This fanart of Lainey was drawn by https://www.quotev.com/29539952 (:
Though the events of Garren's wedding had left me feeling rather melancholy, the next few days at Malfoy Manor could have been classified as cheerful compared to most. When I wasn't being demolished by Draco in chess or being tutored by Draco in Arithmancy or being tutored by Draco's mother in how to properly be Draco's wife, I spent my free time in the kitchen with Sorry the house elf. I cooked what I intended to be exquisite meals but just ended up being mediocre dishes for Luna, and the house elf and I would bring the food down and dine with her in the cellar. The visits were brief, mostly because after twenty minutes I would start having hallucinations that Evan was starving and crying in a puddle, but I hoped that our short company was enough to keep Luna from going insane. There were a few other inmates locked in the cellar, but I selfishly avoided looking at them to prevent guilt from overwhelming me.
By Christmas Eve, Sorry and I had finally concocted the dessert that we'd been fruitlessly attempting to create for the past four days. Even the timid elf sported a semi-devious smirk as we escorted the cupcakes from the kitchen to the drawing room, where our great Dark Lord was hosting a meeting with all of his important followers. Draco and I had, of course, not been invited.
Sorry and I waited outside the open doorway, peeking in on the Death Eaters who sat around the table that Charity Burbage had been eaten on. Voldemort was positioned at the head, listening idly as Corban Yaxley reported on happenings within the Ministry of Magic. I heard the name Urquhart, and I was momentarily curious if Brian Urquhart's father had been put under the Imperius Curse or not, but we weren't here to eavesdrop tonight.
"Can you do it?" I asked Sorry, referring to the plan we'd hashed out earlier that day.
"Sorry," he said, but by that he meant "yes" because a moment later, the platter of green-frosted cupcakes disappeared from my hands and then reappeared on the drawing room table.
Voldemort didn't blink, and Yaxley didn't stop his rambling; the house elves often sent food from the kitchen while the Death Eaters were engaged in meetings, and apparently the Dark Lord didn't think much of these cupcakes that were decorated with snakes. Amycus Carrow's face lit up, though, and Crabbe Sr. was already leaning across the table to retrieve one. Voldemort seemed annoyed, but he said nothing as his subjects retrieved the desserts and gobbled them up. It wasn't until Crabbe finished his first cupcake that there was a true flicker in the Dark Lord's expression.
"Silence," he snapped at Yaxley, who immediately clamped his mouth shut. Crabbe was munching on his second cupcake, oblivious to the fact that his master was glaring at him with slivered eyes.
"Ay, what happened to yer nose!" Amycus exclaimed, peering over at Crabbe with protuberant eyes. The more rotund Death Eater finished shoving his second cupcake into his mouth before bringing his hand up to his nose and finding that it had disappeared; where there had once been bone and cartilage, there were now only two snake-like slits.
"What—happened to your nose?" Crabbe repeated, staring at Amycus, whose nose had also flattened.
Murmurs filled the drawing room as everyone stared at each other, baffled as to why they were all as noseless as their Dark Lord. The few who hadn't eaten any of the cupcakes, which we'd laced with Fred and George's No Nose Nuggets, and had managed to maintain their noses were looking particularly nervous. Sorry and I were struggling to keep our snickers mute out in the corridor.
Voldemort had his wand in his hand now, and silence permeated the drawing room as he slid his finger over the bone white wood. "Is this meant to be a mockery?" he asked no one in particular, but they all shook their heads. Sorry and I had sobered out in the hallway, and there was a sensation of dread snaking through me. "Crabbe? Did you order the house elves to bake these sweets as a device of ridicule against your Dark Lord?"
Crabbe's jaw dropped as he violently shook his head. "N-No, my Lord—no—"
His stammers turned into screams quicker than I could blink; all of the other Death Eaters had abandoned their cupcakes and were staring with horror as Crabbe convulsed out of his chair and collapsed on the ground. Judging by the dwindling of Crabbe's shrieks, Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse lasted less than a minute, but I was already far from the drawing room when it ended, sprinting through corridors in a futile attempt to evade the Dark Lord's wrath. Even if he'd accused Crabbe at first, he wasn't daft enough to think that the grown man had actually done it. There was one prankster in this house that was dumb enough to defy our master, and she was currently locking herself in her bedroom. I only hoped that Sorry, who had Disapparated as soon as the torture began, wouldn't get in trouble for our mischief.
Panting, I pressed my back against my bedroom door and racked my brain for some way out of my punishment—while simultaneously trying to evade any feelings of guilt. Yes, Crabbe was a Death Eater, but he was still a human being and I had caused his torture, however brief. Perhaps it made us even, since he'd helped murder my father. Perhaps just closer to even; I would never truly forgive that man, or any of the men, who aided in my father's death. Perhaps Crabbe deserved that punishment. And perhaps I was becoming just as callous and merciless as the Death Eaters that I despised.
"So," a voice drawled, jolting me out of my ponderings, "you played your stupid prank, did you?"
I expelled a shaky breath as I realized that Draco Malfoy was lounging in my bed, a book open in his lap. He looked far too smug for me to be pleased about his presence.
"Didn't go as planned?" he derided, raising an eyebrow.
"It—was supposed to be funny," I stammered, loosening my stiff posture as I leaned on the door for support.
"And was it?"
"I thought it was funny—"
Malfoy snorted over me, shaking his head. "You're so juvenile, Mudblood—"
"Yes, yes, I know, but...he tortured Crabbe for it. Cruciatus Curse."
His amusement waned at that as he closed his book and stood. "And now you think they're coming here to torture you?"
"No, I know they—"
My words were overpowered by an aggressive banging that vibrated the door and nearly knocked me to the ground. I pushed harder against the wood, as if my frail body could prevent Voldemort from blasting it to pieces.
"Will you open the door, Potter, or must I destroy it?" Rookwood's voice sang from the other side.
"I—uh—don't come in!" I commanded hastily. "Draco and I are making love in here! Do not disturb—"
"Making love?" Malfoy hissed, wrinkling his nose. I only managed to shrug at him before the door was thrust open behind me, knocking me into the footboard of my bed. Coughing, I spun around to see that Rookwood was alone in the threshold, his dark eyes narrowed and his nose as flat as Voldemort's. Malfoy was very clearly suppressing snickers, but I couldn't contain my bubbling giggle.
"I am so glad you ate one of those," I blurted as his lips curled. "I didn't think you were one for sweets, but—"
"It was you, then. I had no doubts," Rookwood assured me as he took a step into the room. "You two have a rather odd way of making love. Clothes on. Lisa and I always took ours off—"
My laughter turned into a snarl as I stood straight and glowered at him. "Are you here to punish me? Or does the Dark Lord wish to do it himself?"
"There will be no punishment," Rookwood said, but I couldn't take his superior tone seriously with the absence of his nose. "The Dark Lord's been rather irritable lately, you've surely noticed. He was relieved to get some of his aggravation out on Crabbe, I believe—though I doubt he'll go so far as to thank you."
"I wouldn't want any gratitude from him," I grumbled. "I meant for it to be a mockery."
"Hm, well, it was something I won't soon forget," Rookwood reckoned, though I couldn't tell if he'd found it entertaining or not. "I was under the impression that Amycus's nose was what made him so unappealing, but without it he's just as revolting."
I actually emitted a laugh at that, though I rapidly covered it with a cough and resumed my scowl. My encounters with Rookwood had been...odd since the wedding. He was still as patronizing and arrogant as always, but...he was far less hostile and far more civil, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Like we'd agreed upon, no one had mentioned the wedding or Lisa, and though it seemed like a nice gesture on his part, I couldn't help but feel that he might have some ulterior motive behind it. Was it possible for this man to actually care about the wellbeing of my mother?
"Don't test the Dark Lord's patience any further," Rookwood warned. "You've received mercy more than you've deserved."
