𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜 ━━ 𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗗𝗟𝗘
075. you shall overpower everything

( song for the chapter:
everybody wants to rule the world — lorde
the Hunger Games remix )

( trigger warning:
mentions of sexual assault and rape )

          𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗣𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥. Scarlet Bridget repeated the motto like a mantra and had it engraved on her soul. A small cottage-looking house stood within the forest before her in the middle of nowhere, and a dark gray scarf was wrapped around her head and went over her mouth; only her eyes were visible. Dark shadows emerged from the depths of the rustic woodlands. The grass was dull and dead from the heavy snow. 

      She wielded her wand, waved, and threw a large blue blaze over the expanse. Her hand gestured wildly as the tip of her wand shot luminesce as bright as the constellations, glittering dots all around the large place like slow fog falling. A blast of sound reached her eyes, and her red lips curled in satisfaction at the wards around the house collapsing. 

      With no knocks, she entered and turned around to make sure she was not being followed. That was when the figure of vast importance called for her, "You sure have an exquisite way of making an appearance, Miss Bridget."

      Scarlet slammed the door shut and looked around the little house. The pungent scent of intense copper engulfed her senses, and gruesome vines wrapped itself around some of the abandoned pieces of furniture and icy tiles, somehow, Scarlet found it picturesque. 

"The wards need replacing, I broke it with a flicker of my wand," her face remained stoic as she moved around the corridor and onto a room that looked like a diner. A tall and strong back was faced towards her, and he had his hands interlocked on the table with a goblet of water in front of her. 

"You were only capable of breaking it because you are... you," He took a momentary pause middle of his sentence, trying to promote intense curiosity. 

Scarlet sat around the corner of the table, watching the sillehoutte examine each and every one of her movements. His state filled with a cyclone of eagerness and satisfaction made her coil on the inside, but she did not present her uneasiness to her. She was not so weak after all. The suggestions of his powerful, emerald lineage were evident in his sharp, knife-like features that carried a refined essence. His dark eyes ravenous for carnage—or perhaps, a reluctance for something more.

"I am so very glad you decided to come to me, Miss Bridget," Voldemort spoke slowly, sincerity in his tone. "I was almost convinced you would be part of Dumbledore's army, given your latest status on acquainting with mudbloods and blood traitors." 

"Now that you know my passion lies elsewhere..." she trailed off.

Voldemort glanced at her up and down, and back to her icy-eyes. "As we continue this, I can only hope you will never change sides."

"I would rather kill myself." She deadpanned, even Voldemort was taken aback. Her black-painted fingernails soothingly drummed against the table, and she spoke again awkwardly, "Uh—I thought I should say this now, I'm not getting that stupid tattoo."

His eyes narrowed significantly, and Scarlet instantly regretted saying what she did. "It is called a dark mark, and it's compulsory."

      Whilst he sat there looking like that, it was hard to believe he was about a hundred years old. Was he? Scarlet knew better than to not ask the Dark Lord of his age and comment on his looks. A thought suddenly appeared in her fuzzy mind, that she was related to him. She wondered how many hours he spent styling his silky hair—it looked almost perfect, not to mention the rest of his appearance. Simple robes and plain white shirt and yet somehow elegant. 

"I came here with a proposal," She got to the point, "I have no doubt it will interest you."

"And what might that be?" Voldemort's face changed with curiosity, and his gaze narrowed even more. He stood up and started to move to the row of cabinets, he assumed she was there merely to obtain the dark mark and join his inner circle. "Would you like a drink, Miss Bridget?"

"Just water, thanks." She quickly uttered, wanting to move on with the deadly boring conversation. "I have successfully gained the trust of Albus Dumbledore and he requested for my assistance a few weeks ago; I would like to be a double spy — working for this side and providing you with patterns and plans of their work,"

His lips curled up in a satisfied manner as he sat down and passed her the glass of water. "And what changed your mind? You did not seem keen on joining me the last time we spoke."

"Nothing changed my mind," she blinked. Something certainly did change her mind. "I'm a Bridget, and I know exactly who I am, and whose side I belong on."

Voldemort let out a victorious smile. As though he was full of pride that she had come to him voluntarily, and with an offer so tempting. "And what about the life you're leaving behind."

