inretire: to trap, to ensnare, to catch
———
ELARA couldn't stop feeling.
One after the other, emotions swirled in her like a whirlwind, wrapping her up in their grip and suffocating her, digging their talons into her throat.
It was all she could do to stop herself from collapsing, from sagging against the nearest wall and letting her feelings drown her. It was so tempting—to let the rage, the disbelief and the betrayal consume her until there was nothing left.
But Elara had never been the type to give up—and so she ran. In what direction, she had no clue. With what dangers around her—she seemed to have forgotten that too.
It was just Draco's words on repeat in her head. The things he'd said to her from the other side of the door, the desperation in his voice. The way her heart had cracked a little more with every single syllable that slid of his tongue.
I know when Dolohov touched you, it was my hands that actually violated you.
That was the phrase that had made her heart hurt the most. That was the phrase that had made the walls around her bear down on her, that had made her magic flicker where the dark tendrils twined around her hands. All of a sudden, she was transported back to that cell—trapped within four walls, bleeding out and barely alive.
She barely remembered most of those two years in that cell. The first year had been the worst: Bellatrix was still alive and her visits to Elara's cell had her begging for death. Mulciber showed up once and Dolohov another to try and get information out of her—but then Bellatrix been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. After that, the war had begun and everybody seemed to forget about getting information out of her. Food and water still appeared every few days—never enough but it kept her alive. Towards the end, she'd given up altogether and ignored the stale bread and water entirely.
She still had nightmares of what happened to her down in that cell—of Bellatrix's gleeful cackle, Mulciber's threats and his weight on top of her as he slammed her head into the ground, and Dolohov's hand between her legs, his knife in her hip.
Her trauma was woven so deep into her brain, sometimes she didn't even realise it was the after-effects of what had happened to her. She'd find herself never realising she'd scratched at her hip until it bled through her jeans or how she always slept with her door cracked open because she needed to see at least a sliver of the hallway to know she wasn't trapped.
And Draco had caused all of this.
He had lied to her. He had hid everything from her. He had used her and betrayed her and taken her memories from her. And he'd never had the guts to come clean.
Instead, he'd lured her in with enticing words and soft promises, with that sincere look in his silver eyes. Had held out a patient hand and offered to help take the knife out of her back.
She had no idea he'd been the one to stab her in the first place.
I made mistakes. More than I can count—but I've been trying to make up for it. And I know it'll never be enough but I—I had to try.
That had been the last thing she'd heard before she'd turned and fled for the window, shoving it up and swinging her legs over the sill without a second thought. It had taken her only a few seconds to land in the garden, vault over the fence and start running.
She'd turned the corner of Orion's street and had thought she heard Draco call her name. Had thought she heard the pure raw terror in his voice—but then reminded herself that even if he had called for her, he didn't care.
But he did. She knew he did. Despite her anger, despite her hurt, her Ravenclaw brain wouldn't stop sifting through the facts.
He'd done everything for her from the moment she'd been taken from Malfoy Manor. He'd looked for her for two whole years, successfully rescued her, made sure she was safe at the safehouse.
But then he'd left her alone for two more years—and that didn't seem like something someone who cared about her would do. She'd needed someone—he had to have known how lost and terrified she'd feel in the months after her rescue. So if he really cared about her—why hadn't he ever come? Why had it taken her waking up with his name on her mind one day and sending a Patronus to get him to step back into her life?
But after that—he'd gone above and beyond for her. He had taunted and prodded her until she snapped at him, challenged and infuriated her until she couldn't not argue back. He'd hidden the way he cared, had dressed it up in lies of how she was a burden and he wasn't here to take care of her—but then he'd done exactly that. He'd knelt in front of her in the snow as she'd tried to numb herself, had tortured George with a Crucio when he'd hurt her. He'd given her a memory from Hogwarts, had tried to keep her away from the fighting, had always been there whenever she turned for help.
And then he'd held her on Lucifer, worked with her on the ring, done his best to keep her safe within Paisley. He'd kissed her the night they were about to die in Poland and had done everything in his power to get her out of there—even if it meant sacrificing himself.
And when she fell down that deep, dark hole after Iris' death, he'd waited for her. She came out of it on her own—but he'd been waiting on the other side with those silver eyes and wicked smirk. And there he had stayed, by her side, supporting her when she needed it, falling back when she didn't, letting her heal and kissing away her tears when she realised she hadn't got there yet.