"Mm, noted," was all I said before I placed my hand on the door and began to close it, squeezing him out into the corridor. "Hurry up and get out. Draco and I are dying to rip our clothes off in here."
Rookwood actually smirked at that, but I didn't let him retort before I slammed the door shut and locked it again. When I spun to face Malfoy, he was grinning just as pompously as our departed guest.
"Dying to rip off your clothes, are you?" he mused, jumping his eyebrows at me.
I rolled my eyes before stalking over to my armoire. "I was hoping to make him uncomfortable. Apparently, it had the opposite effect. I actually do want to change, though, so leave."
"Are you going to bed already?" he scoffed as though it were a ridiculous notion.
"Um, yes. It's late. You ought to go to bed too—to your own bed," I added, not bothering to see if his expression had become frisky as I rummaged through my clothes.
"It's barely ten o'clock—"
"Is there something you want to do that involves my company?" I questioned, glancing over my shoulder to raise my eyebrows at him. As I did, my eyes locked not onto his face but onto the nightstand beyond him, where there was a folded piece of parchment. Deserting my armoire, I walked across the room toward the nightstand—and Malfoy, who seemed surprised but intrigued by my approach. When I passed him completely, I felt his demeanor shift from anticipation to agitation.
"I was wondering what that was," he huffed as I unfolded the letter.
Will bring more tomorrow. Don't sleep tonight.
"What does it mean?" Malfoy demanded as he peered over my shoulder. The note wouldn't have made sense to anyone else, but I recognized the handwriting, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.
"It's from Snape," I informed him as I pulled out my wand and set a magical fire to the letter. I hated watching the flames wither into ash, but it was the best way to destroy the evidence. "Snape's been making me a potion so that You-Know-Who can't see my dreams—or visions—when I sleep. Since I'm here now, I suppose he could just pry into my brain whenever he pleases, but...I think he knows when I have visions when I'm asleep. I don't think he can tell when I have them when I'm awake, so...I guess I'll have to stay awake tonight and hope like always that he doesn't decide to invade my brain tomorrow."
"You ran out of the potion?" Malfoy asked, and I nodded. "Well, then, Fitzroy, it looks like you can't go to bed. Pity for you."
"Mm, it appears you get your way, Malfoy, like always. What is it that you desire, exactly? We have all night to do it."
His lips bunched on one side as he cocked his head and studied me through half-lidded eyes. "I have various desires."
"You've always been a greedy little asshole, haven't you?"
He licked his lips, but, instead of pushing me back onto my bed like I almost hoped he would, he nodded his head toward the exit and said, "Let's go."
"Go?" I repeated, nonplussed. "Where?"
"I know you hate surprises, Mudblood."
"So...you're going to tell me?"
"So I'm not going to tell you," he corrected rather haughtily. "Must I drag you, or will your curiosity pull you along?"
"I'd like to watch you try to drag me," I taunted, flicking his shoulder. Of course, he took this as a challenge and grabbed my wrists, his grip too firm for me to wrench myself away. With a broad smirk, he pulled me toward the door, dropping only one arm to open it, and then proceeded to haul me down the corridor.
"Is this supposed to be difficult?" he jeered, keeping his voice low as we descended the stairs.
"Would you like it to be difficult? I have no problem resisting."
The expression in his eyes was too seductively sly for me to keep my cool when he glanced back at me. "You've never been able to resist, Fitzroy."
After that, I was acutely aware his fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I was unable to procure nonchalance until we began to descend toward the cellar.
"If you lock me in here, I swear—"
"Don't forget that I was the one who prevented you from getting locked down here a second time."
"I don't think you'd ever let me forget," I mumbled, sighing slightly when we passed the cellar and continued to another descending stairwell, carved into the dark stone. This one spiraled into never-ending blackness, and Malfoy had to use his free hand to light his wand.
"Are you bringing me down into the deep basements of the Manor to murder me in seclusion?" I questioned dryly.
"If I wanted you dead, this isn't how I would go about it."
"That's true. I imagine you would do something clever but cowardly, like frame me for some crime that would provoke the Dark Lord to slaughter me."
"No, I would have the purple-haired freak do it. She probably wouldn't need too much enticing. And she's far more sadistic."
I laughed, finding no refute to his claim. "I would rather die by the Dark Lord's Killing Curse than be butchered by Melody's Target Knife... I still can't believe Rookwood's not going to tell You-Know-Who about how well my—er, how well Lisa's doing. And I can't believe he said that thing about her up in my room. Do you think...they actually..."
"Made love?" Malfoy finished in a mocking voice. "Wouldn't be surprised if they did, even if she wasn't in love with him. Teenagers always have meaningless sex—"
"Do they?" I questioned, and then, before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Do you?"
His hand was clammy now where it clasped my wrist, but I couldn't decide what it meant since he refused to look back at me as we continued down the stairs.
"Don't you?" he asked instead of answering. "Haven't you slept with Harper by now? Or Vaisey, perhaps? I would have thought with Weasley gone from Hogwarts you would have bonked someone else by now."
I wondered if he could feel the anger coursing beneath my skin. "I haven't slept with Harper or Vaisey. I'm not...that desperate." The words felt like a lie, though, because there had been a time when I'd been that desperate. I didn't like to think about how far I would have gone with Carl Vaisey if Malfoy hadn't walked in on us last year.
"Fine, then neither am I," Malfoy said, but his words were just as untrue.
"Really?"
"I've fooled around," he snapped, his fingers twitching with discomfort against my wrist. "I'm not going to sleep with just anyone, though. I haven't found a girl worthy enough of me."
"Ah, how gallant, Malfoy. You've always been such a charmer. You must be the one stopping any sexual advances. What girl could resist your chivalrous charisma?"
"At least I didn't whore myself out to one of the Weasleys."
"Fred didn't pay me for my services, actually. Perhaps I should have checked with all of the other Weasleys first to see if any of them would have offered me anything—"
"This isn't a joke," he barked, dropping my arm and stomping down the steps at an elevated pace. I jogged to catch up, letting my irritation fuel me.
"What do you want me to say, Malfoy, when you accuse me of sleeping with Fred like it was some crime? I don't see why...it's any of your business. I don't see why you care."
"Of course you don't. You've always been oblivious."
I pressed my lips together, wanting to argue but knowing that it was vain. I would tell him he'd always been a bully, he would concoct some excuse that would enrage me, and then we'd be back where we'd always been: at this perpetual state of bitter hate from the roughness of our past.
"I'm sorry," I decided to say, barely producing the words. "I just...never like to assume things...especially with you. You're too hard to read."
His pace slowed, and, though he wouldn't meet my eyes, his gaze did flicker back in my direction for the briefest second. "You didn't make any assumptions when I gifted you a Baby Blocker?"
"My assumption was that you were teasing me, like you always do. I didn't think...you actually wanted to use it...with me..." I paused, biting on my lip so hard that I nearly broke the skin. "Did you?"
His strides halted, and at first I thought he was going to look at me, respond to me, but, as I looked beyond him, I realized why he'd actually stopped: Before us the stairwell ended and widened into a cavern carved from the dark rock. The crystalized stalactites that hung from the ceiling shimmered in the light of his wand, and beneath them lay a round pool of sparkling water.
"So...you're going to drown me, then?" I decided in the lightest tone I could muster. My previous question still hung in the air, but I hoped that he wouldn't revert back to it. I wasn't sure how I would react to any answer he gave.
"Only if you become unbearably irksome," he assured me, but his tone was so flippant that I couldn't discern if it was a joke or not.
I followed him into the cave, trailing around the pool that danced in the wandlight. When he placed it down on a flat rock, the cavern seemed to suspend in a night-like facade, the stalactites glittering like stars against the black rock.
"One of the few places in the Manor that the Dark Lord hasn't infested," Malfoy informed me spitefully. "S'pose we're not really in the Manor anymore, though."
