pertinax: stubborn, persistent, obstinate
———
ELARA wasn't stupid.
She was a Ravenclaw for Merlin's sake. If Hermione wanted to trick her, she should've found a better way to do it.
But shrugging her off and avoiding her questions was only fueling Elara's Ravenclaw curiosity to new heights.
"I know you were with him." She leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed over her chest, as she watched Hermione pull off her coat and gloves, tossing them over the back of the chair.
"Have you seen Oliver?" Hermione asked, not looking at Elara as she unwrapped her scarf from her neck.
"Kitchen." Elara wasn't deterred. "What did he say?"
Her friend didn't reply—instead, moving to the nightstand to place her wand on it and sitting on the edge of the bed, bending down to unlace her boots.
"Hermione. You should know better. I'm not going to stop until you tell me."
Hermione let out a sigh, kicking off one boot. "And you should know I'm not going to."
"Why?" pestered Elara, standing up straighter. She winced as she did so, her head throbbing. Her headache hadn't gone away for nearly three weeks now. "What did he say?"
She watched as her friend got to her feet and padded over to the bathroom door. Elara followed, stubborn as ever.
"Are you not going to let me shower in peace?" Hermione snapped, obviously frustrated as she crossed the tiles and turned on the water of the shower.
"Not until you tell me what he said."
She groaned in response, pressed a hand to her forehead. "Elara—"
"You went because I asked. Don't I deserve to know what he said?"
Hermione turned on her suddenly, the hot water making the mirror steam. "How much do you remember?"
Elara blinked, strained her brain. But as usual, everytime she did, a stabbing pain would jolt up to her cranium and she had to give up.
"Tell me what he said first. And then I'll tell you."
Hermione buried her face in her hands and Elara should've felt bad but they were in the middle of a war that had stretched on for years now and she couldn't find it in her to help anybody else but herself.
"He said it wasn't a good idea." Her voice was muffled in her hands before she raised her head, looking at Elara with tired eyes. "He said he wouldn't come see you and then left. That's it."
Elara nodded, humming low in her throat, as she absorbed the information.
Hermione undid her braid and opened it up before yanking off her sweater, revealing another underneath.
"It was cold," she muttered, catching Elara's raised eyebrow.
"Not that cold," Elara snorted, wearing only a thin sweater herself. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "I don't remember much. Just his name. I don't think—I don't think I can even properly place his face."
Hermione's hands stilled from where they were running through her bushy hair.
"I know he's the one who got me out," Elara went on, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to remember. The ache in her head stopped her. "But that's the extent of it."
"So why do you want to see him so bad?" Hermione sighed.
"Because I know there's more," Elara replied, firmly. "Some of the things I don't have trouble remembering— my family, the first few years at Hogwarts, my friends. But other things..." She winced at the pressure in her skull. "Other things are harder. Some things I have no idea of. Like who the fuck Draco Malfoy is."
Even his name sounded foreign on her tongue—she didn't like it.
"He was a classmate," Hermione said, sharply, in a way that told Elara she wasn't going to tell her much. "That's it."
"Which house?" Elara prodded, the steam making her skin damp.
Hermione hesitated just a second before she said, "Slytherin."
Almost at once, a spike of pain shot into Elara's brain and she hissed, bringing one hand to her head as the other pressed against the doorframe of the bathroom.
Slytherin.
A room— with a large window expanding across one wall, murky water on the other side, casting a greenish glow—
The vision faded and Hermione was by her side, clutching onto her shoulders.
"Elara, are you okay?"
"Fine," she answered, dazed. "I'll let you shower."
With that, she turned and left the bathroom.
|
"Here."
Elara didn't turn her head, kept her gaze out over the treetops that stretched on for as far as the eye could see, a cacophony of reds, oranges and yellows. Her mind was somewhere far off, the cold night air not bothering her in the slightest, and it was only when she felt the hot mug bump against her arm that she jerked herself out of her thoughts.
"Thanks." She took the mug. "You make this?"
Blaise shook his head, taking a sip from his own mug. "You think I would? Maria made it—something about how sitting around a fire and sharing hot chocolate makes people bond."
