Covered in Crimson

Three Years and Four Months Ago

It had been nearly a year since the last student set foot in Hogwarts castle for the purposes of formal education. Ten long months since a class convened in these ancient halls. But that didn’t mean that learning had halted. To the contrary, there was a secreted group of young fighters using the erstwhile school as a research facility and base of operations.

The idea had been left behind by their former Potions Master in a note tucked among the vast array of prepared potions, rare ingredients, and sheaves of battle strategies for both the Dark and Light. He’d sketched out dozens of likely scenarios, contingencies and countermeasures in minute detail. It was clear he’d worked on these documents for months, not just the short ten days that they’d known that the school would be shuttered. It caused the hidden fledgling soldiers to see their old teacher in a new light. He really had been in their camp the whole time. That he’d found ways to continue to assist their research and planning after he’d disappeared underground had been nothing short of miraculous. His recent murder had been an immeasurable emotional and tactical blow. In the midst of their mourning for his loss, they had all hoped that they would continue to find his gems of wisdom and inspiration among the vast stores that he’d left behind.

The group keeping cover in plain sight at Hogwarts had been individually and personally invited to stay on as “laboratory assistants” for the remaining professors by Headmaster Dumbledore. They all met certain criteria; each would turn at least sixteen by the end of what would have been the current school year, each was a capable witch or wizard who excelled in at least one discipline, and each had taken an Unbreakable Vow to support the cause of fighting for the Light against the Dark Wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort. The assembly was comprised of eight Gryffindors, six Ravenclaws, and five Hufflepuffs. There were no Slytherin representatives among them, to no one’s great surprise.

Fred, George, and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, and of course, Harry Potter made up the contingent from the red-and-gold house. Ron Weasley, while with them in spirit, continued to be a resident of the long-term care ward at St. Mungo’s. There was no telling if or when he’d recover sufficiently to join his friends in the war effort. He’d only just begun to take solid nutrients, and his motor functions were still equivalent to those of a very young toddler. The Healers had marveled that he’d survived at all, but were not especially hopeful for a positive prognosis.

Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood, Lisa Turpin, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Mandy Brocklehurst represented the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuff refugees were Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Megan Jones.

Most of the nineteen teenagers were training alongside members of the Order of the Phoenix under the guidance of a small contingent of Aurors, most of whom were also pledged to the Order. A tiny team of two was otherwise occupied. Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom were embroiled in the most important research project ever undertaken by a witch or wizard. They were charged with discovering the likely items and their respective locations that were the hiding places for pieces of Voldemort’s soul. None of them had ever heard the term “Horcrux” before they’d been set upon this quest. Now it consumed every waking moment and haunted every nightmare. Once the items were identified and located, it would be primarily Harry’s job to dispose of them. He wouldn’t be unaided, but the burden would most certainly fall most heavily on his own seventeen-year-old shoulders.

They’d been afforded a head start by the fact that two known Horcruxes had already been destroyed. Their research, facilitated profoundly by the documentation and insights left behind by Severus Snape had yielded evidence that at least four more existed, with the possibility of a seventh. Throughout his exile, Snape had found ways to continually forward new clues and ideas, and they’d had solid leads on at least two objects within weeks of beginning their search. It had taken another two months, but those dark objects had ceased to pose a threat to the future of the Wizarding World when they were demolished by Harry and his Headmaster. They were better than half-way through their mission when the skirmishes that had occurred with some regularity exploded into full-blown warfare.

Death Eaters had begun to target Muggleborn witches and wizards early in the conflict, and added terror to their strategies by slaughtering extended families including aunts, uncles, and cousins once parents, siblings, and grandparents had been “expunged.” Among the first families targeted were the Grangers. Despite Hermione’s attempts to hide her mother and father overseas, they’d been discovered and brutally murdered. Two uncles, an aunt, and four cousins had been next on the list. They were not the only victims, by far. Justin’s family had been among the early losses, and it was sheer luck that he’d not been counted with the dead. He’d returned to Hogwarts after a visit with his family only two hours before the Killing Squad had struck.