"We must be pretty deep under," I reckoned, shivering as I crossed my arms against the cool damp air.
"The water's not cold," he assured me so casually that I nearly didn't catch what he'd said. I watched, almost paralyzed, as he loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.
"We're—going in?"
"Did you think I brought you down here so we could stare at it all night?" he countered, briefly glancing in my direction as he undid the last button. His torso was bare beneath, and when he caught me staring, he smirked and said, "I know I'm nice to look at, Mudblood, but it's nothing you haven't seen before. We used to change together in the broom cupboard all the time, if you've forgotten."
"I—" I cleared my throat. "I haven't forgotten."
"Of course you haven't," was his cocky response as he slipped his arms out of his sleeves.
I swallowed and averted my eyes from details of his upper body as I tried to decide which article of my clothing to take off first. He was right: we had changed with each other plenty of times. But this wasn't the locker room broom cupboard, where any one of our teammates could walk in at any moment. This was a secluded underground cave with an intimate pool and sensual lighting that exposed all of his features. We'd always changed in darkness. And we'd always kept to our separate corners—and put on clothes immediately after taking them off. But now...Malfoy was stripping off his slacks, and as much as I tried to convince myself that this could just be a detached, relaxing experience, the jittery knot clenching in my stomach told me otherwise.
"Well, I might be hard to read, but you are painfully atrocious at hiding your attraction," he mused, not even glancing my way as he dipped his toe into the water. Luckily, his boxers remained on, but there was still so much skin visible, and, as I stared at him, I was acquainted with the fact that in order to join him in this pool I would have to strip down into my undergarments—my old, unappealing undergarments. Maybe it was better that way, though; if there was nothing attractive about me, there might not be any expectations. We could just be two people bathing in a sexy underground pool...casually...
As he stepped down beyond the ridge of the rock into the water, I carefully slid my arms out of their sleeves and pulled my sweater over my head, resting it on a nearby rock. When my vision was clear again, I saw that Malfoy was watching me in a much more confident manner than I'd been watching him in.
"You've had that bra for too long, Mudblood. Remind me to buy you a new one."
"I don't need your charity, Malfoy," I retorted as I unbuttoned my jeans.
"Oh, I wouldn't be buying it for your sake," he drawled, and I kicked my shoe off at him. Unfortunately, given that he was now half submerged in the pool, it hit him in the face and then plummeted into the water. His laughter was as genuine as the profanities I blurted.
I refused to look at him as I removed my jeans, but apparently he hadn't been looking at me either, because when I took a few steps toward the pool, I saw that he was already lounging in it, his back facing me as he draped his arms over the ridge.
"When'd you find this place?" I asked, wading into the water a decent distance away from him.
"Few years ago," he replied, staring up at the starry ceiling.
My body stumbled a bit as I lowered myself onto the seat carved into the stone, but I managed to keep my inflection level as I asked, "Do you bring all the girls down here?"
"Only awkward Mudbloods."
"Well, considering I'm not either of those, I can't imagine why you've broken your standards to bring me down here."
"Well, I could have brought you, or I could have brought Alecto, given you're the only two females within range that I'm not related to. It was a tough choice, and I'm beginning to regret my decision."
I kicked his leg beneath the water, and when my foot brushed against the fabric of his underwear I recoiled. "I'm beginning to regret not just going to bed and letting the Dark Lord invade my dreams."
"I would be offended by that statement if you were a convincing liar."
"I don't think it would have mattered if he did," I said, my mood darkening as I traced my fingers over the surface of the water. "He'll probably win this war whether I predict it or not. I doubt I have much information that will change the outcome."
"If he finds out your mother's improving, he might be able to use her."
"She's not doing that much better. She's still terrified of me, and she secretes creepiness rather than happiness now. Doubt she could heal anyone. And she was being very strange with you."
Malfoy shrugged, causing a slight ripple in the pool. "She got better once she realized who I really was." He noticed my surprise from the corner of his eye and his lips quirked up. "We talked while eating dessert and she remembered my father—that they were friends, at least. She didn't seem to recall...the rest... Seemed less frightened of me when she realized I was Narcissa's son. Said she always hoped..."
"Hoped what?" I prompted, freezing as I studied the consternation on his face.
"That I'd turn out better than my father. That I wouldn't become a Death Eater."
"She knew you were?" I asked as my hands sunk into the water. He only nodded, staring far away. Lisa had probably never even thought to hope that I wouldn't become a Death Eater; for Draco it had been expected. It must have been awful for him to know that he was just as disappointing as everyone had always expected him to be.
"You are better than your father," I said quietly, peeking over at him. "Your father tortured my mother, his friend. You refused to kill Dumbledore, who had never been anything to you other than an authority figure."
"I helped it happen and I didn't stop it. I took the Mark without a fight. To the world I'm evil. To my father I'm a failure."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I've got two sets of parents who would probably disown me if they were actually fully alive."
"Now I feel even more pitiful for being associated with you," he joked, but his tone was still empty as he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the rock.
"How are we associated, exactly?" I prodded, discreetly inching closer to him.
"Everyone thinks we're...snogging, or whatever."
"Right, but that's still out of the question."
He opened one eye to glance at me, and when he noticed that I was considerably closer, he straightened and unsealed both eyes. "You didn't seem to think it was out of the question on the train."
"But you did."
He shifted, his eyes raking over me until they settled on my face. "The one time I tried to touch you like that, you claimed I nearly raped you. You should be able to understand why I don't plan to touch you like that again."
"Do you feel the same now as you did in Snape's closet—or in detention—or in your dorm last year? If I recall, you've made multiple attempts—"
"And they've all been rejected," he growled, his features hardening. "You've made your aversion to me clear. I may have been petulant before, but I'm not as blindly selfish as you think. I've learned my boundaries, and I don't plan to overstep them again. It seems we'll be stuck together forever in one way or another, and I'd prefer if we were at least civil."
"Right, civil, of course," I snapped a bit too harshly as I scooted farther away. "I suppose the civil thing to do would be to tell you that I no longer hold an aversion for you. I haven't for quite some time, and if you haven't seen it, perhaps you are blind."
His eyes were slivered as they slid toward me. "We've always been physically attracted to each other—well, perhaps not when we first met, but part of me's wanted to kiss you since I tackled you wearing only my towel after you put frogs in my shower."
My bafflement at this statement widened his grin. I hadn't thought Malfoy had held any type of positive sentiment toward me until he found out I had Gaudium blood, but then I recalled that, though I'd loathed him, a part of me had found him attractive even in my second year.
"Of course my ingrained aversion to Mudbloods quenched that desire. That'll always be our problem, won't it? As much as I'd like to pull you on top of me right now and snog you, there's still some lingering hatred, some permanent qualm that neither of us will ever be able to look past. There can never be anything stable between us. We're both too passionate to forget—"
"We shouldn't forget. You were always a prat to me, but I was never much better to you, and I don't think we'll learn from our mistakes if we just pretend it never happened. The fact that you remember how mean you were to me makes it easier for you to resist doing it again—and the fact that I remember how cruel it was for me to lead you on is why I've given up on Fred."
He swallowed, the muscles in his face twitching as he stared forward. "I assumed you were planning your secret marriage when he requested to dance with you."
"And you were going to let him?"
"I don't own you. If you'd rather have him, then I don't..." He puffed out a breath and clenched his jaw. "Then I don't want you."
"I wasn't planning a wedding with Fred because I'm never going to marry Fred," I said, fighting to keep my breathing steady even though my heart was racing. "I've known for a while that I wouldn't be able to, but I decided at the wedding that I wouldn't want to. I told him that I...that I...prefer you."
By the brooding pensiveness that contorted his features, I could tell that he wasn't sure what to make of this "preference". And I wasn't sure that I wanted to say what I meant by it. He'd told Moaning Myrtle that he loved me last year, but that felt like ages ago, and he'd been in such a desperate state that he could have just been spewing nonsense. If all he felt toward me was a physical attraction, perhaps that was all I would permit myself to feel in return—or I would simply pretend that was the case.
