Work Text
01. ⠀⠀Dust Thou ArtDiagon Alley ⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⠀⠀5th July, 1996 Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. That is all we truly are, isn’t it? Dust. Fragments of everything that has ever been, and ever will be. The thin layer of dust covering the windowsill at Madam Malkin’s only confirmed it. It had likely once belonged to something magnificent, like Merlin’s first wand, or perhaps a fallen star. If I didn’t know any better, I’d even go as far as saying that it once formed the bones of a Muggle—as sadistic as it sounds. The only thing separating Diagon Alley from the Muggle world was a carefully crafted wall, and I’d bet fifteen Galleons that dust covered every inch of that, too. Muggle bones or not. Regardless of whom or what it once was, it was now nothing but dirt. My mind often wandered to these dark depths, if only to distract myself that no matter how or when my life ends, I will always be nothing but dirt. Nothing but the earth beneath our feet, fragmented and forgotten. I think the worst part about knowing that I would die was the fear of being forgotten. My sister Daphne often joked that she yearned for the day I would stop breathing, if only so that the attention of our parents returned to her. I had to admit that she had become quite the afterthought since my Curse began its course a month ago, but did she really expect me to apologise when it was I who would suffer? She was glowering even now, where we lingered outside of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, waiting for our father to return from attending to some business in Knockturn Alley. Wisely, neither of us had questioned what kind of business could possibly have him sulking down the shadowed path, but we both knew that it had nothing to do with his position at the Ministry. “What is it?” I finally scowled, looking up to my elder sister as she kept her stormy blue gaze upon something over my shoulder. Her brow was furrowed, and deepened further when I began to arch my neck to see what had angered her so thoroughly. “Keep looking at me,” she ordered, her bony fingers digging into the soft hollow of my shoulder. “Pretend that you’re… reading, or something.” I let my mouth gape slightly, Daphne’s sheer idiocy forcing the words in my mind to become stuck in my throat. “Reading? Reading what?” I finally managed to hiss, showing her my empty palms which clearly did not have a book resting in them. Daphne was now trying to speak without moving her lips, but her eyes flickered ever-so-slightly to the right, before returning to whatever was nearing us. “That.” “Ah,” I scoffed under my breath, nodding my head as I glared at her. “The scroll of ice cream flavours? The scroll that is so conveniently behind me?” Daphne’s features dropped instantly, and I did not need to have a pair of eyes at the back of my head to understand that whatever had been walking towards us in the empty alley had now stopped behind me. I racked my brain for a way to distract myself, but the warmth which accompanied the sudden presence was liberating. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have been able to distract myself if I’d tried. “Astoria Greengrass.” A man’s voice shuddered across my mind, slicing through my pathetic attempt at Occulumency like a blade. “What a delight to see that Grant has let you out of the Estate. It’s a promising act for promising times.” The pain that erupted in my head was all-consuming, but I was frozen under the control of the wizard behind me. Coward. I tried to resist the magic that tightened around me, tried to stop the wizard from remaining a faceless, nameless threat. Coward. With a few short steps, the wizard positioned himself at my side. I fought to free myself, to catch at least a glimpse of the man who knew my name and the secret that I had hoped would soon be buried with me. “Coward?” The man’s voice pulsed, testing the rotten shackles that continued to constrict my very being. “I can only assume you’re referring to me. You’ve got quite a strong opinion for such a weak witch, Cursed One. Are your bones really as brittle as they say?” Helpless. I was nothing but helpless as I stood akin to a statue, watching Daphne’s terror outweigh her fury as a calloused hand stroked itself across my cheek. My shoulders shuddered with discomfort, my breaths hitched and shallow as though the oxygen in my veins was fading into nothing, suffocating me from the inside out. Surely, this was a fate worse than death? I kept my cold, blue gaze upon my sister’s face, memorising the freckles that she often tried to hide and the soft, blonde strands of hair that framed her façade. If Daphne couldn’t save me, then the comfort of knowing that she didn’t leave me alone was enough. My thoughts were interrupted as Daphne jerked her head to the right, letting out a bellow so loud that even the Muggles in London likely heard her. “FATHER!” The calloused hand that had made its way down the nape of my neck halted immediately, and cold air washed over me as the man released his grip on my mind. I collided with Daphne as the movement returned to my feet, my desire to get away from the wizard like an inferno that threatened to burn this world to the ground. A flush of air indicated the presence of my father as he Apparated into the alley, the briefcase that he’d had with him prior nowhere in sight. “That is the first and last time you will lay a hand on my daughter, Corban,” my father grimaced, toying the line between civility and insolence as he stared at the blond man standing next to me. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Corban Yaxley didn’t retreat as my father approached us, but he watched as both Daphne and I flanked him, cornering him between the wall of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour and our father. “A promising act for promising times,” Yaxley mused, repeating the phrase that he’d clawed into my mind. His eyes flickered to me, but as he sensed my father reach for his wand, he dragged his gaze back and pulled his hands out of his pockets. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Grant. I hope Cordelia is faring well?” “She is,” my father replied firmly, his jaw stiff as he regarded the old friend before him. It appeared as though any mention of my mother was a delicate subject, as my father made no attempt to skirt around his next question. “Is there any particular reason that you’re here, prying into the minds of my girls?” Yaxley sucked his cheeks in towards his teeth, dispelling a sigh as he warred with himself over what he was about to do next. After one quick glance to assure himself that the alley was still deserted, he extended his left arm and tugged up the sleeve of his blazer. His pale forearm, now rife with swirls of deep ebony, took the form of a snake wrapped around a skull. I’d never seen one of the Dark Lord’s Marks in person before, but it was exactly as I’d imagined. The writhing of the snake sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself unable to sweep my gaze from the cacophony of dark magic and unabashed loyalty that plagued his skin. I tried to stifle the gasp escaping my lips, but the pride with which Yaxley gazed down at his Mark was discomforting, and I suddenly realised why he was here. “I’m afraid I’m just the messenger today, Grant. If you had one of these—” Yaxley straightened his Marked arm out towards us, “—then I’m certain that you would’ve had some time to say goodbye to your daughter. What a pity.” Daphne’s eyes flew to mine, her brow furrowing in haste. “And who are you to say that? You can’t take her. Our blood is just as pure as anyone’s—it’s undoubtably purer than yours—” “Hush, child.” Yaxley pulled his sleeve down and paid no heed to my sister, dusting off something invisible from his jacket. My father had his wand in his hand now, ready to duel, if need be, but Yaxley merely raised his eyebrows. “This is not about blood purity, though it certainly is a shame that the Curse has taken this one at such a young age. Grant, I know that we are—that we were once—friends, but that doesn’t mean that your sacrifice is not needed. This cause, it is bigger than us all.” My father’s wand remained pointed, yet his grip was not as firm as it had once been. “You can’t take her. We’ve kept her condition quiet… she must’ve only missed the last week of school, and even that was under the guise of a distant family wedding in France. The Dark Lord doesn’t know. He can’t know—” “He does,” Yaxley interrupted, but his tone was edged with something that almost resembled