It quickly became clear that Muggleborns’ families were an enticing target, being so defenseless against Dark Magic, but not the only ones. It seemed that every time a gathering of more than two or three Light sympathizers was convened, they became fodder for a Death Eater raid. All these months later, the Order still had been unable to determine how Voldemort and his minions knew where and when these meetings were being held. They’d been so careful in their communication and in who was trusted with that information. The Unbreakable Vows they’d all taken virtually guaranteed that there would be no traitors, but somehow the venues had been compromised time and again. The death toll mounted rapidly.

But the Death Eaters had suffered their own casualties, too. The Order had developed their own stealthy strike methods and had killed or captured nearly one-third of the known active supporters of the Dark Lord. The mounting losses began to weigh heavily on everyone, and many began to question the wisdom of continuing the fight.

Lucius Malfoy was one such wizard. He’d known from the start that the Light side had larger numbers and better leadership. He’d recognized that the advantage originally held by the Dark Lord in ruthlessness and zealousness could be quickly bridged. The problem for Lucius and his family was their long-standing support and funding of Dark and conservative pureblood policies. His position in the Ministry and with his Wizengamot seat had always been to preserve the old ways and to give preference to purebloods in everything from taxation to job assignments. His record was well known. With the growing casualty list on both sides, the tide of public opinion had begun to turn, however, and the Malfoys were on the wrong side of the breakwater, at least overtly. Something would have to change, but any transition would be complicated and messy. It would take every bit of Slytherin cunning that he’d ever had to allow his family to emerge alive, if not unscathed.

Lucius’ wife Narcissa had for months been avoiding any contact with her husband’s “business associates” and had claimed frail health more than once when her presence had been requested either by Voldemort himself or her sister Bellatrix at various Death Eater meetings and revels. The Dark Lord had been effectively silenced on this matter when Lucius spoke of her “womanly troubles” in begging excuse for her absence. The Malfoy patriarch had found that there was no quicker way to get a topic changed than to bring up the female reproductive system at a Death Eater meeting. For this, he and his wife were most grateful.

The truth of Narcissa’s condition was that it was all a ruse in which they both participated to the fullest extent. She had made it clear that she would have nothing to do with the Dark Side fight, and her resolve only grew as she saw her son become more embroiled in the brutality. Narcissa lamented the loss of Draco as though he’d died; the change in him was so dramatic.

Three Months Earlier…

“Lucius, this has been going on for months. I don’t recognize that young man any longer. He may walk around in my son’s body, but what’s inside is not the Draco I brought into this world,” she avowed.

Lucius’ reply, for once, was supportive and confirming. “I must agree that there is something exceptionally odd happening with him. I’ve had occasion to observe him at raids and revels several times, and the, uh, pleasure he takes in what he does is …unnatural. Fighting in battles results in deaths and injuries, and that’s the definition of what we do in a war, but there’s something else going on. It’s…troubling.”

“What do you mean … ‘unnatural pleasure’?” she probed, fearful that she already knew the answer.

“Uh, sexual gratification,” he mumbled in response, uncharacteristic embarrassment staining his cheeks. “In the extreme.”

Narcissa’s retort was a gasp followed immediately by a dash to her private bath in as ladylike fashion as she could muster. When she returned, her dignity gathered back around her like a cashmere cloak, she posed another question. “Has he become a sadist, like Bella?”

“I’d say that’s accurate,” Lucius sadly acknowledged.

“Then it’s time, Lucius. We must develop an exit strategy, even if it means going so far as faking our deaths and hiding permanently on another continent. The war is not going well, and you know it. It’s only a matter of time before the Dark Lord falls in defeat, I feel quite certain.”