"I don't care for it." She said, quickly picking up her glass of water and pouring a few drops of it onto Voldemort's goblet of water. 

      Voldemort's lips curled up a tiny bit and it was a peculiar scene to see him grin. He brought up the goblet to his lips and drank the water from it whilst keeping his bloodshot eyes trained on the girl, sending a message. Scarlet got the hint and confirmed to herself that the water was not poisoned. Somehow, Voldemort looks impressed at her careful tactics and the unspoken understanding that lingers in the air.

"Because you're hurt," he concluded, glancing at her thoughtfully. "I notice it. I see you've been hurt more times than you can count, and you've finally come to accept the cursed blood running in your veins and what side you belong to."

"What side I belong with," she corrected, shooting him a glare. "I do not belong to anybody." Scarlet's gaze snapped to his eager ones after a small pause of her irises lingering around the room. "You're not a mind healer and I'm not here to dump my trauma so perhaps it is best to move on."

"You mean to tell me you don't have a long list of suitors, and that this will not affect the life you have anticipated?" He looked at her curiously, narrowing his gaze. "We both know that would be a lie. You're the heiress to the Bridget throne. You are expected to be betrothed, bear an heir—"

"I am exactly where I belong, and nothing else matters to me," she confidently told him. "And besides, you do not seem to be too worried about the personal life of another one of your trusted soldiers—Bellatrix Lestrange." 

"Bellatrix is far too devoted to me, she appreciates me more than she does her husband, I do not worry about her getting distracted... you, however, are awfully young and have far too many responsibilities." He did not care about Evan's age when he gave him the dark mark, and Evan was the most distracted and reckless piece of shit she's ever met in her life.

"I don't have a life to go back to." She stated.

      Something unimaginable flashed through his bloodshot eyes as she said the vulnerable words, as though he was beginning to trust her. As though... he too had no life to go back to.

She coughed lightly after sipping the water awkwardly, "I meant I do not worry about being betrothed, or anything of that sort."

"I'm sure you don't," Voldemort quickly interrupted, his lips curling up in a way that left her uneasy. "With a spotless reputation like yours, you have plenty of options. I hear a lot about you from Rosier."

      Oh Merlin, Scarlet thought, repulsed, Voldemort is trying to set me up with someone.

      And the next action, the suddenness of it all — she was not ready for at all, surprise engulfing her. He placed his hand on the back of her head and gripped a fistful of hair, yanking her closer. The last thing she heard was the chair creaking behind her.

      The scene changed. She was not in Voldemort's ugly lair anymore.

      She was standing in her room. Her room when she was younger — the one in the Bridget Manor she previously lived in with both her parents before moving to King's Cross. This house was much more beautiful; gardens the size of a town and a front yard longer than a Muggle airport runway. Many vases with white roses decorated the room. The bed was emerald green and dark-wooden furniture polished and glistening, carved by the finest architects.

      At first glance, it did not seem like a room for a child. It was too mature, too unfeeling which Scarlet only realised this as she stood in the place so many years later. Only a few seconds passed, the lock of the door clicked open. She swiftly turned around, and a younger, distressed Celeste Bridget had a tight grip on an eight-year-old Scarlet's arm as she cried vigorously, tears spilling continuously down the little girl's rosy-cheeks.

"Stay put, do not come out—" Celeste pointed a firm finger at her, pushing her inside the bedroom. Her hair was shorter, and her features were filled with more worries. The softness she grew in the present years was unrecognisable when Scarlet looked back to how her harsh mother used to be before Zircon's death.

"Mama—!" The little girl cried, about to protest when the woman yelled at her louder, voice echoing through the cold room.

"I said stay in here, do you understand?" She screamed in her face, and sharply shut the door behind her as Celeste exited.

      Scarlet walked over to the door—stuck in this distinct memory—and turned to hear what had been happening outside of the room. She heard the shouts. Sharp clamours and multiple noises from what sounded like slaps and hits came from outside. Feminine cries. Manly grunts.

      Defeated and terrified, teenage Scarlet reached for the handle of the door to put a stop to the incident she knew would take place but she was thrown back with an invisible force. Not being able to exit. Stuck. She felt like a helpless, powerless, and stupid eight-year-old girl again.