Elara shook her head with a small smile, taking another sip, letting the liquid warm her.
Blaise's dark skin gleamed in the moonlight as he leaned on the boundary wall of the roof, his eyes sweeping over the forest and the mountain range beyond. "Any luck with Granger?"
Elara shook her head. "Don't tell her I drank this." She raised the mug in her hands. "I'm supposed to be on a strike."
The corner of Blaise's lips quirked upward. "Secret's safe with me, Jacobs."
A comfortable silence ensued and Elara took a deep breath of the fresh air around them. Things were deceivingly peaceful—the war raged on beyond this little scrap of safe haven that they had.
She hoped the others were okay in the other safe houses scattered across the globe.
"I think about it a lot."
Elara's head turned just the slightest bit to look at Blaise whose face always had a perpetual look of strain on it.
"The battle when we lost you," he explained, catching her questioning glance. His eyes stayed fixed on the trees but his mind was somewhere else. "How I found out about...about the others."
He threw a sidelong glance at her, sipping his hot cocoa. "Do you even remember?"
Elara chewed on her lip. "I remember—some. I remember Pansy and Theo pretty well."
Something close to a snarl covered Blaise's lips. "Fucking traitors. I had no clue they were Death Eaters in the making too."
He had told her the story before—not much, just that Draco, Theo and Pansy had all ended up being Death Eaters.
He hadn't looked like he wanted to elaborate.
"Do you really not remember him?"
A cool fall breeze lifted strands of Elara's hair. "I don't. Sometimes— flashes. It's more sensations than— than physical looks."
"Like?" Blaise frowned.
Elara took a thoughtful sip. "Like...Sometimes, someone will say his name and I'll feel this intense feeling of—longing. It's like nostalgia—like I've gone through all these things and I'm looking back on them now but... but I don't have any recollection of them."
Blaise looked away.
"I know you know, Blaise."
He shook his head. "You know I can't tell you."
She scoffed. "Yeah, I don't see why."
"I took a Vow, Jacobs."
"I'm well aware—although I know you can't tell me who made you. And you're the only person in this fucking house who knows about Draco Malfoy—so that makes my job a lot harder."
"You should stop asking to see him," Blaise said, stiffly. "You're only going to set everyone else on edge. And you're wasting your breath."
He turned, taking her empty mug from her and filling it again with his wand so Hermione wouldn't know she'd drank it. "He's never going to show up."
Blaise had made it to the door leading back to the stairwell when she spoke.
"He will. One way or another, Blaise, he will."
|
There were hands strangling her.
Wild, loud laughter filled her ears as Elara clawed blindly at the hands wrapped around her throat, her vision black, unable to see who her attacker was. Nails dug into her skin, drawing blood from her neck, and the weight on her chest was growing larger, suffocating her.
Panic crawled up her throat, her body beginning to shut down at the deprivation of oxygen. She felt the sting of a whip across her back— which was impossible because she knew she was pressed into the floor.
"Tell us about Potter."
It was an order, the hands on her neck tightening further, and Elara felt her limbs stop thrashing as she was drained of air.
"Come on, you little bitch. Or the Dark Lord will have to come torture you himself."
She was going to die. She could feel it as her brain shut down, her esophagus collapsing as the pressure increased and the whip came down on her again, the loud crack echoing in her ears.
"What is he planning on doing?" Bellatrix hissed, smelling like sweat and blood. Elara realised it was probably her own blood and the agony of the whip spread through her body again as it slashed against her back. "Hmm? Tell me!"
Elara gasped for breath, got none and Bellatrix lifted one hand to grab her by the hair and yank her head up, still pressing down onto her throat although the pressure eased. "So determined to protect him, are you?"
Elara's vision was still dark - unable to see her attackers.
"We'll see if you can keep your mouth shut when Fenrir gets to you."
|
Elara jerked upright, drenched in sweat, alone in her bed.
Her mouth was open, gulping for air as she reached a trembling hand to her throat, rubbing her fingers over where Bellatrix's hand had been in her nightmare. She remembered the torture well—it had gone on for a few months after they'd moved her from Malfoy Manor until they seemed to forget about her, realising she didn't know anything.
