Arabella’s tea leaves had been predicting nothing but violence for a week, but news of an attack so close to her still came as a shock. And from the Blood Thieves, it seemed. The information was staggered, only coming in through the wireless, but the anti-pureblood group certainly had a signature. While their anger was something she could understand, she couldn’t help but to be fearful. Would they see her—someone who had rejected the pureblood lifestyle—as any different from the people she used to call family?
Although her boss at Sugarplums’s had told her that she could go home, she’d stayed. People had been rushing into the shop, hoping it would provide shelter in case the attack broke through the blockade that had been set up outside of Knockturn Alley. Arabella approached a particularly panicked face, hoping to provide some sort of comfort. “Here, on the house,” she said as she handed them a licorice wand. A sweet wouldn’t dissolve their fear, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.