"He took it well," I said as I leaned back into the rock and fixed my eyes on a stalactite in the distance. "I think he was snogging another girl when we left."
"I saw it, but I wasn't sure if you knew."
I hadn't known, actually; I'd been merely guessing. The fact of it ached, but not as deeply or as painfully as it once would have.
"It's good for him...that he's moving on... Now he can be a friend to me like Harper or Anderson."
"Harper," Malfoy grunted. "You've always had a crush on that twit."
My jaw dropped as I swiveled my head toward him. "I have not. Harper and I are strictly best friends... We have said, though, that if we didn't marry the people we loved, we would end up married to each other."
"So you're marrying Harper now?"
"Well, no, considering we now know that Harmony's Latched onto him. If Melody doesn't want to marry Harper, I think he'll be happy with Harmony."
"And what about you?"
"Me? Oh, well, I'm happy now," I informed him breezily, kicking my legs under water. "You-Know-Who is far enough away that I can't hear him, and we're not studying Arithmancy at the moment, so I believe everything is right in the world."
As he snorted, I sunk deeper into the water and closed my eyes, letting the warm tranquility settle over me. It wasn't necessarily happiness that I felt, but there was content aura about me, with all of the worries of daily life so far removed. I wouldn't have been opposed to staying down here forever, sitting half-naked in this pool with Draco Malfoy, even if we were silent and still—
"Ow!" I practically yelped when I felt his fist punch my arm. My eyes flew open and I spun to glare at him—and found that he had moved closer to me, enough so that I could feel him displace the water around me. "I'm not sleeping yet," I mumbled. "Though I am feeling inclined to. You should have brought me somewhere a little more thrilling if you intended to successfully keep me awake all night."
The light from his wand only illuminated half of his face, but I could see both of his grey eyes playfully roving over me. "Am I boring you, Mudblood?"
"It's impossible to get bored by someone that constantly irks me," I retorted, my lips curving cleverly. "Or by someone who's half-naked in a pool with me."
"I can make myself fully naked if that helps."
"How kind of you—" I began to say, but the words never fully expelled from my mouth before Malfoy hooked his arm around my waist and drew me toward him through the water. My legs naturally settled, straddled over his as he remained seated in the rock. The heat of his skin against mine was strong, even underwater, and I could barely breathe as he kept his arm wrapped around the bareness of my waist.
"Does this help quell your boredom, Mudblood?" he asked, his voice barely a breath. Our faces were so close, and though we'd touched lips before, there was something wildly more intimate about this moment, this setting, that neither of us were fully prepared for. I'd learned, though, over time, that not every detail could be planned, and that waiting for the perfect circumstance could mean waiting forever. Fred had calculated every part of our relationship, always searching for the opportune time, but in the end our flawlessness had been demolished by unforeseen conditions that were out of our control. Malfoy and I, though, had endured trials and hardships, some produced by our own pride and stubbornness, and others forged by outside evil, and we always pressed on, however damaged and weary. Because that which was perfect could never be restored to perfection once broken, but that which was born out of brokenness would work endlessly to strengthen every fissure, with the hope that one day it could be greater than it had once been.
"Your existence quells my boredom," I told him drolly, tracing my finger along his jaw. "Even if you tried to bore me I would be entertained."
"I'm unsurprised to hear that," he said, his eyelids drooping lazily as he trailed his fingers up my spine. I couldn't suppress the shiver that it induced. "You seem easily entertained."
I dug my fingers lightly into his throat, a frisky gesture. "Are you sure you want this?"
"Want what? You to claw my throat open?"
"No," I said slowly, loosening my grip, "I think you know what I mean."
He did; he knew exactly what I meant, and he didn't have to open his mouth for me to See the answer. The black aura of lust was wafting off of him like smoke, but...it was different this time, laced with a lighter color that I'd never really seen before. I Felt it in myself too, this lightness and this darkness, combatting one another while simultaneously working toward the same goal. It was complicated to pinpoint the exact emotion, but there was something...right about this moment, something natural, like two mismatched pieces had finally fit together. Even if I couldn't See this aura, I would have felt it in my bones, and I would have known that wherever this was going, it was what we both desired.
I closed the distance between us, and the blackness overcame me. It wasn't what I expected, though; I didn't feel the heat of his lips against mine, the pounding of his chest beating in rhythm with mine. Instead I felt nothing, absolutely nothing, and when I opened my eyes, I wasn't staring into the lusty grey eyes of Draco Malfoy, but instead at a pair of green ones that were identical to mine.
The image was hazy and distorted, and though the eyes were Harry's, the face wasn't. It was my brother, though, even if it didn't look like him, and I could sense his apprehension in this dark place that he dwelled. I couldn't see what scared him so, but soon all light died from his eyes and the fear was replaced with excruciating pain and a pair of snake's eyes. The vision faded as quickly as it had come, and I was left utterly disorientated, wondering where and when this frightful event would happen to Harry. There had been no indications as to whether this was the past, the present, or the future, but as my eyes began to clear again, I realized that my brain had not returned me to my present, where I was in the cave straddled over Malfoy's legs. Instead I was thrust into someone else's past, someone who was staring into those same green eyes.
Lily Potter—er, well, she was probably Lily Evans at this point, considering she didn't look much older than I did—stood in the front doorway of what I immediately recognized as the old yellow house that I'd grown up in. She was wrapping her red and gold Gryffindor scarf around her neck, her bright red hair caught beneath the knitting, and she was smiling warmly at whoever's body I currently inhabited. Her appearance resembled Ginny's more than my own; I'd certainly inherited her pale complexion over James's tanner one, but other than that our features varied to the point that she barely looked like she could be my mother.
James, who stood beside her, also adorning a Gryffindor scarf, shared more of my qualities. His face was less round than Lily's, like mine, and he wore that impish smile that I sported so well. Other than that, though, he was completely Harry's father, and even if I'd been in my own body at the moment, I would have felt out of place among them, among my parents.
"Thank you again for watching Garren," my mouth gushed, and as soon as the voice came out, I knew it was my adoptive mother's—Lisa's. Her bright blonde hair encased my face, and I could feel her smiling that radiant smile. Baby Garren, probably two or three at this point, was resting on my hip, and every part of me wanted to cuddle the innocent little boy that he had been.
"Barbara is doing...as well as she can be for her last days," Lisa continued, her voice strained. At first, I was unsure of whom she was speaking, but then I remembered that Barbara was Ray's mother, who had died before my birth. "I tried to heal her as much as I could, but my power can only extend so much to Muggles. Ray's still there with her..."
"I wish there was more we could do," Lily said earnestly, and James nodded his agreement.
"You two have helped more than enough," Lisa assured them, bouncing Garren on her hip. "I hope this one wasn't too much trouble for you. He's a bruiser."
"Yeah, I know," James said, pointing to a red mark on his cheek beneath his glasses. "It was good practice, though, for when we've got a crazy little boy of our own."
Lily narrowed her eyes and playfully punched him in the arm. "We'll see about that, Potter."
"Don't get married too quick," Lisa warned with a smirk. "I'll be sad when Lily has to change her name from Evans. It suits her well."
"I dunno, the name Lily Potter has a nice ring to it," James sang.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, you might scare me off," Lily retorted, but I could see the pinkish blush in her cheeks.
"Ray and I were thinking we'd name our next boy Evan, after you," Lisa told her, almost timidly. "If it wasn't too strange."
Lily's mouth gaped in momentarily speechlessness. "I—I would be so honored."
"If their kid takes your name, I suppose that means you can take mine—"
Lily shot James a glance that shut his mouth, but the corners of his lips were still curving upward.
"We best be going, Lisa—"
"Give Ray our condolences," James added sincerely.