Until now.
Now, it felt like he'd been ripped away from her—like she'd lost him all over again.
It hurt.
She realised too late that she had burst into the Main Square. The clocktower loomed above her, ominous and tall, the hands indicating it was almost nine in the evening.
Elara stumbled back, the deserted courtyard putting every single one of her instincts on edge. She'd gone too far. She'd gone way too far. She needed to get back to Orion's—
"Don't you know it's almost curfew, witch?"
Elara whirled to face a Death Eater, tall and lanky, his features covered by the golden mask they all wore.
Fear raced through her like wildfire—but then the Death Eater let out a sharp gasp and stepped back, his hand moving for his wand.
"Elara?"
Her eyes widened, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest. He knew her name. How did he know her name?
The mask vanished and was replaced by a face—a handsome one, freckled and round, a mop of messy chestnut hair on top of his head. A face she knew—but couldn't place.
He looked shell-shocked, his mouth dropped open, his eyes locked on hers like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Elara could barely muster the strength to speak. "Who—"
"Banks!" A deeper voice called out. "What's taking you so—"
Another Death Eater appeared behind the chestnut-haired one—and Elara took a step back on instinct. Unlike the first one, this one looked and sounded harsh—all cut lines and russet-coloured hair.
"Oh?" he mused, a grin appearing on his lips. "What have we here? Little witch out after dark?"
Banks—Elara assumed that was his last name—couldn't seem to move, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "She—"
"I was running late," Elara interrupted, her mind racing. If Banks knew who she was, she couldn't risk him telling anybody else. "So sorry. It won't happen again."
She turned on her heel but the second Death Eater stuck out an arm to block her path. "Not so fast, gorgeous. Where are you heading?"
Her pulse was beginning to thunder. "I'm meeting Orion."
She saw Banks' eyebrows raise in surprise, the other Death Eater's furrowing.
"Orion?"
"Yes," she said, trying to stay calm. "He's a friend and—"
"You're no good for Orion," scoffed the second Death Eater. His piercing green eyes bore into her and made shivers crawl down her spine. "He's not the kind of man you want."
"Leave her alone, Wilson," muttered Banks, nervously glancing over his shoulder.
"No, no, no, wait, hold on." Wilson grinned. "Why don't you come home with me, lovely? I'll make sure you're set for the night—"
"I'm alright." Elara stepped back, giving them a polite smile. "I really need to get going—"
"Come now." His hand reached out and latched onto her arm. "Let's not be difficult. I'm sure Orion can wait a little—"
Banks looked uncomfortable—but only stood by, his eyes still fixed on Elara's face. She still couldn't recognise him.
"Really." Elara tugged her arm out of Wilson's grip. "I appreciate the offer but I really must get—"
"Don't you know it's rude to turn a man down?" Wilson cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at her. She could tell he was losing his temper. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to be rude."
Elara blinked, her heart pounding, her palms clammy and said, "Maybe some other time. There's something I need to take care of—"
"You're out past curfew." Wilson drew his shoulders back, towering over her. "I should arrest you."
As if by his command, the clocktower tolled nine, the sound rolling out across the dark square. A dog howled somewhere in the distance.
"But..." Wilson went on, giving her another grin. "There are a couple things you could do to help me change my mind."
Elara's temper simmered but she had to play this smart. "How about I stop by your place tomorrow?" She flashed him a smile. "Give me a little time to prepare."
"How about today and tomorrow?" Wilson countered. He reached for her hand. "We can—"
At the first touch of his skin on hers, Elara flinched—and her magic burst out of her like a wave.
It knocked both Death Eaters off their feet, sending them sprawling backwards and birds took off from the rooftops where they'd nested for the night, squawking in protest. The lamplights flickered and Elara stumbled as a wave of nausea and exhaustion swept over her.
For a few long moments, her vision swam and she keeled over, clutching her side. Her skin was on fire, prickling and tingling, her head disoriented.
When she was finally able to straighten again, it only took her half a second before her muscles kicked into action and she was running back the way she came, barely sparing another look at the two Death Eaters lying prone on the floor.
But her magic had caused commotion and lights had flickered on around the square, front doors opening, suspicious faces peering out.
And when three other Death Eaters materialised at the junction where the Main Square met Orion's street, Elara skidded to a stop, her stomach plummeting.
