and the blade is gradually inching towards her chest. The first thought that comes to mind is magic, but MACUSA is right across from her, and they will be able to track any spells right to her nest. She does not have the device that Nott gave her, the one that makes her attacks undetectable, and Selwyn curses inwardly.

"Die, you resentful bitch," spits the man.

Oh, he did not just call her a bitch.

Elladora shifts her leg until it is right between his own, then kicks him painfully. His expression immediately turns from anger to agony, and he loses balance. The witch pushes him off of her and grabs the weapon, then slits his throat quickly.

Her hands are bloody. The tall man is on the ground, fingers wrapping around his reddening neck as if it will stop the continuous flow. The most it can do is postpone the inevitable. Elladora made sure to nick the artery. Face crimson with fury, she raises the knife again, then drives it right through the fourth and fifth rib, nailing the heart. A river of life floods towards the sewer, dripping in with the filth of New York's water system. She watches him die and thinks this is the first time she has killed since Hogwarts.

Bloody Avery.

Elladora scoffs at her thought, "Bloody, indeed."

Said-man emerges from the stairs victorious, his hair ruffled and blouse colored with vermillion. He gives her a grin, and Elladora can tell the other trader landed a good punch, for his lip is bust and bloody. The cut only accentuates with the smile, but such a minor injury is nothing to the assassin. Avery glances down at the corpse and whistles, noticing the two different wounds.

"Vicious."

Elladora raises the knife to his face, "Make one more witty comment, I dare you."

Merlin, he irritates her, but at least he hides his mockery behind a whimsical smirk, and then grabs the man's arms. Nicholas pushes the door open, then drags the cadaver down the stairs, watching as the concrete colors red behind his movements. He stuffs it in a janitor closet by the end of the basement hall, and Elladora catches sight of the other victim. She will have to think about how to get rid of them tomorrow, but now there are more significant worries.

"Someone put a hit on you," says Avery, dusting off his clothes.

"You don't say?"

He gives an exasperated sigh, "Now, that snarkiness is uncalled for."

"It is how I deal with having assassins sent after me, so put up with it."

"Yeah, all right."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

In New York, magic prospers under the muggle eye. There are communities of wizards and witches that move amongst the ordinary world, leading their lives efficiently. If London has Diagon Alley, then the East Coast has St. Mark's Street, a populated area, the sort where people do not notice if someone vanishes out of thin air because it is just too crowded. The entrance to the magical world is an old newspaper station, placed right by the most significant intersection. When entering, a sorcerer must find the specific shelf with documents dating back to 1824, and press their palm against the wooden boards. Then, a passage opens, and magic awaits.

Even now, as Elladora Selwyn and Nicholas Avery step into the flurry of the wizarding world, the sorcery still sizzles in the air. The woman inhales deeply. She has not visited this part of New York in a while, trying to lay on the low as much as possible. Still, it is refreshing to be reminded of the wonderful gifts she possesses, of the world the Death Eaters will reform.

They slip undetected through the colored robes, avoid owls and children gathering their books for the new school year that will start in less than a few weeks. Ilvermorny is all the way in Massachusetts, but as the most prestigious magic school in the United States, it accepts students from everywhere. It is melancholic—Elladora sees a group of four students snigger by a fountain with golden fish jumping out of and into the water, and she is reminded of how it all started. Ten years have passed since she first stepped at Hogwarts, hot on Icarus Lestrange's tail, trying to get his attention and avoiding Malfoy's judgmental stare.

She remembers how Nicholas had once been taller than all of the boys, how Maxwell had crooked teeth. It is peculiar to think of them as children, especially now, when they have lost all of their innocence. Not that they had much to begin with, considering how they grew up. Selwyn relives her mother's harsh words, how both of her parents had tried to shape her into a blossoming woman, the sort that nods politely and does not ask questions. They believe Elladora is in New York to become a charity gala organizer, and Riddle helps her keep appearances by meeting up with her father regularly and discussing all of the wonderful objects that Selwyn auctions in the name of philanthropy.

"Why are we here?" Elladora asks eventually, trying to pry her thoughts away from her past.

Nicholas walks in front of her rapidly and throws her a look over his shoulder right as he picks up a hat from a nearby stand. The merchant is not aware, and so the boy simply steals it. He puts it on his head, hiding his dark hair, and leans it over his face. Without another word, he grabs Selwyn's hand and pulls her into a building.

It is a hotel. She can tell by the lavish lobby, the polite doormen that bow their head courteously, and the marble stairs that Nicholas drags her upon. They lead to an upper level, where balconies extend over the reception, making it easy for them to observe the guests as they check-in and out of the establishment. The one Avery picks is right in the center, with two dark, ruby curtains on each side. Elladora can see, from that height, that a group of twelve wizards or so has entered the hotel. They carry large duffle bags with them, and their clothes are somewhat athletic. Ah, a Quidditch Team.