“I can’t deny that the war has not been going as well as the Dark Lord would prefer, but I wouldn’t say that his defeat is either imminent or sure, Narcissa. He’s had a great deal of success lately in recruiting other … magical beings to his side. What makes you think the way you do?” he challenged.

She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Lucius, I must insist that before we speak further we invoke the marriage vow rite.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow in surprise. This request was possibly the most extraordinary thing he’d ever heard. The marriage vow rite was the most sacred magic that could be cast. It superseded even the Unbreakable Vow in secrecy and in consequences. Its breach would not only nullify a marriage and render its violator dead, but had the power to negate all effects of the marriage. In simplest terms, it could make the offspring of the union simply cease to exist as though they’d never been born. If his wife felt that strongly about what she was about to share, it was dire indeed.

“I see,” he whispered, and nodded his head in acquiescence. That Narcissa was ready and able to perform the rite meant that she’d been thinking about this for some time. This was not a part of a magical human’s typical spell repertoire.

Narcissa extended her hand to her husband of twenty-two years and guided him to his knees. She joined him on her knees with all the grace of the pureblood Lady that she was and when they were face to face and hip to hip, she instructed him to encircle her with his arms. She replicated his action so that they were tightly embracing. This rite was so powerful that a wand would not be necessary.

“By right of marriage, I invoke this vow. As solemn as our oath of fidelity, as intimate as our marriage bed, as secret as the depths of our hearts, let no magic, no person, no circumstance penetrate what we henceforth share. On pain of death for us and our progeny, so mote it be.”

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before accepting the vow. “So mote it be.”

“This vow must be sealed in the same way as our original pledge of marriage.”

Lucius gently and reverently kissed his wife, recreating the sacramental and consecratory kiss that they’d shared so many years earlier. His eyes drifted shut briefly as he touched his forehead to hers, feeling both overcome with the waves of powerful magic that coursed their bodies and anxious about what his wife was about to tell him.

They rose together and sat side by side on the blue velvet sofa in their bedroom.

“What do you have to say to me, Narcissa, that requires a vow so grave?”

“I’ve been keeping several important things from you, Lucius. But now you need to know.”

He took her hand in encouragement, and shifted slightly in his seat to face her more fully. At his nod, she continued.

“For more than a year, I’ve been reunited with my sister Andromeda, and I’ve been meeting with her regularly,” she confessed, waiting while he absorbed the implications.

“Well, that’s clearly an enormous surprise,” he acknowledged. “But there is obviously more to it than a family reunion.”

“You know that Andy has a daughter? She’s an Auror and a member of the Order. I’ve been feeding them any information I pick up from either you or Bella for months. I’ve also led them to believe that it was with your knowledge and permission.”

Lucius was not one who was easily stunned, but this revelation was almost too much for him to comprehend. He gaped at his wife, unable to form the questions in his mind into words that he could utter.

“Tell me why you’ve done this, Narcissa,” he pleaded, not willing to leap to inaccurate conclusions.

“We needed to establish a way out. I’ve found it. It won’t be quick, and it won’t be easy, but I think the path I’ve set us on will allow us to escape with our lives. I’m hopeful that somewhere along the way we’ll be able to discover why Draco has embraced his aunt’s depraved lifestyle and bring him back to us, but my worst fear is that he may already be completely lost. Are you willing to listen to my plan? Are you finally ready to consider abandoning this folly for the sake of our family?”

He rose from the sofa and paced the room slowly, running a hand over his face. “Do you realize what you’re asking me to do, Narcissa? This is incredibly dangerous! If you tell me your plan, the Dark Lord could discover it during his frequent Legilimency forays. I’m skilled at Occlumency, but not enough to block him consistently.”

“I know, Lucius, but I think it’s worth the risk. If we don’t leave him, we will end up dead anyway. I’d rather we die knowing we’ve acted with courage and dignity rather than as battle fodder for that madman,” she stated firmly.