Her mother drastically shouted, her father ghastly began to lay into her, and the screaming grew louder and louder. Then came the horrifying pleas from her mother, "Please, please, be quiet, she'll hear you, please, be quiet."

Celeste begged Zircon to be quiet as he forced himself on her. Hit her. Strangled her. And all Celeste thought of was her daughter. She did not ask him to stop, all she ever asked was for him to be quiet as he assaulted her so her haunting pain never reached her daughter.

      As though, if Celeste could, she would use her own shattered bones to build a cage around Scarlet where nobody could ever hurt her.

      Older Scarlet felt her knees buckling, and she fell to the ground where the icy-cold tile dug into her bare skin. She could still hear her younger-self screaming and sobbing in the room. Her mother writhed next door, letting out cries of struggle and pain. The headboard violently slammed against the wall. The satisfactory sounds and groans from her father as Celeste cried and cried and tried desperately to be quieter.

      The morbid memory made her want to destroy everything, as though she could break down the entire Manor with a flicker of her wand. She wanted... she wanted catastrophe, she wanted to hurt someone. She wanted to bring pain, blood, and destruction. 

      The mother's pleas would reach the little girl's ears, coiling her like a snake swathing its prey. The woman cried, her husband seethed, and their young daughter would push her face in the emerald blanket, wrapping herself in it. Begging for the universe to hide her and her mother away in a deep, dark corner.

      Then the image shifted swiftly.

      Scarlet in a familiar black dress along with Silas Abrams on the balcony. She felt it all over again. It was not her mother being assaulted anymore, it was her. His lips on her neck, and then his breath on her shoulder. His hands all over her body. The ghastly touches. Fingers lifting her dress.

      Slytherin wins the Quidditch match. Punches. Hexes. Tears. A much-desired hug. Sirius Black.

      Images flashed through—not in order, but they were all of mere importance in her life.

      James' Christmas gifts. Records and singers. Glistening, Prefect badge. Family balls. Sirius Black and the necklace he gifted her. Helping Regulus get ready for functions. Diamonds. Getting drunk along with Everest. Almost kissing Evan Rosier. Sirius Black. Exams. Everest Chasseur and her gossip. Arguments with Severus. Cries and tears. Sirius Black. Partying and dancing and getting drunk. Drinking and smoking with Evan. Attacking Mulciber.

      Sirius' lips on hers. Her hands in his hair. Him kissing her scars. Kissing on the balcony, the Astronomy Tower, the dorm rooms.

      Her in his bedroom. Him unzipping her ivy dress. That night during the summer.

"Stop!" She resisted. He got through everything except her intentions.

      Her panic attacks. Her mother slapping her. Sirius' kisses down her neck. His hands in her hair. His sweet kisses. Warm touches. Soft hugs. 

      Hexing. Screaming. Hurting. Cursing. Fighting. Hurting. Crying. Laughing. Caring. Kissing. Hurting. Loving. Kissing. Crying. Trying. Trying. Trying.

      Sirius yelling at her, "Psycho." "Fucked in the head." "Pathetic."

      "Selfish, entitled, egoistic."

      Crying in Everest's arms.

"That is enough," she snapped firmly, her voice still strong as her hands formed tight fists, knuckles white. "That is quite enough!"

      Then the world went black. Void. Her eyes fell open with a choked gasp, and Voldemort looked at her intensely. She took her wand out of her robes' sleeves and pointed the sharp tip of it against Voldemort's throat defensively, and he did not flinch one bit at her rage-filled wide eyes nor her violent acts. He was... amused.

"You resisted so much, I can tell..." said Voldemort in a curious tone. He knew just how much he truly hadn't seen. He failed to decipher her opinions. He failed to uncover her conversations with Dumbledore. A look of solemn flashed through his crimson eyes, bristled back in shock from what he had seen. He did not expect anything less than pain and suffering from a Bridget. Their cursed fate was written in the stars. However, he did not think it would be this dark. Seeing her visions, he would have been hurt if he had a heart. "Except the fact that you care,"

"I don't," she snapped back through gritted teeth. "That was all private,"

"I see you trying," his stare started to make her feel uncomfortable. "All you do is try, try, try, and yet, nobody in your life ever tried to understand you, or care for you. You were so hopeless, and I guarantee that you shall never feel so weak again, Miss Bridget. You shall overpower everything."