pity. “I’m sorry, Grant. The girl must be taken to Malfoy Manor with immediate effect and if you do not comply, I have been instructed to use force.” Daphne took a step away from the Death Eater before us, sniffing as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her hand was hidden behind her back, and it took every effort for me not to shoot her a quizzical look. “Malfoy Manor?” my father questioned incredulously, watching as Yaxley’s hands returned to his pockets. “I was under the impression that Lucius was imprisoned after what happened in the Department of Mysteries.” “That was quite the mess, wasn’t it?” Yaxley scoffed, shaking his head as he remained oblivious to Daphne’s scheming. “It completely escaped my memory that you’re Unspeakable. Personally, I blame Potter for the chaos. If he was easier to kill, we’d all be a lot better off, and the Dark Lord wouldn’t be staying at the Manor in Lucius’s absence. As you can imagine, Narcissa is less than pleased.” His smile faltered at that, but my attention was now entirely on Daphne. Her hand, now held out in front of her, was gripping tightly onto her Hawthorne wand, and the determination etched across her features was unnerving. “I won’t let you take my sister,” Daphne snarled, her hand shaking from all of the might she had conjured. “It’s two against one. Get out your wand and duel us.” Yaxley had now turned to face my sister, his lips pursed to hide the faint ghost of a smile haunting his lips. His hazel eyes swivelled between Daphne and my father, both of which had their wands drawn: but at visibly different stages. Whilst Daphne was prepared to fight, my father’s wand was ever lowering, and it soon hung limply in his fingers at his side. “Father,” Daphne hissed, her teeth bared. “Father, what are you doing?” My father simply let his gaze rest upon my frame. His eyes roved over me, as if trying to remember every speck of grey in my blue eyes… as if preparing to say goodbye. It took Yaxley less than a second to realise this. “I can promise her safety for the foreseeable future, but you must know that I cannot defy the Dark Lord. Your presence has been requested within the hour at Malfoy Manor, and I would advise that you bring Cordelia too. Your other daughter,” he shot a glance at Daphne, whose wand had clattered to the floor in utter disbelief, “might find it best to be left behind.” Throughout this exchange, not one word had left my lips. Had I truly thought that I would be able to return home? That my silence would be a deterrent for followers of the Dark Lord? It was laughable, but the look on Daphne’s face prevented any humour from colouring the scene before me. In fact, those colours were painted by something else entirely, and it was only when Yaxley forcefully grabbed my arm did I wish that I had used my voice to speak up. I was being thrown through time and space by Yaxley’s decision to Apparate, and I had been robbed of the chance to say goodbye to my father and sister. The colours melded together to form a disorientating blend of magic which defied the laws of nature, and my stomach lurched with every twist and turn that slammed us against anything and everything in our path. The wind howled mercilessly, and raindrops pelted against my skin despite the sun that blinded me whenever I felt brave enough to open my eyes. Finally, as I feared my sanity would soon surrender itself to the chaos, the colours faded and the world around me gradually materialised into a new location. Gasping for breath, I found myself standing on familiar ground and staring directly at Corban Yaxley’s disgustingly amused face. He let go of my arm and watched as I stumbled forwards, my head still spinning from the act of Apparition. The entrance hall of Malfoy Manor was exactly as I had remembered it. The grand staircase was directly opposite the door, encased with white and stone-coloured marble that accentuated the golden finishes along the railings. In the centre of the hall was an iron-forged statue, depicting the triumph of the Wizarding World against the lowly Muggles; and the same large crystal chandelier still hung delicately above our heads. I focused on the reflection of the jewels, which cast dancing shadows across the hall that swayed to and fro. “You haven’t said a word,” Yaxley assessed, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as though I were a puzzle for him to figure out. “Why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you plead me to leave you alone?” “It wouldn’t change anything,” I murmured, lowering my gaze from the chandelier to my captor. “You’re a Death Eater, and I am marked by death.” Yaxley’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and the weak smile that he gave me was the last thing that I wanted to see. I didn’t want his pity. I would’ve preferred if he’d simply reached for his wand and used an Unforgivable curse on me, because then at least I would know why I’d been sought after. Perhaps I’d been taken because I was already Cursed. If the Dark Lord wanted to see whether or not I’d suffer the consequences of another curse being cast, at least it would make sense in a twisted sort of way. Slowly, Yaxley nodded his head. He raised his hand and I flinched, expecting his wand to be thrust in my face—but his palm was empty, and he held it out in the direction of the large oak doors to the right of the foyer. “After you, Cursed One,” he smirked, his dusty blond hair falling into his eyes. “Marked by death. I like that. It shows that you’re not afraid.” Reluctantly, I straightened my posture and held my head high. It didn’t take a genius to know that the Dark Lord was in this Manor somewhere—Yaxley had said so himself back in the alley—and as much as I detested him, first impressions were vital. If it made the difference between being subjected to Imperio than Crucio, I’d play the part until my dying breath. “We are all nothing but dust,” I recited aloud, my eyes sliding to Yaxley as he accompanied me to the door. “There is nothing to be afraid of.” Yaxley huffed out an amused snort, before he raised his fist to rap upon the ancient oak panels. A muffled response echoed through the door, and my captor expelled a nerve-filled sigh as it swung open. “Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝕯ATE PUBLISHED: 14th February, 2025𝖂ORD COUNT: 2,666
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
02. ⠀⠀Marked By DeathMalfoy Manor ⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⠀⠀5th July, 1996 If I hadn’t already been aware of the fact that I was standing in Malfoy Manor, I would have assumed that I’d fallen into the burning depths of Hell. Crawling with Death Eaters, now fearlessly out of hiding, the ballroom was illuminated by hundreds of candles—the warmth of which was near-scalding, and it felt as though the flames licked at my skin from where I stood in the doorway. The curtains had been pulled tightly shut across the arched windows, obscuring the view of the acres of land outside the manor. It was impossible to tell that the sunset hadn’t begun to grace itself across the skies, but what good was the concept of time when every whim, every move, was calculated by the Dark Lord? I felt a hand push my shoulder forwards, and as I stepped foot into the room, I blanched. Most of these wizards were strangers to me, but I recognised a few of them from the Daily Prophet’s Azkaban’s Most Notorious Inmates article, which was published last year before all hell broke loose. The mass breakout, which was the only reason the ballroom was so full, had been nothing but an omen since the moment I’d heard about it. “My Lord.” Yaxley began, clearing his throat as he pushed me further into the room. “My Lord, I’ve fetched the girl.” The fables about the Dark Lord were few and far between. He’d died before I had been born—rightly or unjustly, it made no difference to me—and had only truly returned to a shell of his former self a matter of months ago. Unfortunately, I’d been distracted by the little issue that was my ancestral Curse, and I hadn’t deemed the lowly chatter about the Dark Lord’s rise to power worthy enough of my attention. Oh, how wrong I had been. The Dark Lord. What a high and mighty name for a man capable of such destruction. Only, he wasn’t like other men. Something must’ve happened to him in the land between ours and the afterlife, because his skin was the colour of ash and his eyes were a deep shade of crimson red. The unnaturalness of his very existence knocked the breath from my chest, and all I could think of when the Dark Lord’s eyes pierced into my flesh was that