He stopped his frantic pacing and dropped back onto the sofa, knowing that he’d reached the point of no return. He would hear her plan, and would likely agree to it, because it was clear that she was right. Regardless of short-term gains and victorious battles, the likelihood of the Dark Lord prevailing in the long term was rapidly diminishing.

“Tell me.”

Narcissa cleared her throat and began her tale. “Many months ago, just before Draco took the Mark, you remember that I left for several days to have some time to think. Before I returned, I sent a letter to Andromeda with a request that we meet. She agreed to see me, and I spent three days with her before I returned to the Manor. We reconciled when I told her that I regretted my opposition to her marriage, and she forgave me. We’ve been in contact ever since. I’ve told her that I have been questioning the whole basis for this conflict, and that I no longer support the Dark Lord’s goals. Since then, I’ve been aiding the Order in any way that I can by sharing anything that I think may be of value.”

“And what does this mean for the future? What is your plan?”

“I know that there are still likely to be many months of war before this madness ends, but I will do whatever I can to hasten that outcome. I want you to assist us by giving us more information that will be useful in bringing down the Dark Lord. In exchange, the Order will shield us – including Draco – should that become necessary. For this to work, however, there will be a price to pay.”

“And what is that price?”

“My death…”

“What?! That’s ridiculous and I wo..”

Narcissa interrupted his rant with a raised hand and a smile on her face. “Let me finish, Lucius, before you jump off the precipice. My death will be staged. It will allow me to operate without the restrictions placed on the wife of Lucius Malfoy, and you will still be able to play your role as a ‘loyal’ supporter of the Dark Lord while funneling intelligence to the Order through me.”

Not yet convinced of the wisdom of this approach, Lucius rose once again to retrace his earlier worried steps. “How would this work?”

“Sit down, Lucius. You’re going to wear out the floor,” she warned, a sly smile gracing her delicate features. She knew she’d won. “I will begin feigning an illness, of the ‘female trouble’ sort. No one in the Death Eater ranks would dare question or interfere in a matter so personal. The duration of my ailment can draw out as long as necessary to establish as much intelligence and build enough of an exit plan so that we are fully protected. I am most pained to say this, but I think it will be unavoidable to keep the truth from Draco. He cannot be trusted to keep our confidence in his current state, I fear.”

“I would agree that you’d have no meddling under that scenario, with the possible exception of your sister Bella.” When Lucius saw his wife shake her head in denial, he continued. “And I agree that we should not involve Draco. He’s too unstable. But how would you maintain contact with me?”

“That could get a little tricky, but not impossible. Andy and Ted have offered me their hospitality and I can come back to the Manor periodically under a heavy glamour. No one would begrudge you ‘company’ - after a sufficient period of mourning, of course.”

“You’ve obviously been thinking about this for some time, Cissy. I must confess I’m a bit unsettled that you’ve gone so far in your planning without sharing any of this with me.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but I had to be certain that you’d be receptive before I told you what I’ve been doing. It’s only in the last several weeks that I’ve seen your anxiety and dissatisfaction become more pronounced. I felt the time was right to speak now. I apologize if I’ve hurt you by my deception, but please understand that I’ve done it all for us.”

Once Lucius’ agreement had been secured, Narcissa had set her plan into motion. There really wasn’t all that much to do; the most challenging element was convincing people she felt unwell. A little less blush, a little more powder, a pale yellow robe – each contributed to a look of pallor that exceeded her normal dainty complexion. Soon, people began inquiring after her health on a regular basis and her illness was unquestioned.

Lucius had done his part convincingly, acting the concerned husband and showing worry lines on his face with increasing frequency. What his associates did not know was the true source of his disquiet. He had begun to feed information more regularly to the Order through Narcissa’s contacts with her sister and niece. He was petrified that he’d be discovered and executed before their plan to subvert the Dark Lord and escape with their lives intact could come to fruition.