"That is precisely why I came to you," she spoke in a cold tone. "Revenge... I want to watch the world burn for what it has done to me, can you help or not?"

"Ah," a flicker of recognition hit him. "An eye for an eye... You're anything but pathetic, Miss Bridget, and you shall be served with justice. You possess great power. Power is everything."

      What did he want? A prize for figuring out the basics? "Precisely," she spoke through gritted teeth, slowly.

His tone dropped, turning lilting, patronising. "Now resist everything,"

"What?"

"I'll try to get into your mind again, and this time, do not let me see anything," He leaned forward again and Scarlet put down her wand on the table, although her fingers were still wrapped around the wooden object.

      Scarlet had to get this right. This was the one and only way she could do this. Succeed. Scarlet always succeeds. She never loses.

      The pain in her head started like a hammer pounding against her skull. He was piercing a knife into her brain, roaming through her hundreds of thoughts and memories, ripping it apart cell by cell.

      And Bridget did not let it happen.

      She threw everything she had at putting up a wall made of the strongest, most pure will she could muster. Like a soldier on a battlefield, stabbing stones and walls of bronze onto the ground to protect her nation from enemies.

      And she succeeded.

      A hundred tiny hooks sank through her mind and sealed it tight. The will slithered through her heart, burrowed itself into her bones, pressing at every fibre of her being. It consumed her veins, turning them to liquid steep, pushing him away.

      The icy-cold facade was back on, and for a moment, Scarlet felt as powerful as she once used to be. The girl she once was. The corners of her lips were curled up again, and she felt victorious. An immense, peculiar sense of pride hit her chest. She knew exactly what she was capable of and she was going to show it soon enough.

      The grip on her neck was released, and she snapped back into reality with a gasp. When her cobalt finally met with Voldemort's eyes, she let her eyelids fall shut in slight exhaustion.

"Extraordinary,"

"I told you," she choked out tiredly, clutching her chair underneath the table. "I learn quickly."

"I'm impressed,"

"Thank you, Riddle." She instantly allowed her lips to fall shut, and his eyes fell shut tightly again. "Fuck,"

"I did not introduce myself properly to you, Miss Bridget, it is perfectly fine," Great, he thinks he has a friend now. Without taking offense, he stood up slowly, walking over to the backroom. Scarlet let out a sigh of relief and quickly mustered a rigid expression when he came back with a book in his hand.

"I'd like for you to have this," he handed her the book with a brown leather cover, and her fingers gently wrapped around it in a curious manner. "And when the others are not around, you can call me Tom, never refer to me as Riddle." The book detailed the rise and power of Lord Voldemort and all the tricks and regulations his death Eaters follow. She did not know this came with terms and conditions but expected the book anyway.

Scarlet Bridget has the rarest gems int he world adorning her ears, goblin made gold around her throat and Elven woven satin draped on her body. Yet she traces her fingers over her still bleeding dark mark, that had sent grown men into howls of agony, like it's another mere thing she wants to investigate... like it's a project.

He understands why... all her other possessions had been given to her by her family, all decisions made for her as though she cannot possibly make a choice that affects her destiny. nothing she owns is truly hers. Except this choice... it's all hers.

      Scarlet did not stay for much longer after that. Her wrist was aching, a numb feeling nibbling under her skin where the black ink submerged, creating a signifying mark.

      Her stone-cold face met another similar cold one when she whirled around a corner along the corridor, coming to meet Severus Snape. His breath hitched, it was quite visible even under the darkness of the night.

"Snape," whispered the girl. Then it clicked miraculously, Voldemort got to him—or rather, Severus went on his own wish. She took a step back, chin held gracefully high and her expression remaining neutral despite the astonishment that hit her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He replied back in an icy-cold manner.

Her voice was as rigid as his. "Are you really surprised?"

His next words shocked her to her core, "yes," he replied, eyes softening ever so lightly as he glanced at her. "Yes, I am surprised, Scarlet."

