☤ Pseudonym ☤

~Chapter Three~

The corridors are cold at night. I discovered this on my second night at Hogwarts as Dean and I snuck out to get a late night snack. Tonight I am out for much more sinister reasons. The message still resides on my palm, if a little scabbed over. I have my suspicions about who sent it and I here to confirm it. Fear does not cross my mind as a creep along the stone floor. I can defend myself better than most and any dark wizard who harms me would face the most gruesome of punishments.

A crash erupts behind me and whip around. My wand at the ready. 'Lumos.' I whisper and a white light spills out of the end of my wand. I breath a sigh of relief at the face it reveals. 'Draco, what the hell are you doing here?'

'I could ask you the same question.' he counters and crosses his arms defensively.

I lower my wand, 'And we both know I would not answer.'

He takes a few steps towards me, 'I can help.'

I shake my head and look down, ' I could never be the one to drag you into this world.'

'I was born into this world.' he hisses, 'Sometimes I think you forget about my lineage.'

'And sometimes I think you forget mine.' I keep my voice level and my face blank. A silence passes us. 'Go.' I murmur, barely audible. After a second he turns and walks away. I watch him long after he is gone. Just staring down the corridor.

I break out of my trance by a clock chiming. It is time. Though I never intended to be punctual to this little meeting. It is always a good way to scout the area by being late. Watch from a distance and assess the danger.

The door to the hall was ajar and I could hear talking inside. The voices grew louder and I heard a distinct Northern European accent. Footsteps marched towards me and I wrapped myself to the wall, disguised by a column. Karkaroff storms past, not noticing the student hidden in the shadows.

I peer around the corner and the doors are now flung wide open. The blue flames dance in the goblet, which is surrounded by a wispy white shadow. A figure is hunched over on a bench next to it. I approach it slowly, my wand by my side. When I get close enough I recognise the gnarled features of Alastor Moody. 'Hello darlin.' he does not look up but knows I am there. 'Bit late aren't we? I thought I had taught you extensively in the art of punctuality.' he looks up and smiles evilly at me, 'Florence Riddle.'

I smack my hand against my mouth and take a few steps backward. My undone laces trip me up and fall to the ground. He stands and offers me a hand. I ignore it and stand up, trying to regain some of my dignity. Composing myself, I draw myself to my full height and lift my chin up. 'Barty, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you wouldn't interfere with my school life.'

'That may be so, darlin. But we also agreed that you would provide information on Mr Potter.' he circles me slowly, I try to keep the fear from my eyes. 'And so far, what do we have? He likes strawberry jam with his toast.' he pauses, 'One would almost think that you are not committed to the cause.' he places one finger on my chin to lift it to look him in his eye.

'One would almost think you are too committed.' I smile at him, disguising my terror, 'Polyjuice potion I'm assuming.' his lack of response confirms my suspicions. 'So why are you really here, Barty? Because we both know it's not to lecture me.'

'No, you're right there. The Dark Lord needs your assistance.' I straighten my spine at the mention of his name.

'With what?' I struggle to keep the quiver from my voice.

'The inevitable downfall of Mr Potter.' he whispers in my ear. This is not a surprise to me. The obsession with Harry's death has been ever present in my entire life. 'He has a special task for you.' I keep quiet, bracing myself for his words. 'Potter is to enter the Triwizard Tournament and he is to win. You must help him along the way.'

'That's impossible.' I blurt out, 'It's only for seventeen year olds and above.'

A deep chuckle emit from his throat, 'Leave that to me, darlin.'

'Is that all you summoned me here for?' I muster up some fake confidence.

'No no no Darlin. I think we need a little punishment for the slight deviance from the standards required.' I sigh and lower my head. A ripple of excruciating pain courses up my back. I throw my head back to scream, but no noise comes out. I breath heavily as another shot of pain attacks me.

An hour later he is finished. I stumble from the room, I can feel the blood dripping down my spine, the soft fabric of shirt raking across my raw wounds. I exhale roughly trying to take control of the pain I am feeling. 'Renn?' I look up and see Draco. 'Shoot, what happened to you?' he rushes over and grabs me just as I start to fall. I grip onto his t-shirt. Opening my mouth I try to talk but no words come out. 'Don't speak. I've got you know, you're safe.' he murmurs reassuringly in my ear.

We slowly make our way down the corridor. Eventually we reach a bathroom and he ushers me inside, looking around to make sure no one is about. Carefully I unbutton my shirt, revealing the long, red gashes striping my back. I hear Draco inhale sharply, but he does not comment. Instead he gently wipes my back with a damp cloth. I flinch as the coolness comes into contact with my wounds. Swallowing a sob I try to disguise my discomfort.

When Draco is finished we just sit there. He leans against the sink and studies me. I keep my head bowed, making sure he cannot see the pain in my eyes. 'Renn-' he starts.

'Leave.' I interrupt him. He looks shocked.

'How can you say-' he begins to shout.

But I stop him again, 'Just leave Draco.' quickly he stands and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Then I break down. I weep into my hands, tears coating my scarred skin. In the mirror I take notice of my appearance. Weak. That is what he would say if he saw me like this. I betrayed my family and I need to remember where my allegiance lies.

Delicately I replace my shirt, but leave it unbuttoned so as not to cause more pain than necessary. I walk through the corridors without caution. Who cares if I am out at night? I am the daughter of Voldemort himself. No one can tell me where I can and cannot go. My face has become a mask of coolness and lack of emotion. I am uncaring. I am detached. I have a mission. One that I intend to complete. Even if it kills me. Even if it kills Harry.