When Oliver stopped outside a grand stone house, it is already dark. The moon shone brightly with silver light. It was a foggy night. He turned to Haven:

“Do you want to stay here till Church? It’ll only be 30 min, we can go together, and meet David and Miriam there. It’s too dark for you to go home alone, and too little time for me to take you home. Mum would love to see you!”

“Could I? That’ll be brilliant! I need to say hi to your mum anyway, haven’t seen her for ages!”

Together, they climbed the stony stairs and went into the House of Pilgrimme, in other words, Oliver’s home.

“Mum? I’m home!” The boy’s voice carried a long way into the echo-y hall. Haven hung up her clothes and bags with all the familiarity of one in her own house, which suggested that the Charises are frequent guests here.

“Is that you Ollie?” followed by the sweet motherly voice, a plump woman came out of the kitchen, wiping her hand on her aprons as she walked. Her face lit up as she saw Haven:

“My dear little Haven, look how you’ve grown! Come here, let Auntie Jan give you a kiss. Mwah, there dear girl. What have you been up to these months? No even coming to see me? Tut tut.” She held Haven by her hand, and took her to the kitchen, followed closely by Oliver, softly smiling to himself. He’s always been amused by his mother’s affection for his friend Haven, especially after her mum’s death. She insisted been called ‘Auntie Jan’, thought they aren’t at all related. She loves the girl, like a daughter.

“Auntie Jan, please, 4 cookies are enough! Oh, alright, 5 then. I can’t really eat all 3 chocolate muffins Auntie! Let’s save some for Ollie…” Oliver walked into the kitchen, and straight upon the scene of an exasperated girl, her arms laden with food, and his mum searching in the fridge, still. Winking to Haven, he walked forward to relieve her of the food, and jokingly said to his mum:

“Mum, I’m going to take Haven away from you, to save her from been stuffed.” He then added in a more serious tone: “I need to show her something upstairs, we’ll take the food with us. You are feeding her way too much!” without waiting for his mum’s consent, he swept up the food into his arms, and led Haven away, out of the kitchen.
“Phew! Thanks Ollie! I was just thinking of how to get away politely. I always underestimate your mum’s affection.” Haven said as they entered Olly’s room.

“Yes, you should always be on guard of how much my mum can…feed you, little girl.”

“I, am, not, LITTLE!!” Haven cried in mock rage, lunging at Ollie, tickling him mercilessly. “I, am, only, 1, year, younger, than, you! Oliver Pilgrimme!”

“Oh, oh, oh! Noooo! Don’t, tickle!” Laughing like little children, they fell on to the floor, tickling each other mercilessly. Finally Oliver grabbed hold of Haven’s hand, said: “Right, big girl, I apologise! Game over!” and sat up behind her, keeping her hand in his. Thus they stayed, in a comfortable silence that suggested an old friendship. Until, Haven said to him:

“Ollie, I discovered something in my house that I’m not sure if I wanted to know,” she turned, and looked at him with a pair of confused eyes.

“Care to share?” said the other, pinching her nose affectionately.
“Promise me that you will not judge me or mum if I tell you?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course Havenie, I won’t desert you for anything in the world!”
“I discovered who my father is…or at least, I think so.” Haven whispered in a tiny, fluttering voice.

“What? Are…are you quite sure? I mean, even your mum said she doesn’t know!” Oliver scrambled to his feet, and began to pace the floor.

“I know.” Haven collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping into the carpets. “Oh I wished I didn’t have to so nosy as to look into that attic. I found a leaf torn out of a journal. The date was about 9 months before my birth.”

“What was in the journal?” Was Oliver’s curious reply.

“How my birth came about.” Haven brought out a piece of crumpled and yellowing paper with trembling hands. “I’m the result of a rape.”

Dumbstruck, Oliver took the paper and started reading the trembling, cramped script:

"I’m writing this down so that my little child will be able to know whom her father is. I keep calling it Her, I just get this feeling that it’s going to be a girl. I’m sure I’m pregnant. He is coming, and he is going to delete my memory, or is he going to kill me at last? I escaped for so long from them. They, the monsters with those black masks and long black cloaks.

My poor baby, she’s not legitimate, she’s the result of a monstrous and horrifying rape. Yes. I was first raped by a man who doesn’t seem to look like a man. He had horrid red eyes and black slits. The other men gathered around him, and called him “Lord”. How does he fit into the royalty I don’t know. But he raped me. After him was a man who saved me by doing so. There were a dozen more unfortunate women like me gathered in that dark, damp chamber smelling of blood. I talked to a few of them when we assembled there. All of them were highly educated I noticed, all with a cold beauty about them, excluding me and another red head who is 18 this year, and graduating from her school to marry her lover for 4 years. We shared a warm prettiness. Most of them were my age, 20ish; there were a couple of girls who looked barely 16, who said they were taken out of school. It was that fateful day when men in black cloaks and horrible white masks came for me, maniacal grins of lust evident in their eyes.

We were then lead into a vast chamber, furnished with a dozen or so lavish four poster beds in corners of the room, blood dripped from the walls and ceilings. I realised at once what these men wanted with us. Prostitution. I tried to run, but one of them aimed a thin stick at me and muttered something, a jet of red light beamed forth and I was held immobile, but fully awake. I was so shocked. I didn’t know that magic existed. The first word that came into my mind was wizards. We were told to stand in a line. I was moved by two other ladies beside me. It seemed that they wanted to choose. Two men stared straight at me. The one in the centre of the circle smiled a cruel smile with his thin red lips. The other one, one at his right, looked at me with an odd light in his obsidian eyes, then withdrew his glance the minute he saw his lord looking at me also, but not before giving me a pitying look. They were ranked it seemed. The first to chose was the red eyed man in the middle, the Lord. He chose me. I was so scared.