      It pained her to think some people were starting to think she was truly getting better—and she went ahead and made a decision that could ruin everything. Scarlet looked away, a sudden feeling of shame surging in her veins—Severus never expected her to join this side despite everything that happened between them. 

      If Severus, a boy she had horrible arguments with, found it astonishing to see her on Death Eaters' side, why is it that Sirius found it so easy to accuse her of it? 

      Slowly, the boy in the black cloak leaned his arm forward, putting his palm out towards her silently. Hesitantly, she gave him her hand and he lifted the sleeve of her long, slick coat, and he twirled his wand over her mark—silently concealing it.

      His brows furrowed, and he ran a thumb over the scars on her palm. Scarlet's breath hitched at the ugly marks on her hand from last night when she stabbed those thorns onto her skin. When Severus' finger grazed her palm, and removed it, the marks vanished. 

      A solemn thank you lingered in the air. 

"I wish for us to speak like the old times," he blurted out. His voice was neither soft nor intensely cold, yet genuine somehow. "I wish... someday... we can start knowing each other once again."

      Severus was horrid. His cruel statements still rang in her mind sometimes. His words were sour and his manners were bitter but that was only because he felt betrayed. Betrayal is a crude thing, and the mere thought of it sends the blood in your veins on fire with anxiety. Over the months, Scarlet had learned to look at both perspectives before submerging into a billow of arguments, it was one flaw of hers that she had corrected but it was not enough. 

"Goodnight, Severus." She softly said. She called him by his first name and it meant a lot to him. And he replied quite instantly.

"Goodnight."

      SCARLET STAYED OVER FOR TWO NIGHTS AT THE Chasseur House. Every moment, she regretted looking into the bright emerald eyes of Everest Chasseur and felt utterly ashamed of hiding the ugly mark on her forearm. What would Eve think? 

      Thankfully, she was good at putting on a mask over her worrisome feelings. Thankfully, even when Everest knew something was bothering Scarlet, she respected her enough to never force her to share. Unspoken words always lingered between the two best friends, a secret language that nobody else but the girls understood—one that allowed them to be conscious of each other's trouble in-depth without bombarding, unnecessary questions.

      The girls spent the entirety of both nights conversing about random topics, and this resulted in dark eyebags under Everest's eyes which she was not contemptuous about.

Scarlet was plaiting Eve's shining brown hair and placing glinting little rhinestones on them when a knock sounded at the door, "Come in!" Eve called, shutting her magazine that had pictures of various nail-polish designs. 

Aster Chasseur—Eve's mother—barged in, eyes scanning the two girls. "Uh–Scarlet, love, there's a very professional-looking lawyer woman at the door, awfully identical to you—asking for you, 'think it's your mother."

      A wide-eyed Everest glanced silently at Scarlet who practically stopped breathing. Without wasting a second, she jumped out of bed and rapidly made her way to the front door, and before acknowledging any figures outside of the house, she turned around.

"Give us a moment, please," Scarlet pleaded, and the Chasseurs sent her an assuring nod of the head. This was not going to be pleasant, at least, she did not think so. Scarlet stepped out and shut the main gate behind her, the sound caught her mother's attention.

"What has gotten into you." Is that came from Celeste Bridget's crimson-coated lips, leaning against a jet-black Ministry car. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her long, perfectly-fitted coat dress.

      When Celeste walked towards her daughter, bleeding with infuriating fire, her shining black, high pencil heels collided with the cracked pavement, and instead of clicks, it made an identifiable whisper. Soft, gentle whisper of her shoes that followed Celeste Bridget everywhere.

      Trying to push all thoughts out of her mind, Scarlet wondered how Celeste managed to avoid the loud clicks of her heels, and even made her footsteps graceful. Her mother was like a phantom, always lingering over her head and yelling at her for performing absurd acts whatsoever. 

      Her waist-length hair was pulled back in a clip and her pearls glinted around her neck, even visible under the high collar of her long coat. Everything about Celeste Bridget screamed punctual, wealthy, and powerfully governed—down to the way she stood with her shoulders squared and how her chin always seemed to be held high. She always had that fierce look in her eye, the one that warned everyone—including Scarlet—that she was not something to be messed with.

      Scarlet clasped her own hands together really tightly—finding her demeanour unpredictable.