Sensing her question, Avery gestures loosely towards them, "You asked me how I intend to get that coin out of MACUSA. To that, my answer is simple—we sneak into their headquarters."

"Ah, yes. The simplicity of it is astonishing."

"Well, mind your attitude, first of all. Secondly, hear me out on this. In two weeks, there will be an event held by the Office for Magic Relations and Education. The United States is holding the Quidditch World Cup this year. Now, the team we see below is one of the qualifiers, and our way in."

"You want me to score a date with one of them and get in?"

"Not quite. I want you to convince one of them to let us into the department so that I can grab the coin."

"Why would a Quidditch Player ever help us? Are you insane?"

"Ah, my dear poisoner, you always interrupt me before the punchline," sighs Avery, but then his lips pull in a smirk. "Of course he will because, if you look close enough, Selwyn, you will see that this is not just any Quidditch Team."

To demonstrate his point, he pulls the curtain apart widely, exposing them to the surroundings. Now, Elladora can see the badge on the players' duffle bags clearly.

"Coming all the way from the British Isles, I present to you the Parkin Wigtown Wanderers."

And that is when the witch sees him, at the center, discussing with the receptionist. He has not changed, although the juvenile charm has been replaced by something more polished, and he no longer has the tactlessness that used to cling to his bones. Felix commands the attention of the whole lobby with his star-player bewitchery, so much so that it is impossible for Selwyn to look away.

"Felixius Parkin," she mumbles, a nonchalant smirk taking over her features as she glances at Avery. "All right, you surprised me with this one."

The assassin returns her devious look.

"Only one problem, though," states Selwyn, gripping the balustrade. "He will never help us."

She knows that to be fact. After the battle, Felixius Parkin was the first to leave them, along with Lev Myung. Without Varya to keep him tied to the wicked, the boy had simply decided that he did not want to be associated with the Death Eaters, not when he had lost everything to them. Of course, Elladora knows he is too weak to outwardly blame them, to point an accusatory finger at them, but that must be what he thinks. His three closest friends died, in some shape or form, leaving him behind in a world he could no longer make sense of.

The witch had briefly heard his name in the past two years, though it never attracted her attention much. Their relationship had never been good at Hogwarts, and they barely interacted even during the war. She knew he had pursued his desire for Quidditch, and by the looks of it, he had made it far.

Her old-self would have been jealous of him. Elladora would have gritted her teeth at how Felix had been able to remake his life, away from everything. He had put distance between the trauma and horrors of the battle and had found his passion. Something that Selwyn could not do for the life of her.

All right, well, her new-self is still slightly envious of his achievement, but not to the point where she wants to harm the boy physically. That has to account for something.

"You are correct. He will not listen to us," stated Avery.

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Like what?"

Elladora narrows her eyes, "Like you are about to drop something on me."

Nicholas shakes his head, ignoring her remarks. "As I was saying. Parkin will not follow us, but he might consider helping us if his old friends encourage him a little."

"What friends? Trouche is dead. Beauchamp is dead. Petrov is under some curse that we cannot counter."

"He has other friends, you know."

"Does he?" Elladora flutters her eyelashes innocently. "Never noticed."

But she knows what Nicholas is suggesting, and it seems absurd. Or, at least, it should be foolish. Because the Virtues have been scattered throughout the world after the war, and though Navarro and Norberg keep in touch, it is unlikely that they will come back for this. For anything, really. They should not want to jump back into the scheming that almost cost them their lives.

"And they will not come back either," concludes Selwyn.

"Oh, they will. Under the right circumstances, of course."

"Which are?"

There it is again. The shiver-inducing smile that manages to crack through Nicholas' appearance, the indication of instability. He takes off his hat, places it on her head, then grabs her shoulders.

"I think it is time we bring everyone back together."

Selwyn deems that to be ridiculous. They have all been keeping their distance from each other, and for good reasons too. Being together reminds them of the empty spots at the table, of the people that have been left behind. It is a painful way of reopening old wounds, and she is not sure the rest of the Knights or Virtues will fall for it. Merlin, the poisoner is not certain that she wants to fall for it.

But then her eyes slide back to the team and, oh. Felixius meets her gaze. Elladora can see the color draining from his face, as if fear is overtaking him, as if she is a devil that he simply cannot outrun. His lips part in shock, and he swallows harshly as he notices Avery too.

The thing about being the Devil's little pawn is that fear thrills you. It becomes an addiction, and it never quite leaves your body. Elladora's lips pull in a smirk, one that she has not shown in ages, the sort that would get her in trouble in her school days. She feels Nicholas stand behind her, together on the balcony as they gaze down at Felix Parkin, and it all comes back. The memories, the deceit, the power they all held together.

Fine. Let the scheming begin again.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

hiii <3 welcome back to everyone who decided they wanted a little more of the Knights. thank you so much for taking interest in my characters and their stories.

i am very excited about this. the chapters will be from different perspectives. initially, i wanted to simply give different stories about their lives without overlapping them too much. but then i realized they are not the Knights without each other. so yeah!