"If we see Remus we'll tell him to stop by," Lily said. "You know he's been a little weird, though, the past few days, with the full moon coming and all..."
Lisa sighed wearily. "I know. Don't push him too much. He'll stop by when he's ready. Be careful with the snow," she added, nodding toward the white flakes that rained from the sky. They both waved at Garren before departing, and my brother giggled when James winked at him. Any happiness in either of the Fitzroys died, though, when Lisa closed the door and stepped into the living room, where another guest waited, reclining on the couch.
"I was hoping they'd take the kid with them," Augustus Rookwood drawled as he stood up straight, towering over even tall Lisa. He was younger than I was used to, in his twenties, like Lisa, and even though the pocks riddled his face, there was still a handsome edge about him that only aided in his villainy. "I've been itching for some alone time."
Lisa's posture was rigid as she glared at him. "You know that time is over. It has been since you chose him over me." She nodded toward his forearm, which, even though it was covered by his cloak, I knew was stained with the Dark Mark.
"You know it doesn't have to be like that," he crooned, reaching his finger up to caress the side of her face. She shuddered at his touch, but it wasn't the same sensation that coursed through me when my skin made contact with Draco's; this was a shiver of revulsion, one that assured me that even though Rookwood had alluded to his sex life with my mother, there never had been one—there had never been a happy one, at least, one of mutual consent and enjoyment. That thought disgusted me more than the prospect that Lisa had willingly slept with Rookwood. I wanted to slap his hand away and punch his slimy face. But my mother just stood there, still and dignified.
"You aren't due here for another two weeks," she said coldly. "I'm doing just fine without you."
"Ah," he began, dropping his hand, "but the Dark Lord isn't doing so fine without you."
"All the more reason for me not to assist him."
Another figure stepped into the living room then, and at first I actually thought it was Draco. His face was shaped so similarly, and in his twenties, Lucius resembled his son so strongly that I actually found his superior aura and sly eyes attractive.
"Lucius," Lisa greeted, tightening her grip on Garren. It didn't take long for me to remember why I loathed Lucius so much more than his son. All he had to do was open his mouth and speak.
"The Dark Lord requires your talents, dear Lisa," was Lucius's reply, and it sent a pang of déjà vu through me. He'd said the same thing to her in the hospital before he tortured her...and then...and then we were in the hospital. My vision had transported us to that hospital again, where Lucius hovered over Lisa in his silver mask, ending her life as she knew it. His mask flickered on and off as Lisa's screams permeated the dark corridor, and soon her shrieks began to merge with another's, one whose were eerily familiar—because they were mine.
My brain was so jumbled, grabbing for anything that was concrete as images flashed before me in an incoherent fusion. I Saw the hospital where Lisa was screaming and writhing, and then I Saw myself back in this little living room screaming and writhing as a Death Eater held me back from saving Ray. The images switched back and forth between the separate demises of my parents, but one thing remained constant between the two: the masked Death Eater that tortured my mother and then held me back from my father was the same man.
When my brain registered this fact, my psychic vision settled on the scene of my father's death. I was watching my younger self from a distance as she tugged and pulled, trying to wrench herself from the Death Eater's grasp. I was so small, so defiant, so full of hope that this situation would turn out for the best. It was so sad to watch my determination and desperation, knowing it had been ineffective. That sorrow turned to rage, though, when my eyes caught onto the Death Eater that encased my small wrists. I remembered that he'd been in a mask at the time, but now I could See him fully: Lucius Malfoy, the man who had destroyed my mother and had actively aided in the destruction of my father.
I shouldn't have been surprised by this; it wasn't really so shocking that Lucius had been the one to restrain me as it was infuriating.
"...I eliminated her through the man who holds your hands this very moment..." Voldemort was taunting me at this instant in time, and I couldn't believe how foolish I'd been not to have guessed it before. Lucius Malfoy had been the key to annihilating the only parents I'd ever known, and soon he would be the only "father" I had. The ironic reality of it sent a wave of anger through me that was violent enough to snap me out of these visions, jolting me back into the present where the prominence of my wrath did not wane.
Any knowledge of where I was or what I'd been about to do before my Seeing powers took hold had been momentarily erased from my brain, and I plunged back into the present with only one objective: to murder Lucius Malfoy. It was something I should have done ages ago, as soon as I'd discovered that he'd ruined Lisa, but now, knowing that he'd been so direct in the demises of both of my Fitzroy parents, I knew that no part of me would rest easy until my revenge had been executed.
It was dark when I resurfaced in the present, and I thought nothing odd of the fact that I was lying in my bed, my clothes draped haphazardly over my body. As I jumped to my feet, dizzy and nauseous, I had to button my jeans before they could fall from my hips. Why hadn't they been buttoned? Why had I been sleeping in these clothes at all? And why was there the faintest bit of dampness to my hair and my undergarments?
I pushed all of these thoughts deep into my mind, focusing on my sole purpose: to find Lucius. But, as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I realized that I'd already found Lucius: He was standing in the corner of my bedroom, hastily buttoning up his shirt. I didn't even want to comprehend what this meant; I simply grabbed my wand and stalked over to him, thrusting the tip under his chin before he even registered that I'd awoken.
"You—"
"Bloody hell, Mudblood," he breathed, and as soon as his voice expelled I realized my error. I should have known that it was Draco buttoning up his shirt in my bedroom, not his father. "Did you just wake up? Are you...all right?"
"No, I am not all right!" I barked, tightening my grip on my wand. To resist the lingering urge to hex him, I spun on my heel and stomped toward the door, not bothering to halt my strides even as he hissed after me.
"Fitzroy—Fitzroy!"
His pleas didn't meet my ear, though; I continued down the corridor and didn't stop until I'd reached the last door, Lucius and Narcissa's door, and burst it open with a Blasting Curse.
The Malfoy parents were immediately scrambling to sit up in their luxurious bed, their eyes wide in the dim light that seeped in through the French windows. With disheveled hair and open mouths, they both sprung out from beneath the blankets to expose their matching silk pajamas. The candid fearfulness consuming their expressions should have spoke to my conscience and thwarted my impulsive aggression, but all I could see were the faces of Ray and Lisa before they'd met their ends. Lucius had seen that same terror and yet he had allowed cruelty to triumph.
I charged at him, throwing up a Shield Charm that slammed him back against the wall. Narcissa shrieked as her husband fumbled for his wand, but I didn't allow him to retrieve it as I stabbed my wand into his throat, much in the same way I'd done to his son a few moments ago. My back was to the doorway, but I could feel Draco standing in it, gawking at me as I threatened the life of his father.
"You monster!" I roared without a care to whom I might be waking at this late hour. It would be best if the other Death Eaters witnessed this punishment, frankly. Then they would know what would happen if any one of them crossed the Fitzroy family again.
"Lainey," Narcissa whispered frantically from where she stood on the other side of the bed. I didn't even glance at her, though; all of my vicious attention was trained up at her husband, who was nearly quivering even though he towered above me in height. Genuine terror distorted his features, and I couldn't help but feel that this man was entirely altered from the monster that had wronged my parents. His countenance was one of panic and submission rather than pompous authority.
"You destroyed my mother," I snarled, hoping my words would evoke his darker side. Nothing changed, though; he continued to gape at me as though I'd broken some fundamental part of his brain.
"You've known this," Draco said, his voice wavering where it emanated from behind me. "You've known that he tortured your mother. Why are you—why now?"
"Because now I also know that he was there when Voldemort murdered my father! He held me back—he stopped me from saving him!"
Lucius swallowed now, regaining a bit of his composure. "I did, yes," he admitted, and I noted that, out of the corner of my eye, Narcissa did not look surprised.
"You aided in the death of my father," I growled, my tone strangely quiet, "so now I'll be the cause of yours."
"Lainey," Narcissa gasped now, frozen with shock. Lucius was oddly calm, though, and I saw a flicker of confidence in his expression as he locked his eyes with mine.