everything about him exuded death. My fingers scratched at the nailbed of my thumb, gradually deepening as I willed myself to stay still. The Dark Lord was seated at a grand table in the middle of the ballroom, his bony fingers tracing the natural oak of the surface as a crazed witch perched on the side of his armchair. Her black, curled hair was unruly as it framed her face, and it was with utmost confidence that I could say she looked nothing like the old photographs dotted around the manor. Bellatrix Lestrange was nothing more than a living nightmare. “Come, child,” she cooed, hopping to her feet and taking a few measured steps toward me. Her extended hand was adorned with black laced gloves, but that couldn’t hide the dirt buried deep beneath her fingernails. I caught myself wondering if she’d spent years upon years trying to claw her way out of Azkaban, if only to be met with the bitter realisation that she was trapped. I suppose, to her, the Dark Lord was a saviour. The candlelight grew ever hotter as I slowly walked towards her, hiding a grimace as she bared her decayed teeth at me. Her outstretched hand was within reaching distance now, and before I could change my mind, I took it. A sharp inhale of breath escaped somebody lining the far end of the wall, and as Bellatrix’s fingers tightened around my own, I risked a glance towards the stranger hidden within the dancing shadows. The flickering of the flames obscured his identity, but when the Dark Lord finally decided to speak, he addressed the stranger by name and my heart skipped a beat. “Draco, if you would be so kind as to come forward.” Draco Malfoy pushed himself off the wall, swaggering up to the Dark Lord as though he had been announced as the next Seeker for the Montague Magpies. He surpassed Bellatrix and I as she tugged me into the centre of the room, and didn’t so much as glance in my direction as he bowed at the waist to the monster before him. Prick. “My Lord,” he said lowly, flashing the Dark Wizard a smug smile as he straightened his posture. “Dearest Draco, you are familiar with our lovely little Cursed One, are you not?” The words dripped from the Dark Lord’s mouth like venom, and each syllable was a dosage enough to kill a beast. “I hear that her sister is among your classmates.” Malfoy’s head pivoted to me, his stormy gaze stripping me bare as Bellatrix came to a sudden halt. She dropped my hand and took a few steps closer to the Dark Lord, and within an instant, I was surrounded by a soft ring of fire. Despite the rising heat, I closed my eyes, willing for Malfoy to lie and say that he didn’t know Daphne. That he didn’t know me. “Yes, her sister is in my year at school,” Malfoy admitted, his knitted brows tightening as my eyelids flickered open. I slowly turned to look at him, cursing myself twice over for actually hoping that he’d have anybody else’s interests at heart—not when his own gain was in the balance. “I have spoken to Astoria in passing, but nothing more.” A number of Death Eaters had now begun to gather around the outside of the ring, the firelight illuminating their hungry eyes as they clung to the outline of my figure. It was at that moment I realised Bellatrix was the only other woman in the room, and that the fire surrounding me was not only to stop me from getting out. It was to stop them from getting in. “Nothing more.” The Dark Lord repeated, angling his head as he watched me through the flames. “Do you believe that you’d be able to tell if she’s lying, Draco?” Again, Malfoy’s eyes found mine. “I don’t think I quite know what you—” “Is Astoria Greengrass ignoring me, or can she truly not understand Parseltongue?” The look of surprise on Malfoy’s face was uncanny, and most certainly the first of its kind. Presumably, buried within the soft chatter of the room, the Dark Lord had tried and failed to get my attention. The entire notion of it was absurd, considering how rare the gift of Parseltongue was, and I found myself unable to control my features as shock flashed across them like lightning. “My Lord, I wasn’t aware that Greengr—Astoria—could speak Parseltongue.” Rising from his chair, the Dark Lord began to make his way over to the ring of fire, casting his followers aside until he was standing directly in front of me. Everything about him was serpentine, from the way he arched his neck to the steady scarlet gaze that kept me pinned to the floor. I wasn’t aware that I’d involuntarily lowered to my knees, but a cacophony of snickers confirmed that once again, my mind was not my own and neither was my will. “You were told to watch her,” the Dark Lord reasoned, breaking our eye contact for the briefest of moments to glare at Malfoy, wherever he stood. That second of respite, where I had control of myself once more, I rose to my feet, only to be pushed back down to my knees by somebody who was now in the ring with me. “Draco, you don’t mean to tell me that the Mark was bestowed upon you under false pretences?” The Mark? “No, my Lord.” Malfoy’s voice was suddenly behind me, his fingers firmly pressing into my shoulder to keep me down. “Astoria cannot speak Parseltongue, or at the very least, she couldn’t when I last saw her—” “Her Curse has progressed since then,” the Dark Lord snarled, slicing through Malfoy’s words with his forked tongue. “You have been watching Astoria for months. Do not begin to tell me that your Legilimency training was for naught… you were the person who told me that she was ready—” “She is—” “You will hold your tongue while I am speaking.” The Dark Lord’s voice thundered through the room, and I felt the hand on my shoulder begin to shake with humility. “You were Chosen because you bear the legacy of a noble lineage, an esteemed bloodline that has long since pledged their allegiance to the purity of wizarding society. After your father’s recent failures, one can only hope that you will restore the Malfoy family name—but, if you have mistakenly advised me to awaken the Greengrass Curse when the girl is not ready, you will wish for nothing short of death.” The hand on my shoulder slackened. A thousand seconds could have passed, for it felt as though I had lived a thousand lives when I finally looked up into the eyes of Draco Malfoy. I hadn’t realised that he’d hated me so deeply. He’d hated me to such an extremity that he’d offered up my life without so much as a second thought, and although we weren’t friends—that we’d never been friends—my existence was as worthless to him as that of a House-elf. To live, to serve, to die. “You.” My voice was soft as I stared at him through glassy eyes, the ache in my chest restricting my ability to breathe, but I had to ask. I had to know. “Why?” Malfoy swallowed harshly, but he didn’t answer me. Perhaps the fear of speaking out of turn haunted him, but I couldn’t remember a time when that had ever stopped him before. When it became apparent that Malfoy wouldn’t utter a word, the Dark Lord let out a harrowed laugh. “Astoria Greengrass.” My name rolled off his tongue like a lullaby, but his razor-sharp teeth served as the cage to my nightmares. “You have been Chosen. The Curse that you have been gifted will bring prosperity to our cause, and your name will be remembered for eternity. Yours is a fate that others would kill for.” Stand. The unspoken command wrapped itself around my legs like vines, pulling me upwards until I stood before the fire separating me from the Dark Lord. The tears in my eyes were threatening to spill down my cheeks at the thought of what they’d do to me, but not one of the Dark Lord’s followers inched closer. “To mark your loyalty to me, and to our cause, you are about to receive the greatest honour a witch or wizard of your age can achieve. Hold out your left arm.” My head was shaking before I could stop it. The creaking of the oak door behind me caught my attention for the briefest of moments, and my eyes locked with those of my mother, widened in horror. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth at the sight of me, shrouded in flames and surrounded by Death Eaters, and stopped. “What are you doing to her?” My mother’s voice was quiet over the pounding of my heart, but Malfoy regained his hold on my shoulder and gave her a polite nod. “The cause is bigger than us all,” he stated, and my gaze flickered to Yaxley at the familiarity of the words. “Our names will be remembered for eternity.” My father’s lean frame still approached me, as if he was willing to walk through the flames and drag me to safety. The lines of his face, accentuated by worry, were growing ever nearer, but the heat from the fire distorted my vision until he was nothing but a blur. “Welcome, Grant and Cordelia,” the Dark Lord purred, giving my parents a nod before he stepped through the inferno to join both Malfoy and I inside the ring. “You couldn’t have joined at a better time. Corban, if you could please attend to your sister—assure her that this is the way forward. Draco, her arm.” Raise your arm, Greengrass. “Get out of my head,” I hissed, turning my face away from Malfoy as he pried my left arm away from my side. “Please, Malfoy. Please. Don’t do this. Don’t let them do this to me.” Malfoy’s grip remained firm as he held out my left hand towards the Dark Lord, twisting it gently until my forearm was visible. His right arm wrapped itself around the back of my shoulders, holding me in place as I writhed to get out of his grasp. I would’ve sooner burned than receive the Dark Mark. The warmth of Malfoy’s body pressed against mine, the steady rise and fall of his chest as I cried for him to let me go—it all reminded me that he was human, and that he could make mistakes. Only, this was not a mistake in his eyes. A sob escaped my parted lips as I watched the Dark Lord reach into his cloak and withdraw a slender wand, but as he aimed the tip of it to my skin, I tore my gaze away to instead find my parents. Yaxley stood by my mother, his outstretched hand blocking her from moving any closer to the back of the crowd. The Dark Lord had called her his sister, and now that they stood next to each other, I could see the resemblance. Their blonde hair was of the same, honey shade, and their gaunt, hazel eyes were looking anywhere but at me. My father had stopped next to a man with a long, pale, twisted face, but unlike my mother, he was staring at me with eyes full of longing and heartbreak. It was the same expression he’d worn when we first found out about my Curse, after Daphne had written home and they’d taken us both out of school with a week to spare. I wanted to speak to him, to tell him that I didn’t blame him for any of it, but— But the pain. The excruciating, searing-hot pain that erupted through my veins forced me to close my eyes, and I harshly bit into my lower lip to try and muffle the scream that ripped through my throat. The rustic, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and Malfoy’s grip on my shoulders tightened as he held me. A number of people in the room began to clap and cheer as something slithered beneath the skin of my forearm, but the tingling sensation left my arm limp. I had been desperately chosen from a crowd of one, as if beckoned from the Heavenly skies only to be sent to depths of Hell. To them, I was nothing more than a shadow, a calming slit to the throat disguised as a necklace—to deceive, and to cheat, and to lie—and to—to— “We are pleased to have you among our ranks, Astoria,” the Dark Lord’s voice wavered as it reached my ears, deafened by my own screams and blinded by the agony. “Through your sacrifice, the world will belong to us. The epithets of you, of the Cursed One, will accompany our reign and you will forever be remembered as the martyr, as the hero, in our history.” Malfoy’s fingers released my left wrist, and gravity pulled my arm back down to my side without a fight. My breathing remained uneven as I kept my gaze to the floor, refusing to look at the disease that had now spread itself across my skin. I felt it in my veins, too, and the thought of it seeping into my bones consumed me. I wasn’t sure how deep the Mark went, but I knew that it would forever stain my soul. “Where do you think you’re going?” The Dark Lord’s words halted Malfoy from moving any further. He’d begun to turn around, waiting for the flames to subside and grant him leave, but it appeared as though we weren’t finished yet. As Malfoy returned to face the Dark Lord, I slowly raised my head in understanding. We were his followers now, which meant that he owned us: mind, body and soul. “Aren’t you eager to hear about your first task?” A collective murmur erupted from the crowd of Death Eaters at the sudden announcement, and once again, I lost the ability to breathe. “I know the rest of you are.” From the corner of my eye, I saw that Malfoy’s gaze had flickered to me. Had he not expected to be tasked with anything? “A task, my Lord?” Malfoy’s tone was clipped, but he forced the faintest of smiles as he nodded before the Dark Lord. “Of course. What would you like us to do?” The Dark Lord just grinned. “I would like you to assassinate Albus Dumbledore.” °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝕯ATE PUBLISHED: 21st February, 2025𝖂ORD COUNT: 2,817
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
03. ⠀⠀Drained BloodlessMalfoy Manor ⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⠀⠀27th July, 1996 There were precisely fourteen ways that I could get rid of the Dark Mark plaguing my forearm, but the only caveat was that almost all of them included severing it off with the rest of my limb. I could feel the wicked tendrils of magic feasting on my skin and my blood and my bones, and it took every effort not to use the poker in the fireplace to cleave it off the Muggle way. I’d gotten quite close to picking the poker up over the past three weeks, trapped in Malfoy Manor with nothing to do but stare out of the window in my new bedroom and wish. Wish for someone—anyone—to Apparate into the rose garden and rescue me like the maidens in fairytales. But those maidens weren’t being forced to murder the greatest wizard of all time, and every time I caught myself hoping that someone would see me for me, rather than for the brand new Mark on my arm, the tears resurged. I found comfort in imagining Malfoy’s tortured body writhing in pain, his tainted blood pooling around him and staining the grass or the tiles with his betrayal. The tears usually stopped after that. After warring with myself for half of the morning, I finally slipped through the creaky door of my bedroom and inched closer to the muffled chatter wafting from the living room downstairs. The Dark Lord had usurped every room on the lower floor of Malfoy Manor, often bringing poor Muggle-lovers back to torment them or roast them on a spit, depending on whichever mood he was in. Wisely, I’d kept my distance from any other living being in the manor, the portraits lining the walls serving as my only source of conversation in these desperately lonely times. Even the letters that I’d sent by Owl had returned to me shredded, as if I were truly a prisoner as well as a slave to the Mark. The paintings had told me that today was the last day of Lucius Malfoy’s trial, and with any luck, his son and wife would return to Malfoy Manor without him in tow. Their current absence was the sole reason I now stood at the top of the stairs, my fingers delicately tracing the swirls carved into the marble banister. Avoiding Draco Malfoy was possibly the hardest thing I’d had to endure whilst being held hostage in his home, but his aversion to us crossing paths mirrored my own, which made it slightly easier. After my less-than-enthusiastic initiation, he’d tried and failed to make excuses for what he’d done. Each attempt was as hollow as his skull, because he clearly couldn’t have had a brain hiding up there if he truly believed that being subservient to a half-blood in the name of blood purity made sense. As I neared the bottom of the staircase, I noticed that I was not alone in the foyer of the manor. Yaxley’s hazel eyes flickered up to me as I entered his peripheral vision, letting his hand fall from where it grazed the iron statue in the middle of the entrance hall. His tongue lined the inside of his cheek as he contemplated speaking to me or ignoring me, but as he cleared his throat and pivoted to face me, it was clear that the former had won. “Afternoon, Cursed One.” His cheery smile elicited a grimaced reaction from myself, but I continued descending the staircase until I practically stood next to him. My gaze drifted to the plaque that he’d been reading, the nonsensical words beneath the mangled bodies of Muggles likely a homage to the history of our kind. “Ex cineribus Indignorum mundissima resurrecturus est,” Yaxley read aloud, pointing to the Latin transcription before turning to me. “From the ashes of the Unworthy, the purest shall rise again.” As a pureblood myself, I had to admit that I wasn’t the most tolerant of Muggles. Their ancestors had burned mine at the stake, but rather than seek to enact some sort of self-righteous revenge, my family and I had chosen to ignore their existence entirely. Our worlds were as separate as they could