They advanced towards her and she backed up, her eyes darting left and right, looking for a way out. But her magic had incapacitated her for a vital few seconds—and now it was too late.
Death Eaters appeared wherever she turned, blocking all exits out of the Main Square, their wands drawn and directed at her. She was cornered against the clocktower, her magic buzzing beneath her skin, her pulse racing.
There was no way out. She was trapped.
One of the Death Eaters said something but Elara couldn't hear it over the roaring in her ears. Couldn't think around the panic and fear flaring in her chest.
She had made a mistake. She had made a very big mistake.
"—under arrest for assaulting two Death Eaters—"
Her vision was turning black at the edges now, her mind whirling. "I didn't—I didn't mean to—"
She was going to pass out. She could feel the wave of nausea rising within her, the way the world began to fade out of view.
It was a voice that stopped her from collapsing there and then, that had her head snapping up, her vision clearing.
"Move."
Draco parted the crowd like he owned them. He strode through them, the hood of his cloak over his head, his face so cold she found it hard to believe he'd been begging for her forgiveness barely half an hour ago.
The Death Eaters and commoners around them bowed and stepped back as soon as he entered the vicinity, every inch of his frame tall and broad and intimidating. He carried power with him wherever he went—and the crowd knew it.
For Elara though, all she felt was relief. Pure, raw relief that swept through her and stabilised her. Draco was here. He'd get her out of this.
But by the set of his jaw and the icy look in his eyes, she knew he wasn't pleased with the predicament at all—and that this would be difficult even for him.
He came to a stop a few feet away from her, looking down at where she stood, back pressed to the wall of the clocktower, and threw one word over his shoulder at one of the Death Eaters. "Explain."
"She assaulted two Death Eaters, sir," the Death Eater rushed to obey. "Banks and Wilson."
Draco's eyebrows rose half an inch.
"She was also out past curfew and—"
"I'll take care of her." He stepped forward and seized her arm, his expression still morphed into that deadly mask. "Get everyone back inside."
The Death Eater swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir. Should I inform—"
"No one else needs to be informed." Draco surveyed Elara and she shrank back, playing along. "I'll deal with her."
"Yes, sir—"
"What's all this?"
Elara went rigid in Draco's grasp, her heart seeming to crawl into the pits of her stomach. Even his grasp tightened on her arm, although his expression didn't shift an inch.
No. No. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't—
"It's none of your concern," Draco responded, coldly. He angled his body, subtly, blocking Elara from view. "Just a skirmish."
"Then why are Banks and Wilson lying back there, bleeding out onto the pavement?"
Elara swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. She hadn't wanted to hurt Banks—he'd recognised her and not exposed her. Not that it mattered now anyway—not when he was here.
Antonin Dolohov stepped around Draco, looking like Elara's worst nightmare.
She watched the recognition flash in his eyes, watched his face slacken with shock. Watched his hand go for his wand and then halt—because he knew he had her anyway.
Draco's fingers were beginning to become painful where they dug into her arm. She knew he was desperately seeking a way out, knew his sharp mind was probably sifting through tactics like it always did.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Dolohov was here and he recognised her. And there was no way Draco could kill all the Death Eaters surrounding them. No way he could get her out. Not without exposing himself at least.
And Elara wasn't about to let him do that.
So she drew in a breath and steeled herself before trying to wrench her arm out of Draco's grip. "Don't touch me."
He glared down at her, obviously wanting her to keep her mouth shut and her head down. "You—"
"Draco," Dolohov mused, his lips splitting into a slow grin. "Do you know who this is?"
Draco said nothing, his eyes flicking between Elara's, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"Of course you do." Dolohov moved forward and Elara refused to let herself cower. "You went to school with her, didn't you?"
Elara's gut twisted as Draco glanced over his shoulder at Dolohov. "I believe she's the prisoner you had moved to your estate, thereby directly disobeying the Dark Lord's order, is she not?"
Dolohov's face twisted as a couple Death Eaters began to murmur within themselves, casting looks over at the three of them. "You know nothing, Malfoy."
"I beg to differ," purred Draco, cocking his head. "I think I know a lot more than you realise."
Dolohov stiffened but didn't back down. "It won't matter anyway. Not when I take her back to him." His eyes moved back to Elara's, sending chills down her spine. "You clean up well."