But now—something else was coming back to her. Something she hadn't remembered before. When she'd been saved.
It hit her like a ton of bricks, made her gasp at the splitting pain in her head and she keeled over onto her side, curling up into a ball.
Her rescue.
She had been dying in her cell when the door had clanged open and light had streamed in through the opening, making her release a strangled cry at the burning on her eyelids.
Harry's face had swum in and out of view above her as he lifted her from the cold stone floor. He had looked terrified and Elara had tried to speak, trying to tell him she remembered him— something about him. Her first memory since she'd been captured.
But Harry's arms had been grazing over the wounds on her back so badly, she'd nearly passed out. She would've screamed if she could have mustered enough energy to.
But then she'd been shifted into stronger arms and a harder chest and the smell of green apples and mint had flooded her senses. She'd instinctively burrowed into the second person, their arms steady, one looped around her waist, the other sliding under her shoulders, carefully avoiding the lacerations on her back.
"Shit—Malfoy—her back—" That was Harry's voice, muffled.
"Thanks, Potter. I didn't notice she was bleeding all over the floor." The person holding her didn't sound amused but Elara couldn't pinpoint his voice and had only raised her arms with much difficulty to grasp onto the back of his shirt. She felt him go rigid underneath her, couldn't understand why and then she felt the lightest touch inside her mind, a gentle brush—enough to make her shiver.
"Malfoy—"
"We have to go." The body holding her vibrated with the words and Elara's brain strained to remember who this was—his name was Malfoy but who was he?
He felt so familiar—but she was sure she'd never seen him in the time she'd been holed up in this cell.
"East wing?" Harry had asked and she'd felt Malfoy nod.
"If your pitiful group of friends followed my orders, it should be the safest exit out." He sounded spiteful, voice laced with hate.
She had become numb to the pain in her body by the time she felt a brighter light hit her face and had burrowed deeper into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. She hadn't seen the sun in two years—although she wouldn't realise that till later.
"Malfoy..." That was Harry again. Wind brushed her cheeks and Elara gasped, involuntarily, at the foreign feeling. Her brain could barely process what was happening, having given up on assessing her emotions and forming proper thoughts ages ago.
She felt Malfoy's arms tighten around her and it was the most comforting feeling she'd felt in a long time.
"I don't want to hear it, Potter. Not until we've crossed those damn Apparition wards."
Harry had fallen silent and Elara had been grateful because her ears had been aching since Mulciber had smashed her head against the floor multiple times, cracking open her skull in an attempt to get her to talk.
About what, she didn't know.
It was probably around ten minutes later that the light faded and cool shade had overtaken them.
"We have to heal her now. We can't Apparate when she's like this."
"There are about thirty Death Eaters in the house behind us—"
"Oh, really? I didn't notice." Malfoy's tone was dry. "She probably has broken bones—and if her skull is damaged, she could die with the pressure of Apparition."
"Fuck, alright."
She had been propped up against a tree, her vision still dark and had almost let out a scream at the agony that ricocheted through her entire body. She felt a wand at the base of her skull and a loud wail began to rip from her throat as the thin fractures in her skull began to heal, the pressure behind her eyes and between her ears almost unbearable. A large, ringed hand came down over her mouth and the sudden gesture made her choke on her own spit.
"Can't we—Can't we knock her out?" Harry had asked and she felt him press his wand to her sternum, healing a gash that Bellatrix had opened up with her whip. It stung as her ribs joined back together and she clawed at the hand on her mouth, desperately wanting to scream, digging her nails into Malfoy's skin.
"No. She could choke on her own blood if we did."
They went on, healing her wounds wherever they could reach and Elara desperately tried not to scream. She squirmed and wriggled at the discomfort and gasped when a cold hand brushed over her jeans, along the most recent wound she'd gotten—the initials of a Death Eater carved into her hipbone.
She knew it was festering, could feel dried blood and dead skin and it ached everytime she shifted her leg. She blindly reached out, grasped onto Malfoy's arm with one hand, the other coming up to his hand on her mouth.