be, and there was truly no need to relive the horrors of the past. Wizards like the Dark Lord had a very different approach to reliving the horrors of the past. “Have you received word from Narcissa?” I asked finally, breaking my gaze away from the statue and addressing Yaxley for the first time since I’d arrived at the manor. Yaxley blinked, inhaling a composed sigh before releasing it and fixing that same smug smile on his lips. “No, but I have received word from your mother.” Right. My mother. His sister. A callous secret lined with deceit. Absentmindedly, I tugged the pale blue fabric of my sleeve further down my left arm, as if the mere mention of my mother meant that she could see the darkness bestowed upon me. My eyes narrowed when Yaxley remained silent, and my mouth was restless against the desire to ask what they’d spoken about. “What did she say?” I managed to croak, the hatred dripping from every word as I unwillingly held conversation with my disgraced uncle. “Quite a bit, to be honest,” he sighed, his eyes flicking to my covered forearm and then back to statue. “There’s much to discuss when you haven’t spoken to somebody in over a decade. Your father’s been promoted to Head of the Department of Mysteries—but you can thank us for that. Pius Thicknesse has taken over the spot for Head of Magical Law Enforcement following the… untimely end to Amelia Bones’s life, leaving the ranks open for your father to climb. You’re welcome.” “For what?” I scowled, my throat dry with the implication of his words. “I didn’t ask you to… to kill someone—” “No, but you benefit from her death, do you not?” It was an impossible task to deny Yaxley, but silence prevailed as my features fell into a frown. My father had indeed had his sight set on the position that he’d now been offered, although I couldn’t help the foreboding notion tugging at my conscience—what would he have to give in return? Yaxley arched one of his brows, his head tilting towards mine in mock invitation for me to rebut his comment. When I didn’t surrender, his tactic changed, and he instead offered me his elbow. “Would you like to know how to stop your Curse?” My eyes flew to meet his, analysing them as best as I could to see if he honestly knew how to help me. The Dark Lord only craved my assistance because of the Curse, and if Yaxley knew how to stop it—I’d be free from the chains of chaos, and everything would return to normal. Well, as normal as it could be. The impending War and the murder of Albus Dumbledore still loomed ahead, but at least I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life cooped up inside St. Mungo’s. A win was a win, after all. An indignant huff escaped my lips as I looked down at Yaxley’s waiting elbow, and the expectation of me to loop my arm through his couldn’t have been clearer. “When your mother married into the Greengrass family, I took it upon myself to do some research,” Yaxley began, his tone airy as he put his spare hand on my arm and led me out towards the gardens. “A small price to pay for pure-blooded children, I had told her, with heavy emphasis on the likelihood that the Curse would not transpire if she gave birth to a son. When your sister was born, she was as right as rain—but you… something was different with you. “You didn’t take your first breath until three hours after your birth. The Healers were preparing your coffin when those blue eyes of yours suddenly flitted open, and it was at that point I knew that you were different. You had been Chosen, for better or for worse, and when I voiced these concerns to your mother, we made an Unbreakable Vow. In exchange for my silence, she was to take you away so that if the Dark Lord rose once more, your condition would go unnoticed by him and all that follow him. When the young Malfoy boy let it slip that Astoria Greengrass had made a rather insulting comment about him during one of last year’s Quidditch matches, of all things, it ensnared the Dark Lord’s attention. Up until then, you didn’t exist. Not to him. The Malfoy boy was then tasked with watching you… uncovering even the slightest possibility that you bore the makings of the Curse.” It felt as though I had taken my last breath when Yaxley’s words washed over me, drowning me under the weight of knowledge. My chest was tight with realisation as I stared up at him, silently pleading for him to continue. “I’m sure you already know about the events which led up to this current moment,” he resumed, opening the glass door to the garden and leading me outside. I hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun for weeks, since I’d been avoiding Malfoy and Bellatrix like the plague in fear of being made to participate in the latter’s training sessions. The word torture seemed to be a better fit, since I’d heard Malfoy howling in pain on more than one occasion after failing to deflect a Cruciatus curse, but that was none of my business. “You are young, and you are impressionable.” Yaxley’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and he unlinked our arms in order to retrieve his wand. Wordlessly, he conjured a large, dark tome and handed it to me, before tapping the tip of his wand on the front cover. “This will tell you more than you need to know. Every cure has its limitations, but drained bloodless had always been my first choice.” “Your first choice?” I questioned, watching as the ancient book in my hands opened and began flicking through the dust-covered pages. Countless snippets of gruesome methods supposedly able to cure ancestral curses caught my eye, until the pages finally stopped and landed on a feral illustration which left nothing to the imagination. “One can never be too cautious,” Yaxley answered, waving his hand to indicate the page that he had charmed it to land on—but I noticed that his avoidant gaze was looking at anywhere other than the book. “Magic always comes with a price, and there was a high possibility that Cordelia herself could awaken the Curse once she married Grant. I thank Merlin every day that it didn’t take her, but now I shall pray that it doesn’t take you.” A deep, guttural scream erupted from the manor, and both Yaxley and I practically broke our necks with the speed of which we turned to look. “That’ll be Ollivander, or perhaps it’s Fortescue.” Yaxley inhaled through gritted teeth, his expression faltering as his eyes returned to mine. “We’re taking precautions, as I’m sure you’re aware. The last thing we need is Florean opening his mouth to tell everyone that you were taken outside of his shop that day in the Alley.” Somehow, within the past few minutes that I’d spent with Yaxley, I’d come to trust him. Although I balked at his careless confession about abducting other wizards, at least he wasn’t keeping me in the dark about the goings on outside of the manor. I clenched my jaw, opting to keep my own mouth shut as Yaxley uncertainly looked from me, to the manor, and then back again. “I’d better go and see what’s happening. Without Snape to keep the Dark Lord in check, he’ll have to listen to me.” Yaxley didn’t notice as my features hardened at his mention of Snape, Professor Severus Snape, who most certainly couldn’t have been a Death Eater, and most certainly couldn’t have been the person to keep the Dark Lord in check. “Now, don’t show anybody that book, you understand? Nobody can so much as look at it, let alone touch it, so be mindful about where and when you decide to put your rotting brain to the test.” My tongue lined the inside of my teeth as I acknowledged all that he’d said, and when he spun on his heel toward the manor, I sighed. “Thank you. For helping me, I mean.” Yaxley didn’t bother turning around to face me as he let a rough scoff scratch his throat. “Don’t thank me just yet, child.” As I watched Yaxley’s retreating figure, my fingers scraped along the harsh edges of the book that he’d planted in my hands, and the moment he disappeared inside; I hastily set my eyes upon the page he’d charmed it to land on. The archaic scripture, evident through the inky handwriting and the unfamiliarity of the words used, sent a chill down my spine as my gaze roved over the yellowed pages. Without taking my eyes away from the book, I spun on my heel and sauntered towards a nearby tree, sitting myself down among the withered roots. It could have been hours that I spent staring at the pages before me, but the screaming had stopped by the time I’d memorised almost every line. There was a slight chill to the air as the sun began its descent back to Earth, but my gaze refused to stop whirring across the words etched into the parchment.