She spat at him then, unable to keep out the fury that burned in her chest.
Draco tensed beside her—a warning and a threat.
Dolohov only grimaced and wiped it off his cheek, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me, did those initials on your hip ever heal? I thought I did a pretty good job with them, don't you think?"
Elara's breath felt like it had been sucked out of her, her skin flaring up in pain as he said it.
"But then again—" He wiped his fingers on his robes. "I doubt they ever will heal. The magic prevents it, you see. You'll always belong to me."
Draco's grip on her was the only thing stopping Elara from lunging at Dolohov. Her hip ached and burned and prickled—and she wanted nothing more than to dig her nails into it and make it bleed.
"Search the surroundings," Dolohov ordered the Death Eaters flanking him. "There may be more of them."
They nodded in response and took off without another word.
"Inform the Dark Lord that we've captured another prisoner." He stepped forward, glancing at Draco. "I'll take care of her until then."
All of Elara's bravado melted into a puddle at the thought of being in Dolohov's hands again and she desperately tried to keep herself steady.
Draco's eyes flicked over to her and then somewhere above her—at the clocktower. His mouth twisted into a wicked smirk—and Elara saw him for what he was in that moment, the role he had to play. A heartless, cruel leader. "She's all yours."
And that was what made Elara's chest cave in, her lungs struggling for breath. He was going to hand her over. He was going to let Dolohov take her.
This time, it was impossible to keep her shoulders from trembling as Draco released her arm and stepped back, bowing his head and gesturing a hand to signal Dolohov to take her.
And when Antonin Dolohov smiled and stretched a hand out, wrapping it around her wrist, any hope Elara had had evaporated. His fingers dug into her skin so hard, she knew there'd be bruises.
And then—the world exploded.
One second, Elara was cornered against the clocktower with fifty Death Eaters surrounding her—and the next, fire blazed through the ranks, smoke billowing out into the dark night air.
Screams erupted through the crowd as they tried to scramble away from the flames—but it seemed to be sentient and split off wherever it could, swallowing up Death Eaters as it went.
Dolohov whirled—and Elara was gone before he could even turn back around, picking a spot where the Death Eaters had scattered from and sprinting for it.
She shoved through the chaos, avoiding the flames and Death Eaters alike, her heart pounding. One Death Eater lunged for her—but the fire twisted and enveloped him. His screams echoed in her ears as she burst into one of the streets leading out from the Main Square and started running.
A hand seized her by the elbow and yanked her to the side, jolting the breath out of her. She turned to face down her assailant—and came face to face with Pansy Parkinson.
"Stay quiet," she hissed, half-dragging Elara down the alleyway. "Magda's diversion diverted most of them—but some are still out looking for you."
Elara stumbled after her, throwing looks over her shoulder. "What—How did you—"
"She got into the clocktower," Pansy responded, yanking her along. "There's an entrance through the back. Orion snuck her in—and she set the Fiendfyre loose from up there."
Elara couldn't answer, could barely think straight. "She—You—"
"She should be fine." She stopped and rammed her shoulder into the door set in the wall of the alley. "Orion will make sure of that."
The door snapped open with a loud creak and then Elara was being hauled in before it was shut behind her. They'd stepped into a small, dark room that did little to muffle the commotion going on in the Main Square.
"Thank Merlin you picked the right street," Pansy grunted and Elara heard the sound of furniture shifting across the floor. "I told her to target that area to give you a clean way out."
"Thanks," Elara breathed, fumbling for the wall in the dark, trying to steady herself.
"Yeah." Pansy heaved something heavy away, releasing a long breath afterwards. "But if you're going to do something as stupid as that again, let us know first."
Elara wanted to be offended—but her brain still hadn't calmed enough for her to fully process the words.
And then Pansy's hand wrapped around Elara's, firm and calloused. "Watch your step."
Elara followed her down through the trapdoor she'd opened up and waited in the space below as Pansy shut it above them and joined her.
There was a bit more light down here, faintly flickering torches lining the walls of the narrow tunnel stretching ahead of them. The ceiling was just high enough for them to walk without hitting their heads.
"Well?" Pansy urged from behind her, giving her a light nudge. "Go on then."
Elara stayed rooted to the spot, her palms clammy. "I don't—" She swallowed and sucked in a breath. "I don't do well underground."
Pansy went silent for a moment and then said, softer, "It's the only way out. We have to."