"You know the spell but you won't do it," he said so lowly that his spectating family members couldn't hear. "What would Draco think of you if you murdered his father?"
"You helped kill him," I seethed through my teeth. "He was innocent—"
"He was a Muggle, he was useless—"
"He was my father!" I exclaimed, my voice breaking loud enough for the others to hear. I didn't care, though; Lucius might have been Draco's father, but his life was mine to claim after he'd stolen so much from my own.
"And I am Draco's father," Lucius replied placidly. "Killing me won't punish me; it will punish him. You don't want that, do you? You wouldn't if you really cared about him—"
I screamed, though it wasn't a spell or even a word but an incoherent screech of frustration, and with it, instead of using magic, I punched him in the face.
Lucius spluttered as blood dripped from his nose, but my focus had been averted from the older Malfoy to the younger one, who was advancing from behind. Whipping around, I trained my wand on him and found that his, in turn, was fixed on me.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his confusion now morphed fully into wrath.
"Don't get in the middle of this—"
"She has every right to be cross with me, Draco. You would react the same if the roles were reversed, I imagine," Lucius said before coughing and wiping the blood from his upper lip. My punch hadn't been as strong as I would have liked, but I was glad to see he was suffering even a fraction of what he'd inflicted on my parents.
"If my father had done what yours has, you would have killed me for it," I snapped at Draco, and he started as if I'd punched him in the face. "You're lucky that I—"
"That you what?" he questioned, his wand shaking.
You're lucky that I still love you, was what I'd almost said, but I couldn't even decide if the words were true in this moment of despair. The Malfoy parents had been so sure that I wouldn't murder Lucius only because they knew what it would mean for my relationship with their son—my forced relationship with their son. If they'd known the true extent of my feelings, they all would have taken this as some practical joke. For once, though, I was not joking, and my blood was still boiling as my eyes darted between the three Malfoys.
"How could you have let all of this happen?" I asked Lucius, ignoring his son's glowering eyes. "How could you have orphaned me and my brothers? How could you have let my kind-hearted father die like that? You knew him—or of him—at least. And Lisa was your friend. I've Seen enough of your past to know that you truly cared for her. How...?"
"How could I have tortured her?" he finished for me, his voice growing wearier with each word. His eyes were downcast and remorseful, and if I hadn't Seen all of those past visions, I might have thought he was acting, but Lucius was not the trickster that Rookwood was. Even after so many years he had been unable to convince himself that he had never cared for Lisa Lupin.
"I was tasked with her assassination," Lucius began again, straightening his posture. "Perhaps it would have been merciful to have gone through with it, but...I had hope that if I only immobilized her, she would regain her strength again through Augustus. I...could have left her be completely, but I needed her removed from everyday life. I needed her to disappear, so that if the Dark Lord did return, he wouldn't punish my family."
His tired eyes trailed between his wife and his son, the only two beings that he truly cared for. I understood his desire to protect his family enough that I didn't chide him. It was exactly what I would have done; it was exactly what I did do by accepting the Dark Mark and aiding in Voldemort's murder of Dumbledore. As much as I liked to think myself righteous, I was no better than Lucius Malfoy. I would go to any length to save the ones I loved, even if it meant hurting others that I cared for as well.
Lucius's expression became cautious now as his eyes flew to the open doorway. When he met my gaze again, his eyes were nearly manic. "I had to kill whatever part of Lisa could resurrect the Dark Lord, because I didn't wish for him to ever return—"
"Lucius!" Narcissa hissed frantically, her nostrils wide with anxiety.
"Lisa never would have willingly resurrected him," I whispered as my brow furrowed. "And Gaudiums can't be put under the Imperius Curse—"
"No, but they can be compelled into using their abilities by that whom they have Latched onto," Lucius informed me with a brief glance at the doorway. "Rookwood does not know, but if he had discovered—"
"Lucius!" Narcissa repeated loud enough to overwhelm her husband's speech. "Are you forgetting the girl's connection to the Dark Lord?"
Lucius paled at that, suddenly horrified by the fact that he had spewed his secrets to the one person whose mind Voldemort could enter without any retaliation. A sickening feeling squirmed through my gut at the realization that Lucius was not as ruthlessly evil as I had once thought him—and that, since I knew this fact, Voldemort could easily discover it and then cause immense suffering to the entire Malfoy family—my future family. I would never be able to love Lucius, and I only occasionally liked Narcissa, but they would be my kin within a matter of years, and the thought that I would unintentionally lead to their demise was enough to provoke a swell of defensiveness within me. How quickly I had gone from wanting to murder Lucius to desperately wishing to preserve his life—if only for his son's sake.
I was about to suggest some sort of memory charm or potion, but before I could, Amycus Carrow came sprinting into the bedroom, his gross teeth displayed in a feverish smile. His nose had reformed on his face, and I noted that Rookwood had been correct to say that it did nothing to help or hinder his ugliness. Only a complete reversal of his personality might make him more appealing.
"The Dark Lord's done it! He's got Potter!" Amycus announced, and all thoughts of his appearance evaporated from my mind and were replaced with a tidal wave of dread. Images resurfaced in my brain—Harry's eyes, the snake's eyes—and I realized that that vision had been symbolic of this horrible occurrence. Voldemort had finally found Harry, I'd Known it was going to happen, and I'd chosen to enact my revenge on Lucius instead of figure out a way to aid my brother.
"Here?" Draco blurted, his eyes bulging but his wand still held tightly at his side.
"No—no. Potter's been spotted in Godric's Hollow! The Dark Lord's gone to retrieve him now—"
"No, he's not," I interjected, pushing past Draco and Amycus to storm out of the room. My feet were bare as I padded down the corridor, but I didn't care; all I needed were a few of Fred and George's products that might aid me in battle, and then I was going to Apparate to Godric's Hollow and—
"Fitzroy," Draco growled in my ear as he grabbed my elbow from behind. I shook him off, but he kept his grip firm and refused to let me walk any further. Though I considered kneeing him in the groin, I didn't have the time to even move before he stuck his face in front of mine, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Stop being so—impulsive," he huffed in exasperation. "What did you See in your vision?"
It took me a moment to register how he knew that I'd had a vision at all. I'd been in my old yellow house, but before that I'd Seen Harry's eyes—and a snake's eyes, which must have been Voldemort's or perhaps Nagini—but before even that, before any of the visions had overtaken my mind, I'd been staring into Malfoy's grey eyes, perched in his lap under starry stalactites.
How could I have forgotten about that? That moment had brought me such unforgettable excitement, and yet my rage had overpowered it, compelling me to attack Draco's father as if the entire exchange we'd had in the cave meant nothing. Draco had been right, though, not to want to touch me; there would always be something to pull us apart, even when we were magically bound together. We always moved past these circumstances, but it was as if every time we were naturally drawn closer, something unnatural would swoop in and sever any attachment, and we would spend weeks—months—mending it. Could he ever forgive me for insanely attempting to murder his father? He'd made fun of my Muggle family, but he'd never threatened them physically—
"Are you even listening to me?" Draco demanded, drawing his red face nearer to mine. "What did you See?"
I opened my mouth, hoping one of the ten questions and statements on my tongue would spew out, but I didn't get to project a sound before a trail of black smoke shot through the foyer below. Draco dragged me over to the railing where we watched the other Death Eaters gather around their materializing Dark Lord. They were all silent, waiting patiently to see their master emerge with his enemy in tow, but when the smoke finally dissipated, Voldemort was alone, and he was seething. Without warning, an infuriated roar escaped his throat, and he pointed his wand at the first living object, hexing Antonin Dolohov across the room.
The rest of the Death Eaters actually scurried away as Voldemort went on a rampage, cursing and obliterating everything in sight. He threw a fiery spell up where Draco and I stood near the railing, and we staggered in opposite directions as it made contact with a painting on the wall. Now a few paces away, Draco met my gaze, but another curse hurdled up toward us, and we were forced to run separate ways, confining ourselves to our separate bedrooms as the Dark Lord raged on throughout the Manor.