When the sins of thy forebears run thick in the veins of their kin, and fate is tethered to ruin, there exists but one desperate reprieve. Yon noble-hearted shalt seek the Nightborn, whose hunger knows no end, and offer forth the vessel of thy flesh.
I rest my head against the bark of the tree behind me, letting my eyelids flutter shut as I put two and two together. The Nightborn couldn’t have been anything other than a creature of the night, and if the words which stained the parchment meant what I thought they did…
Thine cursed ichor shalt be drawn, each drop a whisper to the past and a plea for forgiveness. The silence of thy grave will beckon thee, and in that silence the thread is cut. In that hollow chamber, the curse is no more.
My fingernails dug harshly into the nailbed of my thumb as I tried to deny myself of what I’d just read—but there it was, as plain as day. Yaxley had either thought it was an incredibly funny time to play a prank, or he was simply the most delusional person I’d ever met. To be drained of blood, to be beckoned by my grave… I wouldn’t survive this Curse. It would take my life, one way or the other, and there was absolutely nothing that anybody could do to stop it. Yet beware, for to tempt the Nightborn is to— “I didn’t take you for a tree-hugger, Greengrass.” I slammed the book shut as the shadow of Malfoy’s toned body shrouded me in darkness, his snarky voice eliciting a scowl to crease my brows. My back remained pressed against the rough surface of the tree, and I suddenly became increasingly aware of the fact that I was cornered. “Well, I suppose the clue’s in your name, isn’t it?” He continued, scoffing to himself as he lowered into a crouching position before me. “What’s that you’re reading? Those sketches seem quite… vivid, to say the least.” “How long have you been standing there? You’re not still spying on me, are you?” I sneered, pushing myself off the grass and watching as Malfoy mirrored me, his hand extended to request the book. “Besides, it’s none of your business. Since you’re not flocking around your father like a little lamb, I can only assume he’s been locked up for good this time.” Malfoy’s haughty expression vanished instantly, the muscles of his jaw feathering as his glare turned venomous. “At least mine is loyal to the cause.” “You can’t truly believe that.” I frowned, extinguishing the fury in Malfoy’s gaze with solemnity as I tucked the book beneath my unmarked arm. Stuck between him and the tree, I watched as his eyes lingered on my own—as if trying to decipher every whisper, every doubt, every fear that plagued my thoughts. I hadn’t heard his voice in my mind, but I tilted my head in exasperation, nonetheless. “You might be a skilled Legilimens, but you’re wasting your talents on me. Instead of prying into my mind, you could’ve just spoken to me like a person, and I probably would’ve answered you.” Malfoy drew a sharp breath, but I ignored him as tranquillity flooded my senses. If my mind was to remain protected against the art of Legilimency, I needed to be emptied of emotion—and unluckily for me, Malfoy conjured such a rage inside of me that I couldn’t bear to look at him. Still no words escaped his lips, but as my eyelids fluttered open once more, his jaw twitched as though he wanted to say something. “Not anymore, though,” I continued, rubbing my sleeve against my dress to force its hem closer to my wrist. A sore ache soon began to sweep across my Mark as I closed the gap between us, as if simply being in the youngest Malfoy’s presence was enough to infect me with illness. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re not interested in playing pals.” A flash of hurt swept across Malfoy’s gaze as he looked down at me, but his jaw rapidly set itself in composure and he snickered. “Why would I want to be friends with someone like you? You’re sick.” “And you’re a Death Eater,” I reasoned, my nose scrunching as I said those dreaded words. Staring up at him through my lashes, I held his gaze and watched as he flinched. His eyes flickered down to my covered forearm, but I hastily stepped away from him before he could grab it and expelled a wry laugh. “I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, but if you want my help killing Dumbledore then you’re really going to have to clean up your act.” Malfoy’s irked scowl became tainted with amusement, and he remained standing by the tree as I began to walk towards the manor. “As if you’d willingly help me.” “I suppose we’ll just have to see,” I said testily, the wind carrying my voice as I extended the distance between us. “But then again, standing on the right side of things has never been your strong suit.” The book had begun to grow heavy in my arms, but I embraced it nonetheless and tried to ignore Malfoy as he called after me. He let out a short, gladdened breath, but his tone was mockingly thoughtful. “And yet, I’m on the same side as you.” It was a wonder that my eyes didn’t spin back into my skull with the force of which I rolled them, and I threw my hair over my shoulder as I turned back to glare at him. “I’d hardly say that we’re on the same side but enjoy it while it lasts.” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest as he lazily leant back against the tree, snickering to himself as he watched me spin on my heel. “Oh, I will. I’ll see you at dinner, Greengrass.” My finger was already aimed over my shoulder at him, the crude gesture serving as a reminder that firstly, we weren’t friends, and secondly, that he was the worst host I’d ever had the displeasure of staying with.