Elara shook her head, opened her mouth to speak again—but an explosion above their heads rocked them nearly off their feet. They clutched onto each other, staring up at the ceiling with bated breath as pebbles skittered down across the walls.
"We have to move," Pansy said, more urgent. "Now."
Elara did then, plunging straight down the tunnel, swallowing down her fear. She wasn't sure the tunnel would survive another explosion like that one—and she really did not want to be buried alive today.
Pansy stayed close behind, her wand drawn and silence stretched between the two of them, so heavy and deep Elara felt it settle on her shoulders. She'd known Pansy once upon a time. And even though she might not remember—it was clear to even her that Pansy was now a ghost of herself.
So to get her mind off the narrow rock walls on either side of her, Elara talked. "So we were friends."
Pansy said nothing.
"I know that much," Elara continued, stepping over a small puddle where rain must have come through. "So you can tell me. Unless you're under a Vow too."
It took her a minute but Pansy finally answered. "Vow?"
Elara nodded. "Draco—" Her heart hurt with just his name. "Malfoy made them all take an Unbreakable Vow to keep me from learning anything about my past."
She heard Pansy's sharp inhale—as if she couldn't believe it either. "He did what?"
"Right?" Elara huffed and then flinched as a small boom erupted above them. She picked up her pace. "He got everyone who knew me—who went to Hogwarts—to take a Vow."
Pansy released a breath. "Fucking hell. He's insane."
"Yeah." She tried not to think of how he'd looked at her just that very same morning and told her they were both insane for what they'd do for each other. "Yeah."
They were quiet for a bit longer, both seeming to drift off into their thoughts as they hurried along. Elara had no clue where they were going but she trusted Pansy—especially after what she'd heard in the sitting room.
They spoke at the same time.
"Did you know I was there?"
"Is Blaise still alive?"
They both seemed taken aback by the other's question and Elara blinked at the air in front of her before clearing her throat. "Yeah. Blaise is alive."
She could've sworn Pansy let out a sigh of relief. "He's—okay?"
"Y-Yeah? What—You knew him?"
"Of course I knew him. He was my best friend." She sounded bitter.
"Oh." Elara frowned. "And now you're on opposite sides of the war?"
Pansy kicked at a pebble on the ground. "No one's fault but mine. I took the Dark Mark—and Blaise knew nothing of it."
She processed the information, mulling it over. "That's why he hates Dra—Malfoy then."
"Just because he betrayed you doesn't mean you have to call him Malfoy."
Elara stiffened. "He—I don't want to call him Draco."
"Why not?"
"Are we really going to have this conversation?"
"I feel like there are some underlying issues you need to solve with him."
"Is that your guilty conscience speaking?" Elara rolled her eyes. "You don't have to try and help—just because you're the one who let it slip."
Pansy fell silent for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded cautious and tentative. "I didn't know you were there. He made me cast a Silencing Charm. I didn't even think you were awake—"
"I was waiting for him." It was out before she could stop it. Apparently, her mouth still trusted Pansy because it didn't seem to care about what came out of it. "To come find me. He—He wasn't in a good place."
"Yeah," Pansy scoffed. "I reckon he wasn't. It's not everyday he has to kill ten children."
Elara didn't even grimace. "Did he—really?"
"You doubt it?"
"No. He's capable of anything. I just thought there'd be some place he'd draw a line."
"You can't draw lines when you're working for the Dark Lord," Pansy ground out, hatred laced in her voice. "You do what he says, when he says—or it's death."
Elara swallowed. "Charming."
"Isn't he?" Her tone was dry. "Regardless—Draco isn't as heartless as he makes himself out to be. Killing those kids..." She sighed. "It took a toll on him. I know it'll haunt him for the rest of his life."
Elara chewed on the inside of her cheek, picking through her thoughts. "I don't—blame him. For what he did."
"Which part? Killing children or using you to let Death Eaters into the school? Or is it the part where he took your memories and hid it all from you?"
"You sound like you're the one who had all that happen to you."
"I don't appreciate him using my friends—and then jeopardising everyone else's life to try and keep her safe."
Elara shook her head. "He wouldn't let anything happen to you—"
"He would." The words were delivered harshly. "The more I think about it—now that I know he's been playing both sides, I just—" She paused, seeming to collect her thoughts enough to string them into a sentence. "I always knew he was cruel. Obsessive. Cutthroat. But even then, I'm quickly realising how much I underestimated him."