"I can explain—" she huffed out, eyes meeting her mother's.

Celeste cut her off, as she grabbed her daughter's shoulders to pull her in. She wrapped her arms around Scarlet's back, hugging her tightly. Really tight.

"Oh my Merlin, I thought I wouldn't be able to find you," she said into Scarlet's hair. "You cannot just vanish like that."

Scarlet patted her back albeit awkwardly, "How did you find me?"

"Do you even know where I work?" Celeste pulled away with a scowl, chin up against the wind as she stepped back. Instead of any requests or explanations, Celeste merely ordered with an authoritative tone. "Come home, Carly." Scarlet stayed silent as she pushed her hair behind her ears, a little hesitant. "Come home," Celeste whispered this time with a tint of desparation and that was all Scarlet needed to give in.

      Scarlet went back into the Chasseur cottage that Celeste was eyeing with interest, and Everest and Aster did not seem to find it very surprising when Scarlet insisted on going back to her mother. 'Mama's girl', is what Eve teased her with. Aster insisted that Celeste come in for breakfast and Scarlet confirmed that was a terrible, terrible idea. The blonde bid a polite farewell to the warm, large family.

Sitting in the car as her mother drove, her fingertips drummed against her knees in a bored expression. "What happened at the Grimmauld Place?" The corners of Scarlet's lips tugged downwards, and subconsciously, she touched her forearm in uttermost guilt. Thankfully, Celeste did not pick up on her nervousness as she drove with concentration. 

"Oh, nothing much," The woman relaxed. "I simply reminded Walburga what a raging bitch she is."

"Mama!" Scarlet gasped.

"What? It's the truth! Then, I threatened to send her to Azkaban which seemed to zip her nasty mouth." Celeste chuckled darkly and Scarlet raised a brow in astonishment. "I guess you're not the only one who uses my position at the Ministry to get things done."

"What about Mr Black?"

"That block-headed moron? He looked like he could curse me right there and then," Celeste shrugged nonchalantly. "Let's just say that promotion Orion has been anticipating? I doubt he will be getting it." Celeste chuckled, hands on the steering wheel as the rings on her fingers glinted brightly.

Scarlet looked at her with uncertainty, a sudden rush of emotions in her irises. "I'm sorry, Mama, for giving you a hard time even since I joined Hogwarts... you've done a lot for me, despite all the expectations... you always found a loophole—"

"It's my responsibility, you're my daughter," The woman placed a hand on her cheek, wiping away a shred of tear that glistened like a diamond, Celeste's other hand on the steering wheel. "I tried to be good... but that still doesn't make me a good person because I didn't fight hard enough... you shouldn't be idolising me."

"Then I'm not good either," The younger blonde pursed her lips. "I'm too much like you for it. You're a good mother, I understand that and I'm sorry it took me so long to see it..."

Celeste intertwined her fingers with her daughter's and squeezed it—a gesture that was unfamiliar between the two of them. "I'm proud of the woman you've become, Carly."

After a small beat of silence, Celeste resorted to an authoritative, rigid tone again, "And just so you know, the next time you disobey me and try to leave, I will not be welcoming you back with a warm hug."

"Understood," muttered Scarlet with a roll of her eyes.

After the two arrived home, Celeste looked at the Grimmauld Place next to them with an exhausting sigh. "You should call Regulus over for dinner," Scarlet was hesitant about seeing Regulus, what was there to say? Will he resent her for taking his brother away? "Poor boy looked terrified the other night."

      If there was one thing worse than one Black brother resenting her, it was two of them being cold.

It was Jaggy who opened the doors, "Welcome back to your home, Little Mistress. Jaggy is so glad to see Little Mistress Bridget back." He smiled brightly, marble-eyes glinting with joy. "Jaggy thought... Little Mistress has left forever, Jaggy was so incredibly upset." He shed a dramatic tear.

"Hello, Jaggy, I missed you," she greeted with no smile whatsoever. "Take my coat, will you? And you should know I am never leaving you. This is my home. And I belong with my family." Family is family. Blood is blood.

      Celeste shot her an amused look. It had been months since Scarlet spoke in a proud and accepting way about her family. Celeste was worried Scarlet was letting her family slip away beyond her reach, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to hear the young girl utter those words.

