When Oleandra had willingly given herself up to the authorities, she had expected to be granted an audience with some high-ranking Death Eater within the hour, but clearly, she had overestimated her own importance.
"In here, girl," said Yaxley loudly, a wide grin etched on his face, before pushing Oleandra into a cell filled with scared-looking people and slamming the grated door behind her with a loud clang. "I reckon you'll fit right in with the rest of the rabble!"
Oleandra stumbled forwards a few feet and looked up at her cellmates. To think she would be thrown in a holding cell in the depths of the Ministry of Magic's sublevels… You-Know-Who clearly wasn't a decent fellow.
"Hi," she said sheepishly. "So, er… what are you lot in for?"
Well, this was rather awkward. Her fellow prisoners, ordinary-looking Witches and Wizards, as far as Oleandra could tell, were all staring daggers at her… and she was unarmed and alone.
Naturally, Oleandra had left her pouch, her wand and all other precious belongings in a safe place before venturing into Death Eater-controlled territory, knowing they would be taken from her upon her capture. She had even been unceremoniously stripped of her newly purchased schoolbooks.
"You're that murderin' girl, aren't yeh?" said one of her fellow prisoners in a thick Mancunian accent. "You must think yer pretteh funneh, comin' in 'ere spoutin' jokes after what yeh've done."
Oleandra glanced at the plaque out in the corridor, which read, Muggle-Born Registration Commission. You-Know-Who clearly hadn't wasted any time putting his new policies in action. These people had to be either suspected or known Muggle-Born, awaiting a sham trial of some kind.
"Yeah!" cried a short woman still wearing an apron, her voice reedy. "Things were looking up for us when Dumbledore was still alive! He was the only one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever feared, so this is all your fault!"
More angry shouts rang out from the throng of prisoners. It was all too clear that the Death Eater-controlled administration had deliberately placed her in a cell full of Muggle-Borns— perhaps as punishment for her relentless interference in You-Know-Who's plans, and for causing the deaths of a few of their own.
"Stay back," said Oleandra warningly, raising her fists at the approaching mob. "I won't tell you again."
Even though they were all unarmed, Oleandra was not at disadvantage, despite being outnumbered ten to one. Her clothes were heavily armoured, and she still had her wandless runic magic at her disposal— but that being said, she was not about to stand there without defending herself.
Oleandra sidestepped the fat man from Manchester as he lunged at her with outstretched arms, then stuck out her foot, sending him sprawling headfirst into the cell's steel bars with a satisfying gong.
"Is that all you've got?" asked Oleandra, making a rude gesture in the crowd's direction. "If not… come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough."
"Get her!" screamed the short housewife.
Incensed by the Witch's cries, a well-built Wizard drew back his fist and swung at Oleandra.
Oleandra ducked low beneath the man's punch, slipping to his side and raking her elbow across his ribs before rising sharply and catching the short witch under the chin with the heel of her palm, felling her in a single blow. She then whirled around, driving her elbow into the man's temple as he doubled over from her earlier strike, downing him.
The other prisoners froze in place and stared at her in fear, not daring to get any closer despite still outnumbering her by a wide margin. In less of a second, a teenage girl had knocked out three fully-grown adult Witches and Wizards with nothing more than her bare hands, moving with inhuman speed and grace and the combat acumen of a Muggle bare-knuckle fighter.
"Any other brave souls?" asked Oleandra loudly.
Gone were the anger and resentment in the Muggle-Borns' eyes. All that was left was fear, and she hadn't even needed to rely on her runes or Suit the Lethifold to defend or attack!
Oleandra had been trained in swordplay by the equivalent of Godric Gryffindor, and her time in the late Bronze Age had allowed her to transform that close combat knowledge into muscle memory and experience. Paired with her lightning-fast reflexes and inhuman speed granted to her by the fading remnants of sharing the Dusk-Elf's blood, there weren't many in the Wizarding World who would be able to defeat her in a fistfight.
"What were you thinking!" an awfully familiar voice suddenly rang out further down the hall. "Putting my sister in a cell with such scum!"
Multiple sets of footsteps echoed sharply across the floor, and moments later, a beautiful, green-haired girl appeared at the end of the hall, flanked by Yaxley, Rookwood and Nott. Oleandra's eyes widened in shock as she beheld her twin sister. The last time she'd seen Daphne, she'd been a scowling slip of a girl.
Now she looked exactly like Oleandra herself… save for the green hair and the constant scowl on her face. Those two things hadn't changed a bit.
"Oleandra," said Daphne drily, as she came to a stop in front of her. "What are you playing at?"
A wounded look appeared on Oleandra's face.
"That's all you've got to say?" said Oleandra, tilting her head. "No 'how do you do?'"
Daphne remained stony-faced.
"There isn't always some profound reason behind everything I do," Oleandra sighed. "Is it really so far-fetched that I went to Diagon Alley for school supplies? We've done the same song and dance almost every year for the past six..."
"Two things," said Daphne coolly. "You must have known that you would be captured if you showed your face around here. And don't think I missed that almost of yours— the only time we didn't go shopping for school supplies together was the summer you faked your death and went gallivanting off to France to join some Muggle-loving order of knights."
The three Death Eaters standing behind her bristled with disgust. The only thing nearly as vile as a Muggle-born was a Blood Traitor— and they all remembered the French spy from the Order of the Round Table who'd tried to infiltrate their ranks, and how the Dark Lord had slowly and painfully extracted the truth from him.
"The truth, then," said Oleandra, her voice edged with annoyance. "I heard old Dumbledore left me something in his will, so I've come to take what's mine by right."
Upon hearing Oleandra had won Dumbledore's trust to the extent of being named in his testament, the Muggle-Born behind her glared at her in loathing. A traitor to both the Pure Blooded conservative faction and the progressive Dumbledore faction, Oleandra truly had no allies left in this world…