The information Lucius supplied had assisted the team at Hogwarts in confirming the seventh Horcrux. While the additional fragment was unwelcome news, the clarity it provided was necessary and appreciated. What Potter and company did not yet know was the source of their intelligence. Their unknown benefactor’s identity would be revealed in months to come in a most surprising manner.

But today, Dumbledore’s Army, as they’d come to call themselves, were celebrating another victory. One more Horcrux was gone.

When Severus had been ambushed and murdered a few months earlier, they had worried that their source of insight into Death Eater strategies and mentality was lost forever. It was only two months later that a new source had begun to trickle in data that proved to be immensely useful. The intelligence they’d gained had allowed them to locate and destroy the fifth Horcrux and had confirmed the existence of the seventh. The setting and identity of the last two pieces of evil were maddeningly elusive, however. A strategy meeting of the Order was convened to brainstorm new ideas and tactics to find the missing items.

“We’ve been all over Great Britain and Europe, Professor, and it’s incredibly frustrating to think we’re no closer to success with these last items than we were six months ago,” Hermione whined.

“I wouldn’t say that, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore admonished. “After all, we’ve confirmed that there is in fact a seventh element. Six months ago, we had only identified and destroyed two Horcruxes. We’ve clearly made significant progress.”

Sighing deeply, she acknowledged the truth of his statement. “I know you’re right. It just feels like we’re stuck in quicksand right now. The more we dig, the deeper we get. Thank Merlin for Professor Snape’s research, sir, because we’d have been lost without it. I know we didn’t see him at all after he fled Hogwarts, but his presence was so rich by virtue of what he left behind and what he sent to us. I never thought I’d ever say it, but I miss him,” the curly-haired Gryffindor sniffed sadly.

She sat silently as plans and ideas swirled around the room, lost in thought about the event that had taken their most valuable agent from them. There had been a sudden flurry of especially violent activity and the result had been an enormous increase in civilian casualties. Dumbledore and crew had been desperate to stem the flow of blood and had put out several feelers to see if any new sources could be developed. Word had apparently reached someone who claimed to have critical intelligence. There was a catch, however. The source would only share the information with a Slytherin, under a ridiculously stringent set of conditions, and the only green-and-silver house alumnus at their disposal was the former Potions professor. After much discussion and numerous entreaties to ignore what was probably a trap, Snape had sent word that the risks of snubbing the informant were greater than the jeopardy to their operative. He would go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Draco Malfoy’s departure from Hogwarts had been anticlimactic, his life in the ensuing months had been a series of tests, trials, and battles. His opponents had come from every angle. The Dark Lord’s fury at Snape’s escape and Dumbledore’s survival had meant several painful sessions under the Cruciatus curse for his young acolyte. As the target of Bella’s wand, Draco had learned quickly that one did not fail a mission and escape punishment.

Draco had returned to Malfoy Manor immediately when the school had been closed, on his father’s orders. The senior Malfoy had insisted that he continue some form of self-education and had locked his son inside the Manor’s massive library for three hours a day for the first two months after his return to Wiltshire. Lucius had employed a tutor who periodically tested Draco’s progress and reported results of the teen’s successes – and failures – in Potions, Charms, Transfiguration and Dark Arts. Voldemort’s youngest Death Eater had excelled in two topics and barely passed muster in the other two, and had complained loudly and often that Charms and Transfiguration would do little to help in ensuring his success in battle.

What Lucius did not know was that his son was taking other lessons of a less academic nature. While the senior Malfoy attended to business at the Ministry or in one of their innumerable commercial holdings, Draco was still busy taking on new skills. An hour or two each day was consumed by training in subterfuge, espionage, and torture – often with live targets – led by Draco’s Aunt Bella and Uncle Rod. That his reward for a lesson well-learned was a large box of his favorite chocolate truffles went unquestioned.