"Jaggy would be happy to serve Little Mistress, and Jaggy would like to offer to hang Mistress' coat, too," Jaggy reached up and took Celeste's coat, and the woman brought her head down a little.

"Is he here?" The woman asked the house-elf.

"Is who here?" Scarlet instantly raised a brow, and Celeste shot her a weird look at her defensive behaviour.

Jaggy nodded with large eyes, "Jaggy has prepared a cup of tea for him, he rests in the living room." 

      The Bridgets moved to the living room, Scarlet maintaining a faster pace. Her breathing increased, and suddenly, her pulse dropped and she rolled her eyes.

"You do not seem very joyous to see me, Miss Bridget," Minister Harold Minchum declared with a warm smile, cheeks red and hair dusty brown. "I have been waiting for you, Celeste, I told you that your daughter would find her way back. An extraordinary witch, you are, Miss Bridget, as I hear from the community." He talked very fast.

"Minister," Scarlet put on a polite smile and extended her arm, "thank you for joining us. I wish Mama would have mentioned your arrival initially." She shot her mother a glare, and Celeste ignored it as though her daughter was dust. 

"Now, Harold, I understand there are matters to be discussed." She sat down gracefully, much more graceful than Scarlet did. After a few days with the Chasseurs, she completely forgot everything her mother taught her.

      Harold set down the Daily Prophet papers on the tea-table and sighed solemnly, the first page detailed a series of murdered Muggle-families. Scarlet's gaze fell onto her lap at the titles on the page.

"Miss Bridget, I hear you are an aspiring Auror." Harold turned to her, a proud smile on his face. 

"I am, and please, Minister, call me Scarlet." 

"Well, Scarlet, if I am able to stand in my position as long as I anticipate, someday, I would be glad to promote you to one of the leaders of Law Enforcement."

"I appreciate it, sir," Scarlet nodded. Wanting to become an Auror with that ugly mark on her arm, how ironic. "But I work better on the battlefield."

Celeste sent her another sharp glare, and Harold burst into a peal of laughter. "Do not listen to her, Harold, teens are intensely interested in practical tasks these days."

"Yes, yes, Celeste, but allow the girl to dream," he said, waving a dismissive arm and turning to Scarlet with a grin, "You know, young lady, many years ago, a very talented witch came to me and trained to be an Auror. A few years passed, and she is now one of the best Head of Magical Law Enforcement this country has ever seen!" He exclaimed, too joyous for such an early morning, "do you know who that woman was?"

 Scarlet knew he was talking about her mother, and yet, she let him take it and declare proudly.

"It was your mother," shocker. "And I know that you are aware of why I am here," his tone fell serious as he turned to Celeste, and the older woman nodded sharply. "I would like to remind you nobody can be trusted."

"I understand that, Harold—" Celeste was cut off by the Minister, an act that Scarlet did not quite appreciate. Nobody interrupts Bridgets. Scarlet shook herself awake from these thoughts, why was she thinking like this?

"Jurisdiction has increased, and Death Eaters swarm alongside us at the Ministry. It is worse than we anticipated, Celeste. When the time comes, I need your word that you will do everything with your power-driven mind to take them down."

"You have my word, Harold. It is my job." Celeste agreed. The interaction was cold; fear encapsulated the Minister of Magic himself. 

"Dark times are ahead of us. I repeat, trust nobody." He went ahead and rambled about more security and breaches within the Ministry with more paranoia. Scarlet lost track of the conversation half-way through.

      SCARLET DID NOT DOUBT WHETHER REGULUS WOULD COME. When he did so, uncertainty lingered in his eyes—he looked afraid. He was afraid. Without any words exchanged, she set down two cups of green tea on the table, and the smoke billowed heavily from it.

      Regulus was absentmindedly admiring a large, obsidian portrait embroidered with silver spread across the edges. He ran a finger across one of the detailed structures of a crow carved from pure silver along the side.

"Is this Bridget?" Asked the young boy with raised chin, dressed in a plain, dark, black suit, pointing to the woman in the image who was regally painted in magnificent detail. Scarlet placed a hand on his elbow and turned his figure towards her, reaching for his tie and fixing it. Her dainty figures tugging at the tie straightening it, and then tightening it. Regulus never really learned how to do his tie properly, even after all these years... even after being declared as the heir to House Black.