I cast numerous concealing enchantments on my door, hoping desperately that he wouldn't bring his destruction up to the second floor. He hadn't captured Harry, and I should have been relieved, but all I could think as I curled up against the headboard of my bed was that I would be more distraught if he came up here and injured Draco in his crazed state than I would have been if he'd apprehended and killed my brother. I'd always been willing to sacrifice the wizarding world for the people I loved, but I'd never thought that one of those people would be Draco Malfoy. Nor had I ever thought that, as I whimpered quietly in the dark of my bedroom, he would be the one I would want at my side.
But, as always, he was out of reach. So close but too far.
∆
Hours passed before the screaming, yelling, and exploding ceased.
Voldemort didn't barge into my room and murder me that night, thankfully, but, in his magical tantrum, he did manage to implode the windows in my bedroom, drawing in harsh December air that formed icicles in my damp hair. When Sorry popped into my room the next morning, Christmas morning, he found me shivering in my bed, nearly frozen. I wasn't sure why I hadn't left my bedroom; perhaps I'd just seen so much of the Dark Lord's cruelty that night that I didn't want to test my luck and become a victim.
Sorry patched up the windows, but it was still frigid, so he lit up the fireplace for me before conjuring some warm pancakes and departing. I didn't eat them. I didn't eat anything the house elf brought me that day. My door remained locked, and I stared at it mindlessly, waiting for it to explode and admit a wrathful Voldemort. But...no one asked for entry throughout the entirety of Christmas day, and even the day after no one paid me a visit. I was beginning to wonder if everyone else in the Manor had died and I was the only one remaining. That was the sole reason I chose not to leave; if everyone was lying dead in the corridor, I didn't want to know. If Draco Malfoy was in the room beside mine, lifeless and soulless, I never wanted to know.
The only occurrence that managed to spark any hope over the next two days was when a black pouch of vials magically appeared on my nightstand: Snape's potion. Well, at least I wasn't the only Death Eater left alive. Snape was still out there somewhere, possibly unaware of the devastation that had wrecked the Manor.
The potions felt like more of a mockery than a gift: Even though I possessed them, I had no use for them. My eyes refused to remain shut for more than a minute, rendering sleep impossible. By the evening after Christmas day, I was so utterly exhausted that I had almost managed to doze off when someone Apparated into my bedroom.
The smell of blood hit my nostrils before I really registered his presence. Slowly, I pried my eyes open and found that, in the dim light spilling in through the window, there was a person crouched in the corner beside my bookshelves, and though he wore a white button-down, the left sleeve was almost completely drenched in red.
Even if it hadn't been him, I still would have rolled out of bed and crawled over to my injured visitor, but the fact that it was Draco Malfoy, bleeding and dry heaving, made my movements frantic. In the faint lighting, his skin looked as though it had lost any hint of color, but his eyes, when they met mine, were pink and puffier than I'd ever seen them.
"Malfoy," I prompted, scooting up until our knees touched. He swallowed through his ragged breaths, but I could see a tinge of hope in his desperate gaze. "Are you—What happened to you?"
"I... The window imploded...in my room. Glass...cut me..." Wincing, he glanced down at the gash on his upper arm, which was bleeding profusely. "I...came out...to check on you...and he...cursed me—"
"Voldemort?"
He nodded before loosing a breath of pain. "Look." I peered over at the wound but he shook his head and then fumbled with the top button of his shirt.
Hastily, I unbuttoned his shirt to expose what it was he wanted me to look at. Upon witnessing the curse that Voldemort had inflicted, I inhaled a sharp breath; even looking at this spider web of black lines, like tendrils beneath his skin, caused enough emotional pain that tears stung my tired eyes. These cursed vines ensnared his entire torso, moving and pulsing like living snakes, and I wondered how deep the curse had dug. "What kind of magic is this?"
"Dark," was all he could grunt as his chest heaved. "I'm going to die—"
"No, you are not," I insisted fiercely. "I'm going to heal you—"
"You don't know...what it could do—"
I interrupted his pleading by placing my hand on his chest. If he was going to die—and die because of a curse that had been given to him in his feeble attempt to see if I was all right—then I would gladly go with him. I'd been toying with death long enough now that perhaps it was time to make its acquaintance.
The lines under his skin didn't feel like buried veins but like worms that were slithering and writhing beneath the top layer. A spark of pain shot through my fingertips every time one of them bulged, and soon the blackness was seeping from his skin to mine, trailing up my hands and forearms in an agonizing progression. I hid my grimace well, hoping he couldn't tell how much this truly pained me, and soon enough the blackness began to fade completely from both of us, leaving our pale skin unmarked but our hearts racing.
"Draco—"
"Stop calling me that. You sound more like my worried mother than my—than...you," he corrected, and I was, actually, too worried to wonder what he'd initially meant to say.
"Well, are you...okay?" I asked through pants, my eyes roving over his bare chest for any signs of lingering darkness. He nodded and then studied his arm, which was still doused in blood but without a trace of the cut. "You were like that for two days?"
His nose scrunched as he avoided my eyes. "I was...scared—"
"Well, glad to know nothing's really changed—"
"I was scared that you were dead," he snapped, scowling at me even though there was rawness in his eyes. "I just—I thought you were dead, and...I didn't want to see you like that."
My mouth had gone dry, all banter subsided, as I gaped at him. "I... Same," was all I could blurt, because it was as if he'd plucked the words right out of my brain.
"Have you seen anyone else?" he asked, using the bookshelf like a ladder as he stood.
"No, just Sorry," I told him, and he snorted.
"Of course that rotten elf visited you. Perhaps if he'd come to see me I wouldn't have been in such a ghastly state."
"If you've forgotten, I'm the only one who can heal you," I reminded him as I pushed up onto my feet and positioned myself before him. His posture was lopsided, and his lips were permanently twisted in pain, but he was alive and I was alive and even if his father was dead, at least I wasn't the one to execute the murder. "I should have checked on you. It was cowardly of me not to. I just figured...even if you were alive and well, we wouldn't be doing well. I...tried to murder your father—"
"What did you See?" he inquired before I could muster an apology.
"I...Saw Harry's eyes, then a snake's—and I think that was related to how You-Know-Who found him the other night. Then I saw...the past—just a vision about Lisa and my...real parents." His eyebrows perked with surprise, but I didn't allow him to question it before I continued. "Then Rookwood was there, and your father, and then I Saw that it was your father who held me back the night my father was murdered. It...shouldn't have made a difference, I s'pose, but...it still baffles me how your father could have let all this happen after he was so close with Lisa. Would you...ever do any of that to me?"
For a moment, he contemplated, and then rather reluctantly he said, "I think our...relationship is a little different than whatever friendship my father and your mother had. If you're asking me if I would ever use the Cruciatus Curse on you, then you must think really lowly of me. I doubt I'd even be able to say the spell if my wand was pointed at you."
The way he said it was dismissive, almost a scoff, but the words still rung true, and I couldn't help but feel momentarily elated. It shouldn't have been a compliment to hear that someone didn't wish to torture me into insanity, but coming from Draco Malfoy, it almost felt like one.
"How long was I...unconscious, or whatever?" I asked, hugging my arms self-consciously.
"Almost an hour. I..." He paused, surveying me in the dark. "Do you remember...where we were before the visions?"
I remembered rather vividly; other than the notions of fear and horror, it was the only thing that had played on my mind for the past two days. But still...everything felt different now than it had then. There was still that hunger, deep in the pit of my stomach, when I gazed into his eyes, but there was something that had been so impeccable about that moment, and it couldn't be easily recreated.
"It's a bit hazy," I lied, staring at the books beyond him. "I remember waking up in my bed, so, if you put me there...thanks."