Elara didn't interrupt. She just squinted into the darkness straight ahead, trying to see by the faint light of the flames in the torches. Their footsteps echoed against the rock as they moved.
"It all makes sense now," Pansy went on, sounding lost in thought. "The night in Poland—I should've known no one would be able to incapacitate Draco. Should've known that the only person who would be able to take down those wards without the alarm being raised would be him."
Elara tried not to let the memories of that night surface. Draco kissing her. The explosion. The aftermath. Iris.
"I didn't see the lie in his story. Didn't even question it when he said that Potter and the others had managed to take him down—because he was Draco and he was my best friend and he—he had his mother to think of and—" She stopped, abruptly.
"And?" Elara prodded, casting a questioning look over her shoulder.
"And it just didn't make sense to me," Pansy finished, quickly. "That he'd put everything on the line—it never struck me. He was Draco Malfoy. He was the one who got his hands dirty whenever the Dark Lord asked. He tortured classmates. Killed our old teachers. It just—didn't make sense. I didn't think he had a motive."
Elara detected the shift in her voice when she continued. "But then I didn't know about you. I knew he'd gotten you out of Dolohov's estate—but I didn't know he was still in contact with you. I thought he'd just been trying to ease his guilt so he rescued you. But it turns out he's—"
"He's not." Elara cut her off before she could finish that sentence and make her hurt more. "He isn't."
Pansy chuckled. "You really think he isn't?"
"He lied to me." Don't think about him. Don't think about him on the other side of that door.
"He wanted to keep you safe. If he'd told you, you would've fallen right back into what he was trying to prevent."
"He should've told me and let me decide on my own," Elara shot back, sharply. "I'm not his fucking—pawn. I don't care if he's Voldemort's right hand man or if he can kill someone with a flick of his hand. I'm his fucking equal—and he needs to realise that and stop treating me like a child."
"Come on, Elara. Can you blame him?" Pansy demanded. "I mean—I don't agree with what he did. You know that already. The only reason you know is 'cause I let him know exactly how I feel about him manipulating you. So don't get me wrong—I'm not justifying what he did. I'm just saying you can't claim he doesn't care about you. That's all."
"If he cared about me," Elara retorted, "he wouldn't have used me back in Hogwarts. If he cared about me, he would've killed me when I asked him to and—"
"What?"
"I'm as confused as you are," Elara grumbled. "But it doesn't—it doesn't even matter. He should've told me."
"Yeah. He should've."
They walked on in silence, the only sounds the dripping of water somewhere far off and their footsteps. Elara found herself wondering if Draco was okay, if he'd been caught in one of the explosions that had rocked the tunnel.
She hadn't had time to hate him when he'd shown up at the clocktower. Her every sense had been on high alert, looking for a way out, an escape. It hadn't even hurt to look at him—instead, it had made her feel calm.
But now, the hurt was seeping back in. The raw anger, the humiliation, the despair—They all chafed together in her chest, made her want to shatter something into pieces. Like the first day she'd seen him after Iris' death. She'd wanted to destroy something then too—and she'd chosen him. Had pushed him away and walked away, had heard his footsteps leave the porch.
He hadn't hurt her then—and she'd still torn him apart. But now? He'd lied to her. Betrayed her. Hid everything from her.
He was the reason for it all. Every sleepless night that had been spent wondering if she'd ever figure out who she was again. Every single time she collapsed into the snow to numb the pain in her hip. Every time she sat under hot water to try and chase away the nightmares of what had happened to her down in that cell.
All the turmoil she'd gone through, all the trauma she now carried on her shoulders, all the pain that she wore almost like a second skin—it had been given to her by hands she'd trusted.
And she was only now realising how bloodstained those hands had really been.
A scuffle of footsteps that wasn't theirs—and Elara's head snapped up, her steps slowing, heart climbing into her throat.
Pansy tensed behind her but before she could push her way in front of Elara, a shadow stepped out of the darkness beside them, out of a smaller side tunnel, the flames illuminating the three scars down one side of her face.
"Magda," Elara breathed and Pansy relaxed.
"You're a fucking idiot," was her greeting. Elara could see soot on her clothes, smudged on her cheek. She was pretty sure even the edges of her short hair were singed. "We have to hurry. Things aren't looking good up there."