What a prick.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝕯ATE PUBLISHED: 7th March, 2025𝖂ORD COUNT: 3,280
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
04. ⠀⠀Breaker, BrokenDiagon Alley ⠀⠀°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⠀⠀3rd August, 1996 “What the ever-loving fuck happened to you?” I raised my gaze from the curse-breaking book with boredom etched across my features, the thirty-ninth page remaining half-read as Daphne emerged from the fireplace. For hours I’d flicked through every worn page of the book, my eyes skimming each line until a steady ache in my temples had forced me to take a break. But it wasn’t the words or the illustrations or the false hope that had been the source of the dull throbbing in my head—it was the fact that the pages about the Nightborn had disappeared entirely. I’d searched across the manor for the missing pages, which could’ve been torn out by a misbehaving House-elf or some other cretin that lingered in the dungeons. Unfortunately, the Malfoys’ didn’t own a House-elf—and if the distant clatters which once echoed from the dungeons had meant that something was alive down there, then the prevailing silence now was answer enough. Daphne crossed her arms and shot me a look of disapproval as she stepped further into the drawing room in which I sat; my knees tucked tightly to my chest upon one of the many plush chaise lounges. Expelling a sigh, my eyes glazed over the last sentence before I firmly shut the book and lowered my legs to the floor. “Do the Malfoys’ grow their own fruit and veg?” Daphne prompted when I didn’t answer her, a frown creasing her brows. “We should’ve told them you only like the lettuce grown by Madam Hellsing up in the Lakes.” My features soured as I looked at my sister through my lashes, a mixture of confusion and exasperation colouring my pale cheeks. “What?” “You’re looking a bit peaky,” she tried to explain, watching as I put the book on the low table next to the chaise lounge and stood up. The sudden movement caused stars to dance across my vision, and paired with the fresh bruise gracing my eyebrow, it was a challenge to keep myself steady. Emotional tactility had never been Daphne’s strong suit, but as she pressed her lips together and gave me a sidelong glance, I knew that it was her way of showing concern. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the discolouration to my eyebrow, and her folded arms dropped to her sides as she took a step closer to me. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and held me in an embrace, her fingers delicately stroking the crown of my head. “What happened?” Again, words failed me; my stiff frame restricted beneath Daphne’s hug. In an attempt to shake her off, I rotated my shoulders and practically begged for space—the air had thickened in light of my own panic, and my chest heaved with the undiluted fear that I was suffocating. “It’s nothing,” I murmured, stepping away from her and raising my hand to my face, my fingers gently pressing the bruised skin. A sharp wince ground through my teeth, but I instead tried to hide my movements by tucking strands of my hair behind my ear. “Just polishing up some of my deflective spell work.” “You’re barely a fourth year! You haven’t even begun to learn that yet,” Daphne retorted, her gaze leaving mine as she directed her attention to the room in which we stood. “Some of them are here, aren’t they? The Death Eaters that broke out of Azkaban?” Nodding my head, I arched my neck to follow her line of sight. She’d pinpointed a cabinet in the drawing room, which was host to a scroll with the numerals one through ten inscribed upon it. The first and second line had been filled in with archaic scripture, and I released a sigh as Daphne began to step towards it. “You won’t be able to read it,” I informed her, looking down to my fingernails as I began to pick at my nailbeds. “I’ve already tried. It’s in Latin, or some other out-dated language that’s practically extinct.” Daphne tilted her head as she stopped before the ornate cabinet, and from the corner of my eye I saw her raise a hand to the glass. “Just because you can’t read it doesn’t mean that I can’t. I’m older, and smarter, and—hmm.” My head whipped towards her as she cut herself off, my interest piqued at the possibility that she’d actually worked it out. “What is it?” “Well,” Daphne began, prolonging her sentence until I moved to stand by her side. She raised a manicured finger to the cabinet and tapped the glass repetitively, which unsurprisingly irked me after the ninth time, so I sharply elbowed her arm and watched as she flinched. “Hey! That symbol right there—” she paused to raise her hand to the glass again, “—looks familiar to something I saw in Ancient Runes last year.” “Familiar? You’ve come across it before?” The words had escaped my lips before I could stop them, and my eyes had involuntarily widened in utter disbelief. Daphne pressed her lips together as she used her hands to tuck her blonde locks behind her ears, the clogs in her brain whirring as she tried to recall the memory. “I said familiar, Astoria, not an exact match. I can’t really remember what it means.” When I rolled my eyes and turned away from the little cabinet, Daphne expelled a sigh. “Look, I didn’t pass my O.W.L in Ancient Runes for a reason, okay?” She whined, but I merely bent down to pick up my curse-breaking book and cradled it closely to my chest. “Have you asked Draco what it could mean? Surely, he’d know, since it’s in his house—and I’m pretty sure that Pansy told me he passed all his O.W.Ls, which means he passed Ancient Runes, too.” Well, obviously, since that’s what passing all of his O.W.Ls would mean. It’s quite a shame, really. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to take the Mark, he would’ve been a perfect match for my sister. I shook my head at the thought, and this accurately transpired into my stance on asking Draco Malfoy for anything. I’d have to be scraping the bottom of the barrel or crawling through the darkest layer of Hell before I turned to him for help. “Why not?” Daphne persisted, spinning away from the cabinet as she put her hands on her hips. “Where is he, anyway?” “I couldn’t care less about Malfoy’s whereabouts,” I sighed, my gaze catching upon my wand which lay atop one of the tables. “In fact, I try my best to not know where he is, because trouble has a way of finding him.” I slowly made my way over to it, and as my fingers grazed my ash wand, the book in my arms vanished. “I heard Father’s moved up in the Ministry,” I began, looking over my shoulder as I changed the topic of conversation, but Daphne’s features had morphed into one of pure bewilderment and I knew that we weren’t going to be discussing our father’s new job anytime soon. “How did you do that?” She asked after a moment, her gaze flicking between my now-empty arms and my wand. “You didn’t even—how did you—where’d it go?” “The nightstand next to my bed,” I answered plainly, bringing my hand to my head and wincing as I remembered the lingering bruise. “Bellatrix taught me how to do it in one of our lessons. You give and you get.” Daphne’s face paled as her blue eyes latched onto the bruise again, and as the light dimmed from her eyes, I could tell that she finally understood. But as she walked past me and stopped in front of the fireplace, covering her clean fingers with Floo powder, I balked. “Where are you going?” Daphne looked over her shoulder with deliberate slowness, her soft blonde hair forming a curtain which covered half of her face. Her lips parted as she debated which response to give, but as the corners twitched into a sly smile, she simply held her hand out towards me. “I think the real question is where are we going.” ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Daphne and I are very different people. I was reminded of this fact as I stood outside of Twilfitt and Tattings in Diagon Alley, the mind-numbing display on the windows blinding me with brightly flashing colours. The sheer volume of witches in the shop was enough to nauseate me, and the added aromas of countless different hair potions and perfumes only added fuel to the fire. Ever since the merger between Madam Primrose’s Potion and Pamper Boutique, and Twilfitt and Tattings, the entire quarter of Diagon Alley’s south side had become worse than a Boggart’s nightmare. I’d assured Daphne that I was fine with waiting outside, and that the fresh air would do me good, but being alone in a vastly overcrowded space did nothing but fill me with dread. My gaze kept scattering from the boarded-up windows of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour to the shadowed entrance of Knockturn Alley, as if someone would Apparate out of thin air and take me back to the Dark Lord. As far as I knew, there wasn’t a rule that forbade me from leaving Malfoy Manor—but I wouldn’t put it past any of his followers to pluck me out of the crowd and put me right back in the den of dragons. I hastily shook my head to dispel the pathetic uneasiness from my mind, reverting my attention to Twilfitt and Tattings to see if Daphne was any closer to finishing. Through the foggy glass window, I could see her inside the shop, waiting in line to get an autograph from Madam Primrose herself—but as my eyes refocused onto my reflection, my blood ran cold. Daphne’s reflection was standing next to mine, yet I could still see the outline of her blonde head queuing inside. As I stood frozen to the spot, my eyes glued to the echoed images of me and my sister, I blanched at the sight of my gaunt features staring back at me. Strokes of purple brushed my undereye, and the hollows of my cheekbone invoked a sickly feeling in the pits of my stomach. The crowd around me didn’t exist anymore—their harmonious voices dulled into nothing, their faces a blur of features that twisted to glare at me for what I’d become. Pulling my left sleeve further down my arm, I watched as my double instead pulled its sleeve upwards, a manic, unnatural grin spreading across its lips as the Dark Mark infected my pale skin. Daphne’s reflection merely stared blankly at me, its eyes unseeing and milky, as if the very essence of her soul had been stolen away from her. We were but a shadow of the breaker and the broken. I wasn’t breathing anymore. Paralysed by fear, my blue eyes pleaded with the reflection of Daphne to vanish, or at least to return to normal—but her lips unpeeled from one another as though they’d been sewn shut, and she screamed. Her scream tore through the air, high-pitched and unnatural, like a dying animal’s final cry. It wasn’t just loud—it vibrated through my brittle bones, rattling my skull with a sound too sharp, too wrong to belong to anything living. I stumbled backwards, the breath finally returning to my lungs as my chest heaved with panic. As my steps became quicker, my foot caught upon something—no, someone. A gasp escaped me as I braced for impact, but instead of cold stone, I landed against warmth. Strong hands found my waist, steadying me as I blinked up, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt, but not from the fall. “It’s not often that I sweep a girl off her feet,” a voice snickered from behind me, pushing me into an upright position as I squirmed to get out of his grasp. James Fawley was not a welcomed sight, and my prior embarrassment faded as irritation took hold of my senses. His smarmy smirk was unwavering as he jumped his brows and gave me a sidelong glance, his hands finding his pockets. “Leave me alone,” I huffed, tugging the dark fabric of my dress over my shoulder from where it had slipped. My furrowed brows remained in place as I backed away from the Gryffindor, but upon noticing the unease that still lingered on my expression, he quickly latched his hand around my left wrist. “What’s up with you?” James asked, his gaze darkening as he studied the hostility searing through my skin. His dark hair fell in ruffled waves, growing even messier as the summer breeze swept through it, but I clenched my jaw and turned away as I willed myself to focus on anything—anyone—else. “Are you here on your own?” “Daphne’s in the shop,” I ground out, trying to tug my wrist out of his fingers, but I soon relented as his grip became firmer. “Let me go, will you?” James’s teeth punctured his lower lip as he looked between me and the flashing display of Twilfitt and Tattings, expelling a sigh to clear his confusion. “Did the colours scare you or something? I suppose it’s all doom and gloom inside St. Mungo’s, so it’s not surprising that you—” “St. Mungo’s?” I cut him off, yanking my wrist away from him as soon as his fingers slackened. “Who told you I was in St. Mungo’s?” Sensing a shift in my attitude, James exhaled a sharp breath and swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in discomfiture. “You know, when word got around about your… well, that thing with your family—with the err—with the curse… people just assumed—” I pressed my lips together as James’s sentence trailed into nothing, my gaze sweeping down to the cobblestones beneath my feet. Before me stood a metaphorical crossroad which would likely decide how I would live out the remainder of my pitiful life. One path led to the forced explanation that I’d been spending the summer holidays with the Malfoy family, locked up in their manor as they stained my forearm with a pledge of allegiance to the Dark Lord. The other path was brimming with deceit, but if I lied to James and admitted that I’d been held hostage to the malady ward at St. Mungo’s—no questions would be asked. As my gaze rose to meet his, I nodded my head and let a weak smile play upon my lips. “I wasn’t scared, Fawley. I’m just… it’s been quite an adjustment, getting used to everything.” James mirrored my nod, his jaw tensing with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. He licked his lips as he stared down at me, and it was very obvious that he didn’t know what to say. My smile wavered as I broke our eye contact, the bile rising in my throat as I risked a glance back at Twilfitt and Tattings. The chilling ghost of my sister had vanished from the window’s reflection, but I let the chill shiver through me, nonetheless. “Does this mean that you’ll be back at Hogwarts?” James finally asked, his feet shuffling as he tried to reclaim my attention. “Grim’s nervous about being Sorted this year, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that the Astoria Greengrass, lover of bedtime stories, will be there to cheer him on.” “I haven’t read to him in years,” I countered with an eye roll, but an unfamiliar smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. “But I suppose I was the better storyteller, wasn’t I?” “Well, you haven’t got the word story in your name for nothing.” An amused scoff echoed through my body, swiftly accompanied by a grin. “I’m surprised you weren’t Sorted into Ravenclaw with that god-awful wit of yours.” “It sounds to me like you’re just jealous you weren’t put in Gryffindor,” James tested, his nose scrunching playfully as the sun began to set across the buildings around us. “I’ve already told Grim that if he’s put into Slytherin like you, he’ll never hear the end of it.” My tongue lined the outside of my teeth as I shook my head, but my brows knit together as my gaze flickered to the emptying alley. “Speaking of Grim, where is he?” “Ollivanders is shut for some reason, so he’s off with Mum trying to find somewhere else to buy a wand,” James shrugged, kicking a stone with his foot as he remained oblivious to my ever-darkening expression. “Jimmy Kiddell’s shop is quite the stretch, but a wand’s a wand for a wizard in need.” The Wizarding World was being ripped apart at the seams, and there wasn’t anything that anybody could do about it. Merlin, they didn’t even know that Death Eaters had taken Ollivander hostage—although admittedly, the thought of asking why he’d been taken hadn’t crossed my mind, so perhaps I was just as ignorant as the rest of them. I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing my expression to smooth out before James could catch on. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. No one did. That was the problem. James kicked at another stone, still oblivious. “I saw Malfoy earlier, by the way. Looked like he was heading for Knockturn Alley. Seemed to be in a right hurry.” My fingers curled into fists before I could stop them. “Of course he was.” My voice came out sharper than intended, but I didn’t bother softening it. James raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know what he was up to, but I reckon it wasn’t anything good.” He snorted. “Then again, when is Malfoy up to anything good?” My teeth clenched. “Never.” Malfoy could have been up to anything—buying some cursed object, making a deal with a Death Eater, or just sulking like the miserable little coward he was. Not that I cared. Whatever idiotic scheme he was tangled up in, it was his problem. I had enough of my own. Before I could respond, the door to Twilfitt and Tattings creaked open, and Daphne stepped out, a crisp shopping bag swinging from her wrist. Her sharp gaze landed on me instantly. “There you are,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Come on, Astoria, we’re leaving. Can you believe it? That bitch Lavender Brown scooped up half of the Gossamer Kiss Lip Tints, which only left five each for me and Pansy! An absolute outrage, if you ask me, considering I doubt she’ll be kissing any boys this year with that hag-spawned hairstyle of hers.” Relief flooded through me, partly due to the fact that my sister’s eyes had returned to normal—not at all like that haunting reflection I’d imagined earlier—albeit they were burning with unfathomable rage. “Right. Sorry, Fawley. I’ll catch you later?” I didn’t wait for his reply before turning on my heel and following Daphne down the alley, my heart hammering against my ribs. °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝕯ATE PUBLISHED: 21st March, 2025𝖂ORD COUNT: 3,145