Bella, upon pronouncing Draco’s private tutoring essentially complete, began to assign missions and projects for the young wizard, and his list of quick successes gained him a bit of a reprieve from the intense scrutiny of the Dark Lord. He had been convinced by Bella to see Draco’s renewed enthusiasm as atonement for his earlier missteps in failing to kill both Severus Snape and the Mudblood Hermione Granger, although Draco had been frequently reminded that those two assignments still stood as active. It was with this in mind that he took to the dark and narrow paths of Knockturn Alley and the slightly more active streets of Diagon Alley.

The young blond had become especially adept at self-concealment and was a true master of the Disillusionment spell. He’d even learned to mask his scent and muffle the sound of his own breathing to such a degree that he could stand within a few centimeters of a target and remain completely undiscovered. It was by this strategy that he learned of the quest for strategic intelligence upon which Albus Dumbledore had embarked. The clever teen recognized an opportunity to either spread some disinformation or draw out an Order spy from deep cover. It would be a great boon if it was one of his two key targets, but he would need a bit of assistance to accomplish either goal.

“Aunt Bella, I need some advice,” he’d stated the next time she visited for one of their extracurricular endeavors.

“Anything for my darling nephew,” she cooed, drawing a long finger across the light stubble he’d left unshaved on his jaw. She pretended not to notice when he shivered at her touch, endlessly amused that he was either revolted or aroused by the contact.

He drew away slightly, pacing back and forth in an effort to demonstrate either his discomfort with her or his concern for the problem he’d mentioned – he wasn’t really sure which the case was. “I overheard something on one of my reconnaissance missions and I’m not exactly sure what to do with it. I see a couple of possibilities, but I’m not certain which would gain us best advantage.”

“Tell me what you heard, and what you think your options are, and I will guide you to the best decision,” she’d offered.

“It seems that the old man is desperate to develop new intelligence sources, and he’s put out the word among some people that he thinks are trustworthy in Diagon Alley. I was there when two old hags were discussing the wisdom of getting involved on either side. It seemed wise to keep my mouth shut and listen, and that’s how I heard about his plea for help.”

“Interesting,” Bella breathed, mostly to herself. “Either their sources are not getting what they need or have been compromised so as to be unhelpful.” She suddenly roused herself from her internal musing and remembered her nephew’s anxious presence. She bade him to continue with a wave of her hand. “And?”

“I thought of two ways that we could gain some leverage. The first would be to spread some false information to trip them up. The second would be to use it as a chance to draw out and ambush one of their top spies.” He waited patiently, wondering how his mentor would respond.

“I think the fact that they are searching out new sources tells us that we don’t need to waste time with sending them on wild goose chases; they’re confused enough. The better opportunity would be to lure and eliminate one of their own, and put them even further in the hole. But I can tell, Draco, you are thinking something more. What’s on your mind?”

He was grateful that Bella’s skills in Legilimency were not as advanced as her Occlumency. Regardless of the fact that he’d share his thoughts with her anyway, he despised the feeling of someone poking around in his brain. His own Occlumency skills were superb, but he didn’t like to exercise them if it was unnecessary; it was draining in the extreme. “What if we could ensnare someone specific? Like one of the two people the Dark Lord still wishes me to eliminate?”

“Now you are thinking strategically, Draco!” she enthused. “I think the Dark Lord would be most pleased if you could dispose of the traitor. Your position would be greatly enhanced if you were successful.”

Draco beamed at her praise of his idea. “My thoughts exactly. But how can we get him to come out of hiding?”

“Hmmm,” she tapped a blood-red fingernail against her lips, letting potential tactics flow through her thoughts. “Do you think you could find at least one of those old hags again?”

“Not a problem. They hang around Diagon Alley almost every day. Why?”

“How are you coming with the silent casting of Imperius?” she asked, an idea having clearly taken hold.

“Making good progress, I’d say. Another day or two of practice and I should be ready.”

“Good. I’ll give you a prisoner to work with this afternoon, then. We’ll talk about next steps once you’ve demonstrated your prowess. I’ll test you at the end of the day,” she announced. “Let’s have some lunch.”