"How'd you get down here?" Elara inquired as they plunged onwards, their steps urgent, Magda in the lead.
"Orion," she responded, wiping some sweat off her brow with her sleeve. "There's a trapdoor in one of the abandoned inns. He got me there and told me to follow the tunnel."
"Where does this even open up?"
"Orion's street," Pansy answered from behind Elara. "That was quite some diversion, Magdalena."
"Magda. And I know. I'm just livid I didn't get that prick, Dolohov. I would've liked to see him burn."
Elara hated just the name, the memory of his hand wrapping around her wrist making her shiver. "Still, you—Thank you. I would've been captured if you hadn't created that diversion."
"I'm well aware," Magda replied, smoothly. "You're still a fucking idiot though. What in the world possessed you?"
Elara didn't answer. Pansy cleared her throat.
"When we get to the exit," she said, "we'll have to be careful. They've probably got Death Eaters looking for you two everywhere. You'll have to stay hidden to get to Orion's house—then get to the stables."
Elara nodded, guilt curling into a knot in her stomach. She was beginning to realise how serious her mistake really was. She'd endangered everybody involved—Magda, Orion, Pansy. Draco.
Even thinking his name sent a pang through her chest and she rubbed at it, trying to ignore it. "Tell Orion I'm sorry—for the mess I made."
Magda came to a stop, reaching a hand out and grasping the rung of a ladder in front of them. "Tell him yourself."
Elara wanted to say she didn't plan on ever returning here—and didn't even think Magda would be able to. Not when the Death Eaters knew there was a way for members of the Order to get into Paisley.
But then Magda was hauling herself up the ladder, Elara close behind. Pansy stayed on the ground, having told them she had to head back the way they came to avoid being seen with them if things went wrong.
So it was Magda who slid open the trapdoor as quietly as she could and then waited a minute, looking to pick up any sound. When she peered out, Elara found herself holding her breath.
And then she was gesturing for Elara to follow and Pansy melted back into the shadows of the tunnel, her footsteps receding.
"It's clear," Magda murmured, pulling herself up and out of the space. Elara heard her curse as she bumped her head on something. "Fuck—"
The something turned out to be the underside of a table and Elara carefully avoided it herself as she maneuvered herself out and onto the floor.
They were in a dim empty room, streaks of moonlight filtering in through the spaces between the rickety door and the doorframe. There was nothing but the old table in the room and a couple boxes.
Magda was still rubbing her head as she got to her feet and made her way over to the door, peeking through the crack. Elara followed suit, straining her ears for any noise.
"We're at the end of Orion's street," Magda whispered, cracking open the door. "It looks empty."
She'd just made to take a step out when voices sounded from a short distance away and Elara was the one who yanked her back.
"—how they got in. She said she was going to Orion's. You think he's involved?" a deep voice spoke, piercing through the night air.
"Orion? No way, mate. He's Malfoy's sidekick. He wouldn't dare step out of line."
"Then how'd the bitch know his name?"
By the sound of it, the two Death Eaters were walking down the street towards where Elara and Magda were hidden, the breeze carrying their voices.
"I dunno. I reckon they have their own spies. Probably know some of our names. I just don't think it'd be Orion who'd give us up."
"Fair. Weird, innit? What was she doing here? She's the one who fucked it all up for us in the beginning." He sounded bitter.
"No clue. Probably to cause trouble like the rest of them. They set up those explosions to go off beforehand, I'm sure."
"Nasty swots. You see the blonde girl? I'm pretty sure I went to school with her."
Magda tensed beside her, her jaw tightening.
"Yeah? Malfoy went to school with the other one. Dolohov's bitch."
Elara's heart twisted and she swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth.
"He'll be raving mad—Dolohov. Lost her again—and that too in front of Malfoy."
"He doesn't trust him," came the response. "Thinks he had something to do with the girl escaping his place three years ago."
The other one scoffed. "Yeah. As if. Malfoy hasn't got a kind bone in his body. He won't very well be breaking girls out of captivity for the fun of it. Doesn't matter what I think though. The Dark Lord is starting to suspect him too."
They were close now, probably a foot or two away from passing by the door and both girls took a step back, Magda's hand tightening around her wand.
"Is he?"
"Yeah." A pause and then a lower, conspiratorial tone. "You wanna know what he said to me?"
