Heart of the Serpent

      Carefully adding moth leaves to the bubbling cauldron and stirring five times clockwise, Miranda leaned over the parchment lying on the table. The base of the Blood-Replenishing Potion looked exactly as described in the recipe – which meant everything was going as planned. The next ingredients weren’t due for another thirty minutes. With a flick of her wand, she lowered the flame under the cauldron, then glanced into the one next to it. Inside, a thick, dark-brown brew was swirling lazily, as if alive. The Polyjuice Potion was nearly ready – just a few more days until she could add goldeneye and start bottling.       She pushed back her long, ash-colored braids and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Miranda had always enjoyed potion-making and had excelled in it at school, but over the past few weeks, she’d been left to handle all of it alone – including the more complicated brews – and the fatigue was starting to build. After Dumbledore’s funeral, when the students left Hogwarts for the summer and the Frost sisters returned home, their father wasted no time putting them to work. Miranda spent her days brewing potions, while Panthea was rapidly learning advanced protective spells – years ahead of the school curriculum. Whatever time they had left was devoted to training. Their father spared neither time nor effort: dueling practice in the hall, casting battle spells, facing off against him or each other. Their mother frowned at the sight – and frowned even more when her clean, tidy kitchen was turned into a potion lab – but said nothing. She understood he was right.       There was no question about it. A war was on.       Miranda glanced absentmindedly at the windowsill, where today’s *Daily Prophet* lay. More disappearances. More deaths. More empty reassurances from the Ministry that everything was under control… Lies, all of it. The situation had been spiraling out of control for a long time now. Richard Frost, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, knew that better than most. The Death Eaters were growing in number. So was the power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...       The Frost family’s position in the war had always been... complicated.       To begin with, Richard Frost was the last heir of an ancient magical bloodline, renowned for its pure ancestry and proud disdain toward Muggles, blood traitors, and Muggle-borns. Like the Malfoys, Blacks, and Lestranges, the Frosts were counted among the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” and wore that distinction with pride. Great hopes had been pinned on Richard – the final bearer of the name – and for a while, he met every expectation: a Slytherin prefect, an honors graduate, an ideal candidate for a high position in the Ministry. A glittering future seemed all but guaranteed. But then Richard did something no one saw coming. He joined the Auror Corps. Despite their misgivings about that career path, the family tolerated it – especially after Richard proved himself to be one of the most gifted battle wizards in the Department. He took on the most dangerous missions across the globe, eliminating threats to both wizarding and Muggle worlds: rogue werewolves, vampires, the undead, even giants. Creatures beyond negotiation, beyond redemption. His work was classified, and though he was officially listed as an Auror, Richard’s actual role was more closely tied to the Department of Mysteries.       Those relatives who knew the truth respected his choices – and kept their distance. The Frost family might have gone on being just another ancient, self-important bloodline… If not for the scandal that shattered everything. Because one day, to the horror of every pure-blood wizard in Britain, Richard Frost married a Muggle. The outcry was immediate – and deafening. The Frosts were outraged. Their society friends were outraged. What followed were threats, curses, letters filled with pleading and condemnation. But Richard was unmoved. He had met Amelia Sommers in Dublin, while hunting down a deranged vampire. He saved her life, fell in love with her – and had no intention of marrying anyone else. Amelia learned of the wizarding world and, rather than fleeing in terror, accepted it… and him. And that was that.       From that moment, the Frosts’ place in the magical world shifted. Richard was branded a blood traitor. He was banned from every proper drawing room. His name was no longer spoken aloud – it became a curse. But Richard met the storm with calm. He left the family estate in Great Hangleton and moved to London with his new wife, without regrets. Sure, there had been pure-bloods who broke the mold before – Andromeda Black married a Muggle-born, Eileen Prince married a Muggle – but in Richard’s case, it was different. He wasn’t just any son of an old family. He was THE ONLY HEIR. And the betrayal stung deeper because of it. His parents vowed never to recognize his half-blood children. They never once uttered his wife’s name. For years, there was no contact at all.       Then came the First Wizarding War. And suddenly, Richard’s name was spoken again – this time by Death Eaters. Voldemort saw potential in the gifted battle-mage from a pure-blood line, and wanted him as an asset. While Richard’s parents never joined the Death Eaters, they openly supported Voldemort’s ideals and funded his rise to power. Richard, on the other hand, made his position clear: he sent his pregnant wife to safety on the continent, and then went straight to the Order of the Phoenix offering his assistance.       By 1981, the war ended. The Dark Lord vanished. Harry Potter became the Boy Who Lived. The wizarding world celebrated. The Frosts reunited at last. Richard met his daughter, born while Amelia was hiding in Toulouse.       The next fourteen years were peaceful. Richard continued his classified missions. The Frosts had a second daughter. Richard’s parents died, and he formally became the head of the family – with his Muggle wife by his side, despite all attempts to dispute his right. They left London and returned to the family estate in Great Hangleton. The old manor underwent a full renovation – one that would horrify any respectable pure-blood wizard. Richard had the place wired with electricity, installed Muggle appliances to suit Amelia’s tastes, and made no apologies for it. The house-elf, Lenny – who had served the Frosts for over a century – refused to obey the new mistress at first. Portraits of long-dead ancestors hissed and hurled insults at every living soul in the house. Richard didn’t raise his voice. He simply announced, very calmly, that he would burn the portraits and set Lenny free if the rebellion didn’t end.       It ended. Grudgingly, the house accepted its new masters, and life settled into rhythm once more.       Then, in 1995, the old nightmare began to return.       