"Bridget and Ares, yes," Scarlet nodded, watching him as his eyes travelled to the background where a man was painted blurrily in mainly grey and hints of golden and crimson, suggesting he is better off as an unspoken figment behind a witch that shines as brightly as Bridget. "They were the starter of my bloodline, I'm sure you've heard of them in History of Magic."

"Yes, they were quite the talk," Regulus muttered. "I did a presentation on Bridget's descend into madness." Scarlet's attention perked and she shot him a small look, not that he noticed her shock.

      There was something mystifying about the Bridget bloodline, a dark and ominous force that followed them no matter where they ran off. Bridget was not mad, she wanted to tell him but it would be a foolish statement. the longer Scarlet spent with her surname, the more she was convinced that Bridget was never insane but a mere afraid, uncertain young girl trying to navigate through a treacherous world that hurt her repeatedly. 

"She looks so much like you," Regulus took one step back and tilted his head back to study the portrait more carefully, hands clasped at his back. Momentarily, he glanced at Scarlet and back up at the woman in the painting. "Except for the hair, of course." 

      Bridget's hair was as dark as a crow's, pitch-black like the night sky. Scarlet inherited her cobalt eyes and pale hair from her mother and yet her features resembled Bridget's so intensely, it was recognisable from miles afar. Zircon was never too happy about Scarlet's looks, he expected an heiress who resembled Bridget's lineage. Celeste was worried about how Zircon would react to see a girl, instead of a boy, not to mention features that resembled Malfoys. But after so many years of trying, he was desperate and did not verbally say anything about Scarlet's appearance. He was glad he finally had a legacy.

"How is everything at home... you know, despite everything?" Scarlet asked, stuttering with the words leaving her lips.

      Regulus did not meet her eyes, and his shaky fingers clutched the very hot cup tightly. Scarlet flinched a little at his notion.

"Father is mad. Really. He's exasperated, nearly outraged. Kreacher had to clean up at least six broken vases," he answered softly, swirling the drink in the cup absentmindedly. "He has been answering letters since yesterday. Many of them about... him," he said with distaste.

"And Mrs Black?" Asked the girl.

"Upset," he shrugged. "Locked herself up in her room. You can surmise things will never be the same."

      He hesitantly looked her in the eye, dwelling on whether he should ask the question. 

"How is he?"

      Sirius.

      Her heart fell to the bottoms of her feet and into the tiles beneath. His name alone was enough to send her emotions into panic—sad, poignant, deep panic.

Regulus looked terrified of her silence. "Is he okay, Scarlet? He didn't answer my letter, what happened to him—?"

"He's getting better. He'll be just fine, Regulus, don't you worry."

      Just don't you worry. 

      Even if Scarlet found it in her charcoal heart to someday forgive Sirius Black for the horrid words he had said to her, she was never going to forgive him for degrading her family. Her family was very dear to her. Bridget and Ares' legacy meant the world to her. Truthfully, her relatives from her father's side meant little to nothing, but with the Malfoys, family comes above all. Uncle Abraxas once told her that he could be handed all the power in the world and have the ability to conquer the universe, and he would hand it all right back to ensure his family's safety. 

      Despite what it may seem like, Scarlet has not been a perfect pureblood heiress in her life. She was blunt and excessively rude to those she disliked—even to other purebloods she should supposedly respect. Incidents where she disrespected irritating teens at parties and family balls were common, then there were the incidents where she hexed two or three people at Hogwarts for bad-mouthing Slytherins. Not to mention the broken nose she implicated on Mulciber.

      When people like Sirius place themself on a higher moral ground and belittle her for accidental wrong acts and mistakes, that is when she is reminded of how quickly her family forgave her for inelegance and discourteous actions when they should not have. Despite the risks she brought, they somehow found it in their 'non-existent' hearts to always excuse Scarlet even before she apologises.

      After all, family is family. Nothing compares to blood.

𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑺

a very long chapter of scarlet
being absolutely obsessed
with her family.

stan mummy bridget.