"Who? The Dark Lord? He spoke to you?"
"Well—No. Not really. But I heard from Jackson who heard from Trent who heard from Williams that he's upped security around Malfoy Manor. He's deployed about ten troops to guard it—can you believe it? Old man's got a bit paranoid, I'd say."
"Ten—You're kidding. What the hell does he want with ten troops?"
"That's what I said! I said I hardly think the Potter boy is going to waltz into Malfoy Manor and kill him." Sullenly, he added, "Yaxley overheard me on that. Gave me a good scolding."
Their voices faded as they moved on, the night becoming quiet again. The girls waited for a good couple minutes, making sure all was clear before they started moving.
Elara's skin crawled but she stepped out into the street after Magda, flattening herself against the wall to keep in the shadows.
Orion's house came into view immediately, about thirty metres away. The lampposts flickered, throwing the cobbled street in and out of darkness—and Elara couldn't help the way her stomach knotted.
"Come on," Magda hissed, already a few steps ahead of her. "Before they come back."
Another explosion sounded somewhere far off, followed by shouts and screams and it spurred Elara into action.
Her feet moved on their own accord, hurrying after Magda as she asked, "Where are those explosions coming from?"
"Orion," she muttered back as they made their way down the street, sticking to the fences of the houses to keep out of plain sight, "and Draco. Don't ask me how but they're diverting all the chaos to different parts of Paisley."
"With explosions?"
In response, Magda shot her a look over her shoulder. "Orion," she repeated, slower, as if that explained everything, "and Draco. They're a fucking menace when they work together."
"But they'll blow their covers." Panic took root in her chest. "They'll—"
"They can handle themselves. Right now, we have to focus on getting to those stables."
That succeeded in getting Elara to quiet down, although dread was still a tight coil in her abdomen.
They crossed the street after looking both ways, making sure there was nobody around, Magda's wand by her side.
They had just made it to the opposite side of the street, still a little way from Orion's when a peculiar feeling washed over Elara. In a flash, she snagged Magda's sleeve. She'd never be able to explain why she'd stopped or how she'd known.
But when Magda turned to face her, those icy blue eyes flicked over to somewhere behind her and then everything seemed to happen all at once.
In the span of six seconds, Magda had registered the sounds of footfalls getting louder from just around the corner—even though they hadn't been audible a moment earlier—and her face shifted through a multitude of emotions before she grabbed Elara and began to yank her along. Four seconds later, they'd reached Orion's gate and Elara's heart was about to beat out of her chest as her body kicked into survival mode.
But it was Magda's last push that got Elara through Orion's gate, sending her tumbling into the driveway and the last thing Elara heard was a hissed "Go!" before Magda took off down the street.
And then the Death Eaters rounded the corner—and shouts erupted as they spotted Magda. Elara scrambled back as the dark night lit up with flashes of red spells, birds bursting into flight with the commotion.
And for half a second, Elara couldn't accept it. Couldn't leave someone else behind, couldn't let someone else sacrifice themselves for her. It was Iris all over again—and Elara wouldn't accept it.
But then she heard Dolohov's distinct voice—and all her courage, all her defiance dissipated into thin air.
Later, the guilt would eat her up. It would cause her to stare at her reflection in the mirror and wonder who she was. It would make her feel weak, helpless, insufficient. Incredibly selfish.
Because the old Elara would never leave someone behind to sacrifice themselves for her.
But right then, in that moment, with Death Eaters charging down the street, streaking past the fence she hid behind, Elara could only save herself. With Antonin Dolohov's voice ringing in her ears, calling for Magda's capture, with the initials on her hips inflamed, Elara convinced herself there was nothing she could do.
She kept low as she made her way around the side of the house. She could hear Mochi yowling from inside, probably waiting by the front door for Orion to return.
In her haste, she missed the last few rungs of the ladder leading down into the tunnel that went to the stables and something in her ankle flared into red-hot pain, making her cry out.
But she limped on, forcing away the fear and claustrophobia that came with the narrow space and it was pure adrenaline that got her to mount the Abraxan with her sprained ankle.
And when they'd soared high above the clouds, far from Paisley, Elara buried her face in Lucifer's soft mane and cried.
———
hi. i hate writing action if u couldn't tell. petition for it to be acceptable to write only dialogue and nothing else.
vote! or linn will scream at u < 3
kisses,
nyx