Earlier this week, it was announced that a jubilant Miss Ivana Sleptov was to wed Mr. Gabriel de Havilland later this year. Not long after, however, it was revealed to this reporter that Miss Sleptov is, in fact, Mrs. Volkov, wed to Russian Liaison Alexei Volkov, also of Russia. Such scandal, of course, could not go unreported, but now Mrs. Volkov has approached this reporter with her side of the story, below. The Daily Prophet makes no assurances about the legitimacy of her claims, and urges those with sensitivities to pass over this particular interview.

“I was young when I lost my father,” Mrs. Volkov begins in reasonably good, if accented, English, while we meet in her brother’s sitting room, “only ten. Though my brother returned to my father’s house to care for me and my mother—who, too, I lost before it was time—he was scarcely more than a stranger to me, and I will admit that I was less than charitable to him at the time. It is not right, for a girl to lose her father, to have no proper—though dear Nikolai did do his best—male influence in your life. It only became worse when I was sent away to school.

“It was a small school, for young ladies with magic only. All of our instructors were matrons or widows, and the only time we saw ourselves sent home was for the Christmas season. Only when my mother was fading was I to spend any substantial time with Nikolai, who was still very much unfamiliar to me. Bless him, though; when the time came, mine was quite a coming out affair, which could not have been accomplished if he had not truly cared for my well-being.

“It was a few years before I found Mr. Volkov—yes, my husband—but not long before I found myself hopelessly in love with him. I think, now, that a part of this might be because I needed a more masculine presence in my life, for though I was done school, I still saw little of my brother. But hopelessly in love I was and when, after some time of courtship, he asked me to become his wife, the thought of refusing never even graced my mind. By then I had made up my mind to become Mrs. Alexei _____________________________________________________________

Volkov and all that that entailed, and would hardly hinder myself in doing so. We married just before my twenty-third birthday, and I could not have adapted better to my new place as his wife.

“At first our new life together was blissful, but I quickly became wary of the man that I loved.”

Here, Mrs. Volkov rises and moves to the window, as if seeking answers out of doors. I am surprised to note a single tear, streaming down her cheek. As if offended by it, she rubs it quickly away, then smoothes her dress. “And what happened then, Mrs. Volkov?” I ask, eager. She sighs; delicate readers will now wish to turn away.

“H-he beat me, when I did not do as he wished, or when I spoke out of turn. And not gently, quietly, as is a man’s right. He whipped me, once, violently, and my back bears the scars that will prove it. He raped me, too, and often. After all, who would willingly make love to someone so cruel? When... when I thought we could be happy, when I conceived his child—and so certain was I that it would be a son!—he, for some reason, flew into a rage. He hit me, harder, with his closed fists as never before, and then he pushed me down the stairs. Our stairs were quite steep.

“By some miracle I survived, but I did lose our child.” Mrs. Volkov is sobbing readily now, and has sunk back into her chair. I urge her forward.

“There was little more I could do,” she offers, barely a whisper. “He had kept me locked in our... in his home for so long that I was no longer sure what the world was like. When I got the opportunity—at a wedding, it must have been—I disapparated, and turned up here.” She gestures around the room, indicating her brother’s home. “I could not bear to relive the horrors that I had experienced. So I... I lied.”

Mrs. Volkov excuses herself, and retires to her room.