After surviving another encounter with Voldemort, Harry Potter came forward with the truth: the Dark Lord had returned. Richard Frost didn’t need to be convinced. He began preparing for war immediately. Over the next few weeks, he reinforced the manor with layer upon layer of protective and combative enchantments, then began training his daughters – Miranda and Panthea – in both defense and battle magic. He also taught them Occlumency, an art in which he himself excelled Richard remembered Voldemort’s interest in him all too well. He knew the danger his family would face now that the Dark Lord had risen again. So he did what he could – at the very least, he would prepare his daughters, so they wouldn’t fall easily into Death Eater hands.       Of course, the best outcome would be for his girls never to cross paths with Voldemort at all… But Richard Frost had never been an optimist. Sending Amelia away again had seemed like the safest choice. But this time, she flatly refused to leave. Every attempt to reason with her was met with the same calm defiance.       “What’s the point of running,” she said, “If even You-Know-Who won’t be able to find us here? You’ve protected this place better than Fort Knox, Richard. I’m not going anywhere.”       “Amelia, my love, I can’t stay here all the time,” he said. “We have to keep up appearances – if I vanish from the Ministry, if I stop doing missions for the Order, it’ll raise questions. Dumbledore is gone; we’re already weakened. The girls will be returning to Hogwarts in the fall. You’ll be here all alone.”       “Not alone. I’ll have Lenny,” Amelia replied softly, laying her hand over his. “I won’t leave the estate while you’re away. I can work from home, and no one from the outside can breach your wards, right? Honestly, I’m far more worried about the girls. Now that your Dumbledore is gone… who’s going to protect them at school?”       Richard said nothing. He just sighed, knowing she was right. He didn’t worry for himself – his reputation as a powerful duelist had been earned, not inherited. But how could he protect the ones he loved most? Amelia, Miranda, Panthea...       How could he shield them from this war? ---       Later that day, having completed the Blood-Replenishing Potion, Miranda poured it into a special glass bottle and held it up to the light. The consistency and color were perfect. Professor Snape would’ve been proud of her work – though, of course, in the end he had proven to be a treacherous coward.       Her father’s approach to the war often felt harsh, but Miranda believed it was necessary. Richard had no illusions. He knew Voldemort wouldn’t lurk in the shadows for long. Without Dumbledore, the Dark Lord’s followers would soon act openly, without fear. There was no stopping it – only preparing. And so the Frosts had spent the past months doing just that: brewing potions, training in combat spells, reinforcing their home. One thing was clear – Richard didn’t rely on anyone. Since severing ties with the so-called friends who had turned on him after his marriage, he’d kept to himself. His work demanded detachment, and his Slytherin nature favored it. Even in the Order of the Phoenix, he treated allies as just allies, not friends. Which was why the burden of preparation had fallen squarely on Miranda and Panthea’s shoulders when they came home for the summer. Asking others for help simply wasn’t in their father’s nature.       Miranda rubbed a bruise on her elbow – a gift from yesterday’s failed attempt to deflect one of her father’s curses. She should really apply some healing balm before he gets back from the Ministry. There’d be another training session soon, and she hadn’t even mended the damage from the last one…       “Miri, are you in here?” A graceful woman stepped into the kitchen – tall, elegant, and unmistakably Muggle. Amelia Frost wrinkled her nose at the bubbling Polyjuice Potion in the cauldron.       “Are you busy?”       “Not until evening. What do you need?”       “I need to go into town – to the post office and then the university to pick up new texts. Can you take me?”       “Of course.”       Amelia smiled and, rising onto tiptoe, kissed her daughter’s cheek. Miranda looked so much like her – same ash-colored hair, same grey eyes. Panthea, on the other hand, had inherited Richard’s dark hair and blue eyes. Both girls, however, had their father’s height – tall enough to tower half a head over their mother.       Throwing on a jacket, Miranda followed Amelia out the front door. Together, they walked to the edge of the estate, where Miranda cast a Disillusionment Charm over them both before crossing the Anti-Transgression barrier. She had turned seventeen only two months ago and still thrilled at the freedom to use magic at will.       Inside the estate, they could apparate freely day or night. But once outside the bounds, they followed Richard’s safety rules to the letter. Amelia wasn’t allowed to leave the property alone at all – but she understood. When she needed something from “the outside world” – as Panthea jokingly called everything beyond the manor – she was always accompanied by Richard or Miranda. Panthea, at fifteen, still couldn’t apparate. She rarely left the house except for urgent needs. Amelia had made peace with this house arrest. She’d taken a long leave from her university job, and to avoid going stir-crazy – especially with Lenny handling the housework and reading and embroidery only going so far – she’d started taking on freelance translation work. The university had been sitting on Irish and Gaelic manuscripts for ages, and Amelia had happily volunteered to work on them.       Oh, how those pure-blood snobs would have gaped if they knew that the “pitiful Muggle” Richard Frost had thrown away his legacy for…was the daughter of a respected academic family, fluent in four languages, well-versed in etiquette, trained in classical piano, with two degrees and a teaching position at a university.       They stepped onto a small patch of land just beyond the Anti-Transgression line – a safe zone, still shielded by protective enchantments and Muggle-Repelling Charms. Amelia, long used to magic, grasped Miranda’s hand, bracing herself for the horrible, wrenching feeling of Apparition. Then they heard a scream.       “Miranda, wait! Dad added new spells here yesterday – you’re too close to – !”       Amelia’s eyes widened as she saw Panthea running toward them from the house. Her dark hair streamed behind her, panic frozen in her wide blue eyes, wand trembling in her hand. The air shimmered. Magic pulsed like the tension before a lightning strike. Something was about to happen – something terrible.       Miranda reacted first. Realizing an explosion was seconds away, she did the only thing she could – she grabbed her mother by the shoulders and shoved her forward, into the safety of the protective wards. There was no time to raise her wand. No time to shout “Protego!”       The world vanished in a flash of blinding white.