He immediately dropped it, moving to curl it around the back of her neck, helping her sit up straighter as her vision slowly began to heal. She could detect shapes now—Harry kneeling by her legs, sealing a wound through the large rip in her jeans, Malfoy crouched by her shoulder, one hand steadying her at the nape of her neck.
"What is it?" he asked, quietly, but she still couldn't make out his face or hair or anything else except for the vague outline of him. His voice was so familiar—but her head throbbed when she tried to place it.
She tried to speak, found herself unable to exert command over her vocal cords and tightened her grip on his arm, dragging it to her hipbone, hissing when his hand brushed over the wound.
Immediately, he was pulling down the zip of her jeans and she tried to raise her hips to help him get it low enough so he could see the wound. He helped her, hands large and warm on the newly healed cuts on her waist as he raised her slightly off the forest floor, enough so her hands could pull the waistband just below her hips from one side.
"Oh my Godric." Harry's horrified whisper and she wondered how bad it was. She could only feel it; had run her trembling fingers over the large letters A.D in any effort to reduce the stinging pain and she knew it was deep, enough to tear the tissue underneath it. "Malfoy—"
"Potter, I swear to fucking Salazar, if you don't stop talking, I will pull out your intestines and leave you here to die." Malfoy's voice had a dangerous edge to it now—lower than it had been a few moments ago.
"He fucking carved his initials—"
"Well spotted. Her collarbone is shattered. Heal it."
Then, she felt the icy feeling of a healing spell wash over her hip, gritted her teeth to stomach the pain and failed as a small scream ripped from her throat. Light shifted as Malfoy leaned forward and using his other hand on her neck, pressed her face into his shoulder. She understood and bit down on his shirt as her muscles sewed themselves back together, skin tissue joining and stretching once again.
She felt his thumb graze over the back of her neck and another soft intrusion pushed into her mind. Elara whimpered but it didn't hurt—was more comforting than anything else.
"I think that's all we can do," Harry was saying as the last of her skin healed on her hip. "We should—"
Before he could even complete the sentence, Malfoy was Apparating them and Elara gasped at the sharp pressure and sudden nausea that overtook her.
She wanted to hurl, her head spinning, but hadn't eaten anything but stale bread—and that was four days ago.
"At least tell me when you're about to do it!" Harry sounded as nauseated as she felt and Elara realised she was back in Malfoy's arms and felt a little better now that most of her large wounds were healed. She buried her face in his warm neck, breathing in apples and mint. Even her vision was clearing, now that they'd healed her head.
"I can't stay," Malfoy said, sharply, ignoring Harry's outcry as he strode forward, keeping Elara steady in his arms. "Get Granger to heal her—and tell her to double check the ones we did. Pay extra attention to her skull. There could be lasting damage there."
"Alright," Harry replied, firmly, and then Elara was being shifted towards him. She let out a small whimper, tightened her fingers into Malfoy's shirt. She liked how he felt—familiar, strong, steady.
Malfoy tensed underneath her as she struggled to hold onto him and then his hands were wrapping around her own, disentangling them from the fabric of his shirt, slowly.
Like he didn't want to let go of her either.
She felt the softest caress of her mind, heard a quiet voice, low and rough, in her head.
In another life.
Elara reached for him again, her vision good enough now to make out broad shoulders and a tall frame. But then Harry was walking away, up a few steps and she realised they were heading into a house.
Malfoy was still standing where they'd left him a little way from the foot of the steps leading up onto the porch. Elara squinted, trying to identify his features, but only caught a flash of pale hair as the sun made it gleam.
Then another gentle prod at the barriers of her mind and through her daze, she finally recognised that he was employing Legilimency. His voice was laced with something deeper—an emotion she couldn't place—and his words made something struggle to life in her chest.
But you have to live this one without me.
———
this book is a lot harder to write than tbwhnc lmao. idk how to feel abt this chapter. and dw! they will meet soon ;)
im updating rn cause i have zero self control and can't space out my updates <3
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kisses,
nyx