"Thanks for getting me out of that cell," said Oleandra cheerily, leaning back against the metal bars and tracing a rune in her fellow inmate's blood with her thumb. "But, er… is the praetorian guard really necessary?"
Oleandra gestured to the three Death Eaters following a short distance behind them. They were making it very difficult to have a heartfelt reunion with her beloved twin sister.
"Mr Rookwood and Mr Nott go wherever I go," Daphne said irritably. "And Mr Yaxley's Head of Magical Law Enforcement— that's the department where we'll find whatever Dumbledore's left you."
"That's quite right, My Lady," Yaxley said obsequiously, ever eager to ingratiate himself with his superiors. "Scrimgeour, the previous Minister for Magic, had the contents of Dumbledore's will seized under the Decree for Justifiable Confiscation, and since your sister went missing for a time, her bequeathment remained in my department."
While they were talking, Nott hurried forwards to the lift and pressed the button to call it down. Moments later, the familiar golden grilles slid into view as the lift arrived at their level, and the disembodied female voice announced coolly as the doors opened, "Level Ten, Courtrooms and Detention Area."
"Justifiable Confiscation, you say?" said Daphne, frowning. "I'm not familiar."
They all stepped in the lift, and Nott pressed the button marked with the numeral two. The door closed, and the lift began its ascension.
"The previous administration passed a decree granting the Ministry emergency powers to confiscate items bequeathed in wills and hold them for a reasonable period," Yaxley swiftly explained. "This measure was targeted towards the Pure-Blooded elite, so I'm not quite certain why Scrimgeour saw fit to apply this law to Mr Dumbledore's inheritance— Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, the Mudblood Granger and Miss Oleandra Greengrass being the sole recipients."
"Then look into it," said Daphne flatly. "If that man believed it was important for him to check their inheritances, then there had to be a good reason for it."
Basement Level Nine came and went. Fond memories…
"Level Eight, the Atrium."
Yaxley pressed the close doors button repeatedly as people gathered around the lift. But given the identities of its five riders, no one dared to enter.
"Hold the lift!"
A tall, red-haired man frantically elbowed his way through the unmoving crowd and froze the instant he caught sight of the five figures inside the cage. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, eyes burning with white-hot fury— until at last he found the wherewithal to scream, "What have you done with my daughter's hand!?"
Oleandra waved Arthur Weasley a cheeky goodbye as the lift ascended without him.
"Ginny Weasley?" said Daphne, frowning. "As in, her hand in marriage?"
Daphne watched her twin sister's face attentively. The memories she had seen in the Pensieve did not show where Oleandra and Ginny had gone, so she was rather curious to know what had happened afterwards.
"Oh, that," said Oleandra with a laugh. "Got into a little scuffle with Ginny and lopped off her hand at the wrist with my sword."
This drew a few chuckles from the three Death Eaters.
"So, no qualms about cutting up Blood Traitors and trouncing Muggle-Born?" said Rookwood, laughing. "I recall a certain spy listing your name among the Order of the Round Table operatives in Britain… but unless I'm mistaken, you've never actually done anything of real value for them— am I wrong?"
Oleandra's eyes glinted.
"The Order was useful to me, at the time," she replied coolly. "We used each other. They promised me a place in the new world order once magic was revealed… but that obviously went out the window the moment I learned about Project: Heliopaths. The Order never had a ghost of a chance."
Oleandra actually agreed with the Order's pure motives— the problem was their hopeless naiveté. Wizards and Muggles could absolutely coexist, but neither group was monolithic. So long as extremists existed on both sides, peace would remain impossible. Dove factions would always get embroiled in the conflicts sparked by hawks… and at the end of the day, the only currency that ever held its value was violence.
"As ambitious as Slytherin himself, eh? Perhaps the Dark Lord was wrong about you," said Nott gruffly. "I hear you're on good terms with my son? Perhaps our two families might take tea together, sometime."
"That whole Time-Turner debacle?" said Oleandra jokingly. "Consider it water under the bridge— I know Theo didn't send me ten thousand years into the past on purpose."
That hadn't stopped Theo and his father from bragging about it, at the time Oleandra had stood firmly against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters.
"Of course, the Dark Lord's pardon all depends on your attitude," Rookwood cut in, just as the lift's female voice announced they had reached Level Three, "We'll start with Dumbledore's inheritance— if it's anything resembling some secret plan to overturn our efforts…"
Oleandra doubted it.
Dumbledore may have tried to rehabilitate her, but she was a Slytherin at heart. He would never truly trust someone who put themselves before the common good. There had likely never been a crucial place for her in his plans— if any had existed at all. He had died rather suddenly, after all.
"Level Two," said the lift. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."
The golden grilles slid apart, and Yaxley swaggered out of the lift, leading them to his office. He ushered them through the dark mahogany door, on which hung a silver plaque that read, 'Corban Yaxley— Magical Law Enforcement Department Head.'
The last time Oleandra had been here, it had read Amelia Susan Bones.
Yaxley invited his guests to take a seat while he hunched over his desk with a short quill, scribbling a note on a piece of stationery. He then tapped it with his wand, causing it to fold itself into the shape of a paper aeroplane and shoot through the ajar door.
"Intradepartmental communications— faster than the interdepartmental pneumatic tubes, but prone to putting someone's eye out," he said, smiling apologetically. "Your inheritance will be here shortly. Shall I get someone to pour us some tea while we wait?"