She could see her face reflected in the flask, the reflection of her almond-shaped, silver eyes staring at her, carrying a dazed image of her face, her features.

The wind was lovely, tonight.

Tom Redwork looked thoughtfully at the girl with the flask, and he wa all too clearly distracted. She could not be more than sixteen. Seventeen, at the oldest. And she was beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

He, himself, was not much of an enigma. He was not a death eater, but he worked for Lord Voldemort now and then, and everyone knew where his loyalties lay. He was not particularly skilled in the Dark Arts, but he was good with memories and certain other things, and the fact that he could be of use was enough for the Dark Lord.

“Jenna?”

She was bent over the glass flask, intent. She looked up, and her silver hair sparkled as it caught the yellowish light of the room. Tom blinked.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Are you sure you can do that? It’s a very complicated job.”

“You think the Dark Lord would have sent me here if he wasn’t sure I could do it?”

Tom shut up.


He watched her work, her hands moving slowly – expertly – along the glass walls of the flask. She seemed to know what she was doing but, Tom could not help thinking, he had worked with these things his entire life. How could she – was she even sixteen? – accomplish what he, with all his experience, had failed to?

There was a flash of light, and he blinked again. She had her wand out now, and was slowly tapping the flask. Light burst out of its open mouth, faint at first, but steadily growing stronger. It changed colour from white to yellow, before dissolving into an orange mist that wrapped the flask for a few seconds, then disappeared, leaving no trace.

“Some job,” Jenna said rather breathlessly, her silvery eyes sparkling. “I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“You think the Dark Lord would have sent you here if he wasn’t sure you could do it?” He grinned, tossing her words back at her.

Jenna laughed. “It’s a dangerous little thing, this flask. Plenty of memories the Dark Lord wouldn’t want anyone seeing, no?”

Tom nodded. “Should I deliver it to him?”

She shrugged a pair of very white shoulders. “If you like. Though I have to see him in an hour – could save you the trouble.”

He nodded. “Why not.”