He levitated me into a green and silver bed with his stick, and made me watch the other men choose and play with their victims. It was horrifying. The next to choose was a blond man at his left. He took his unfortunate woman and went to a bed, soon screams of raw terror erupted from the woman, the man had tied his victim’s arms to the bed post, and pealed off her cloths in the most primal and vicious way possible, indulging his sexual desire. He aimed his stick at her and whispered a curse into her head, a sadistic smile on his pale features as screams of pure agony erupted. Poor girl, she was still a child. I turned my head, unable to watch as she writhed and tossed on the bed, in her own scarlet blood! The next man was the dark man who looked at me first. His hooked nose was visible even under the hood. He looked around the woman, and a flinch was barely visible through his cloak and mask when he saw the red head. He picked her. The poor thing looked so scared. But he was much gentler it seemed. And she might actually have enjoyed the process. The rest had no orders. They dashed about, arguing with each other over the women, fighting with these queer little wooden sticks. My dooms man looked at me hungrily, and said in a sibilant whisper:

“You see, my right- and left-hand man enjoy their rewards for their loyal and unwavering service. Lucius, my left-hand man, particularly enjoyed the taste of youthful flesh, especially under Cruciatus. Severus, my Obsidian Blade, goes for a more gentle approach; his women might actually enjoy his administrations. Me, I’m the Lord. Bow to Lord Voldemort little muggle.”

“Never shall I bow to a scum who rapes and kill.”

“No? Perhaps pain will teach you. Crucio.”

He aimed that stick at me, and suddenly every nerve, every tissue within me is blazing with unbearable pain, I could not stand it. I cried to him:

“Stop this! I’ll do whatever you want. This is too painful!”

And I bowed to him. After that, it was all a blur. Dark, painful. I was then Severus’, but that was nothing. Strangely, I was whole and alive at the end of it all, unlike some of the other poor women. Every woman there was raped twice, except the redhead, I don’t know why. The man called Severus was told to dispose of us. Whatever that means. But I soon found out. We are going to be killed. He killed the women with a wave of his stick and a jet of bright green light. All but me and the red head. He said that we are not meant to die today. He produced two different rings, and told the red head to keep the silver one, for the child, if there is one. And gave me an emerald one, for the same reason. He said there is a chance they might be wizards. He told us that these rings would protect them. He told us to hide, and that he will take us home later after erasing our memory. They’re wizards, they’ll probably say a few spells and our memory of this event will be gone, more the better. But he’s going to adjust it, I’ll remember this as a date, and the father gave me a ring to give to his child if there is one. But my poor child won’t know her father. I don’t know her father. I hope it’s Severus, not…him…

I discovered that the red head is a witch, that there is a secret wizarding society hidden within ours. And that this is a group called the Death Eaters, who are followers of the man who raped me, Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard of all.

And Severus, he’s a strange one. Something in my brain told me that he is not really a part of this group; he didn’t enjoy it at all. He wasn’t cruel or anything. He looked like a spy. I know what a spy looks like and act like, cos my uncle is a spy for the government. I found it impossible to hate that man, even though he took me. May be in a circumstance kinder than this, I might have loved him. If he remembers me, my child, if you ever see him, tell him that for me. Tell him that I have forgiven him, tell him that I never hated him, not for one second.

The girl is crying, she said she’s getting married next month, what if she’s pregnant. What would Jamie say? Jamie is her lover I gather. I don’t think she knows Severus, I didn’t tell her that I know the name, what if they knew each other?

Severus took a long time, we were hiding for hours, and I wrote this. Oh no, I can hear footsteps. I think it’s Severus.

I love you, my little ill fated child, conceived in sin, soaked in evil’s blood. If I take this secret to my grave, I hope you will find this paper. May you grow away from evilness, may you never become like your father, whichever he is.

Your most loving mother…"

“Oh Holy Jesus.” Oliver sank back to the floor, eyes glazed.

“And this is the ring. I realised that after reading this. My mother gave the ring to me when I was 10, right before she died, saying that it’s from my dead father. Now I realised that it is not. It is from a man called Severus, the man who saved my mother’s life, and consequently, mine. I never could wear it, as it was too big for me.”

Haven showed Oliver the ring. It was made immaculately from emerald, in the form of two beautifully entwining snakes. At Oliver’s gentle urging, Haven placed the ring on her right ring finger. This time, it fitted perfectly. Suddenly, a rush of colour and a staggering power came out of the ring, and formed a silver vortex swirling wildly around Haven’s form, pulling her deeper and deeper inside its swirling web of silvery magic. Oliver scrambled to his feet and stretched his hands out to pull out his terrified friend, but the vortex is holding him back. He cried out in rage and despair as the vortex started to shrink. Haven is nearly gone now, but her heartbreaking cries of help lingered in the air. Mrs Pilgrimme appeared that moment by the door, saw what’s inside, and fainted. With a final lilting note, the vortex disappeared entirely, leaving behind a piece of long dark hair. Oliver clutched at it like a talisman of reality. Haven’s last cry of help still echoed in the room, refusing to go away. Staring into where the vortex was, he collapsed onto the floor, and said over and over again:

“No…no…no…no…”

Tears ran freely down his cheeks, but he didn’t notice it. All he can think about now is that Haven’s magically kidnapped, zapped into somewhere possibly lethal and magical, and that her father might be the most evil wizard on earth.