The air was thick, and everything was silent, as though the world itself were holding its breath. Everything but the huge boiling cauldron. The liquid inside was blacker than ink, sending up plumes of steam that stank of rot and something fouler still.

Wormtail's voice quivered as he began the ritual. "Bone of the father... unknowingly given..." he muttered, raising his wand. The earth cracked open beneath the gravestone, and from its depths, a single, pale bone rose into the air and dropped into the cauldron. The potion hissed, turning the color of molten steel.

"Flesh of the servant... willingly sacrificed..." Wormtail raised a silver dagger and, with a choked cry, severed his own hand. The hand sank into the cauldron, and the potion turned blood-red.

"And essence of the ancient magic... forcibly taken..." he said, suppressing a sob of pain. Wormtail took a vial of glowing essence from his inside jacket pocket and poured it into the cauldron. It flared up, and for a moment blurry faces appeared in the steam – friends screaming in pain and fear.

"Hey!"

Anna watched with growing concern. For the past two minutes, she had been explaining the need to buy a new cauldron for the upcoming school year ("Your old one is completely useless; it'll only ruin your potions") but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

With a quiet sigh through her nose, Anna furrowed her brows. Still, she didn't scold. She was used to these moments of detachment. And really, who could blame her after everything she'd been through?

All summer, Anna had tried to help. She had kindly offered to become temporary guardian until real parents could be found and taken her in for the summer holidays. Returning to Russia hadn't been an option, so Anna had rented a modest flat in a sleepy English town (one whose name she could never quite remember).

Over the months, they had almost grown close: quiet evenings in the garden with books, slow walks to the village shop, and lavender honey in their tea. But Anna could still see the heaviness in her eyes. Perhaps it was the enforced silence – she had forbidden any contact with school friends. After the Triwizard Tournament, Anna had been convinced she needed rest and distance. She hadn't allowed sending any letters, nor given her the ones that came. It might have seemed harsh, but after the scandal surrounding Harry Potter, Anna only felt more certain she'd made the right decision.

"Listen," she whispered, gently taking her by the elbow. "I know there's a lot on your mind, but... this year, be careful what you say. Don't speak to anyone about Koldovstoretz, or about what happened during the Tournament. It's safer that way."

She gave a small, reassuring smile, though she doubted it would be received that way.

With a light squeeze of her elbow, she began to guide her toward the cauldron shop, when a voice rang out behind them.

"Hey!"

At the window of Madam Malkin's stood Draco Malfoy. Impeccably dressed as always, with his usual look of mild disdain, which vanished the moment their eyes met, replaced by surprise and, oddly, relief.

"At last," he said, hurrying over. "You're alive. I was starting to think something had happened."

He glanced briefly at Anna and gave her a polite nod before turning his full attention back.

"I wrote to you," he said, with something between reproach and genuine concern. "All summer. Four letters. One even had a book inside. Didn't you get any of them?"

Anna pressed her lips into a thin line. She said nothing. No point in explaining to young Mr. Malfoy that she was the reason those letters had never reached her. But she had no intention of leaving them alone to chat.

Not after what happened at the Triwizard Tournament. Not when Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was still an active Death Eater. And if he was... then his son was no safe friend.