He didn't take my gratitude very well; his eyes were stewing with frustration, and I noticed his hands were clenched at his side. "What do you think I did to you, Fitzroy?"
"I... What?"
"I told you not to lie to me anymore, and I can tell you aren't being honest."
"I...well...I remember some things," I admitted as I played with the fabric of my sweater. "I remember that I wasn't...fully clothed before the visions."
"And you think I took advantage of you," he stated, his tone so flat and harsh that I could only blink up at him.
"O-Of course not. I think you put my clothes back on for me, which was very...gentlemanly, for—"
"For me?" he added scathingly. "For anyone else, it would have been expected, but for me it seems awfully nice, doesn't it?"
"I didn't say that!"
"But you were going to—"
"I—just—I didn't expect you to bring me all the way up here. I expected you to just leave me in the cavern—"
"And let you drown in the pool?"
My cheeks flushed at the mention of the pool, and I tried not to think about how intimately we'd been positioned in it. "All I'm saying is that you went out of your way to carry me up here, and I wouldn't have expected that of anyone."
"Wouldn't be the first time I've had to carry you to safety." A muscle twitched in his cheek at his reference to my second year, when he'd had to carry me from the train to the Slytherin common room after the dementor attack. It was hard to suppress a grin, considering it was a fact that he'd never been so ready to confess. "Perhaps you should be expecting the extraordinary from me."
"Ah, yes, not allowing an unconscious girl to drown in an underground pool is so extraordinary, Malfoy. You deserve a medal—"
My taunts were cut short when a scream snaked through the Manor, a low, guttural cry of agony that pierced my ears and sent an instinctual shiver down my spine. The noise was so jarring to my ears that I grimaced and wobbled with dizziness.
"Are you in pain?"
I shook my head, steadying myself on the bedframe. "No, it's...just...disturbing. That was him, wasn't it? Do you think... Do you think he failed to capture Harry again? Should we go see?"
"Last time I walked out into the corridor I nearly died—"
"But we can't just stay in here forever," I insisted, though judging by the expression on his face, he seemed content with doing just that. With a sigh and an apologetic look, I opened my bedroom door and stepped out into the nearly unrecognizable Manor.
All of the lanterns on the wall had been smashed, littering the corridor in glass, and, in the foyer beyond, Voldemort had collapsed the grand chandelier, which now lay in a heap of metal, glass, and candle wax on the floor. Every window had been blown in, and no one had fixed them, allowing for gusts of wind do sweep through the house. The door to Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom was open, but the room itself appeared vacant from my vantage point. Voices emanated from below, though, and when I peered over the railing, I saw that the door to the dining room was ajar, and the warmth and light of a fire radiated from within.
"Forgot how cold it was," Draco muttered as he stepped up beside me, rubbing his arms.
"Was your room this cold?" I asked in momentary alarm. "Sorry didn't fix your windows?"
"No," he sneered, but he didn't get to elaborate before a shout resounded from within the dining room that sounded much like the Killing Curse.
"C'mon," I urged, grabbing his arm to pull him toward the stairwell. "We need to see what's going on—"
"We need to lock ourselves in your room and never come out—"
"I know I'm irresistible, Malfoy, but you need to turn off the horniness for a few minutes while we discover who was just murdered in your house—"
"I wasn't suggesting—"
"Please, please!" someone cried from within the dining room, and after shooting Malfoy a look, I scurried down the staircase and tiptoed toward the door.
After pressing my body against the wall, I peered in through the crack of the doorway to see that not many were gathered in the dining room. Peter Pettigrew was curled up on the ground, pleading with Voldemort, who seemed to be using him like a stress ball, hexing him every few moments as he released his anger. A masked Death Eater was lying dead near the fireplace, but he was the only one, and I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that Voldemort hadn't annihilated all of his followers the other night.
Draco, who had reluctantly decided to join me, stiffened at my side as he peeked in over my head and saw that his parents were seated at the table, straight-backed and alert as their master paced the room. Rookwood was also among them, as well as Bellatrix, Yaxley, and Snape. The rest of his followers had not been invited to this intimate, rage-filled meeting.
"I-I don't understand why you're s-so angry, m-my Lord," Pettigrew sobbed, wincing as Voldemort padded by him.
"You don't, Wormtail? Would one of you care to explain to Wormtail why I am so angry?" he cooed to his followers, all seated around the long table. None of them had the courage to look into his snake-like eyes, not even Rookwood.
"You've been injured, my Lord," Bellatrix finally piped up, her demeanor unnaturally timid.
"Yes, I've been injured," Voldemort confirmed. "A piece of my soul has been stolen from me."
I glanced up at Malfoy where his face hovered above mine, but he seemed equally as baffled. But then, I saw Snape sitting there, as emotionless as usual, and I remembered the conversation that he'd had with Dumbledore's portrait earlier this year, about the Horcruxes. Voldemort had them—had part of his soul stored in objects—and one of them had, seemingly, been destroyed. Had Snape been the one to do it? Nothing on his face gave away even a hint of betrayal, but Dumbledore had told the new Headmaster to help Harry search for them...
"It has weakened me," the Dark Lord continued, twirling his wand idly in Pettigrew's direction, "and I cannot afford to be weakened. Should I incur any more of these injuries, I must be assured that there is a way of recovery, a way that I may never die..."
"Are you suggesting the creation of a Horcrux?" Rookwood asked, indicating that he didn't know about the Horcruxes that Voldemort already had; maybe Snape was the only one who knew. "Is that why you've just murdered Jensen, my Lord?"
"Jensen was simply in the way," Voldemort replied with a dismissive wave at the Death Eater that he'd killed. "I am suggesting the use of the void Gaudium."
Alarm contorted Rookwood's features, but he chose to say nothing as his master continued.
"I have gained knowledge of a ritual, one that can be performed on void Gaudiums that will restore them to their previous power. If I were to kill the one whom the Gaudium has Latched onto, under specific circumstances, the Gaudium would then become Latched to me, binding me to the Gaudium so that I may not die as long as the Gaudium lives."
Rookwood had gone very pale, and even the Malfoy parents were shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
"So, you will sacrifice Rookwood, then?" Yaxley prompted, looking equally uneasy.
"My Lord," Rookwood pleaded before Voldemort could speak, "would not it be more advantageous for you to use the Flemming girl? You have already killed the one she was Latched onto, the Muggle boy. There would be little work involved—"
"The ritual must be performed over the dead body," the Dark Lord interrupted, his voice eerily soft, "and the Muggle burned to ash."
"That's what you get for being a psychotic asshole," I hissed, and Draco barely contained a snort.
"But, I do not take pleasure in killing my own followers," Voldemort proclaimed dramatically—and quite hypocritically, considering he'd just passed by the dead body of one of his followers. "Killing some child that the younger Flemming girl has Latched onto will be simpler. Besides, I imagine the young girl has longer to live than your dear Lisa."
Voldemort smiled sinisterly at Rookwood, who appeared too relieved by his lack of a death sentence to care that the Dark Lord was mocking him.
"The problem I face now is that I do not know which boy or girl the young Gaudium has Latched onto..."
"I will gather information," Rookwood declared readily, and his master gave him a nod of approval.
"Severus, you will tell the Carrows to keep an eye on the girl. We must not apprehend her yet. Being a Gryffindor, she will likely attempt to kill herself before we can perform the ritual."
They all snickered awkwardly at that, but I knew that none of them were too pleased about this new idea to preserve their Dark Lord. Even though they all bore his Mark, they hated him or at least feared him as much as I did. Still, they would fight for him, because to recant their loyalty would mean death. I would choose death gladly, though, if it meant there might be a way to prevent Ryan Harper's...
The events in this chapter correlate with The Deathly Hallows Chapters Seventeen and Nineteen, when Voldemort nearly captures Harry in Godric's Hollow, and then when Harry/Ron destroy the Horcrux locket.