Draco escorted his aunt into the small family dining room where they had their fill of sliced cold meats, cheeses, bread and mead. The light meal was capped by a generous serving of the young man’s favorite chocolate treats. He was now most eager to get started on his afternoon of practice.

Bellatrix had selected a young female of about fifteen to serve as Draco’s target for the afternoon. She was the only daughter of a blood traitor and a Mudblood, and had been captured just three days earlier. It was past time that she learned her place, and Bella felt sure that the girl would provide a most entertaining diversion for both herself and her nephew.

The dungeon’s “classroom” was cold, damp, and dark no matter what time of year, and the thin cotton robe, already torn and dirty, offered no protection for the hapless girl who now found herself bound hand and foot in the oddly-equipped space. She had been drugged for the duration of her time in captivity at Malfoy Manor, but had just been fed a potion that minimized the effects. Apparently, she would need to have enough facility to move on her own.

As she gazed around from her perch on a low wooden bench, she noted a stone slab of about two meters square that was supported by two vertical marble supports to about waist height. There were chains affixed to walls, wire cages, a collection of leather whips, and metal implements that looked suspiciously like knives, though they were far enough away from her vision that she couldn’t be certain. Great, she thought, a torture chamber. Her young age did not equate with total naiveté. She was an only daughter, but was the youngest of four. Her three older brothers felt it was their duty to protect her with knowledge. Today, she was wishing they’d ensured her ignorance. For now, she could do nothing but wait.

It was only a few short moments later when the heavy wooden door banged open and Draco Malfoy entered, accompanied by his aunt. Bellatrix raised her wand and cast a quick Crucio spell purely for her own amusement. She only held the curse for a few seconds; not knowing what Draco had planned, she wanted the chit to be able to move. As Bella expected, Draco reacted with a twitch to the sight of the girl in pain. He surreptitiously adjusted his already straining member to temporarily relieve the pressure.

“She’s all yours Draco. Show me what you can do,” Bella whispered in instruction.

Draco attempted to cast a non-verbal Imperio and gave the girl a command. “On your knees.” He was disappointed when she failed to comply immediately, indicating that the curse had not been cast successfully. At his shoulder, Bella observed without comment for a moment, and then whispered something in his ear. He turned his head slightly, looking at her with skepticism evident in his expression. “Really?” he asked.

She smirked and nodded, flashing her eyes to their victim. “Try again,” she encouraged.

Another flick of his wand, this time adding an extra downward stroke and a sub-vocalization of the curse, and he repeated his command. “On your knees.” This time, she complied immediately. “Huh,” Draco grunted. “Who knew?”

“Good. Now you want to see how long you can hold her under your control. Keep giving her commands until she’s able to resist.”

“Crawl over to me.” She complied without hesitation.

He glanced at his aunt, who’d retreated to a corner of the room and conjured a comfortable chaise in which to rest as she watched his practice. She nodded in encouragement. “Go on.”

Months earlier, he’d have been reluctant to follow this particular path, but endless weeks of attending Dark Revels and torture training under his aunt and uncle’s tutelage – aided unbeknownst to him by the cocktail of potions administered in his favorite truffles - had removed any inhibition that Draco had ever had. With a flick of his wand, he removed the bindings that held the girl’s hands behind her back.

“Clasp your hands in front of you.” Again, she followed his order. He retied her hands so that she had minimal movement, but enough to accomplish his aims.

“Unzip my trousers.” Once more, she did as she was bid.

“Gently now. Reach in and grasp my cock.” She did.

“Free it from my pants.” Again, she complied.

“Stroke it.” Her hands went to work, bringing Draco to full arousal.

“Lick it.” Her tongue emerged from her small pink mouth and flicked at the hard, red organ.

“Suck it, bitch. But if you use your teeth, I’ll kill you now.” She used her bound hands to guide his thick erection into her mouth, and took in as much as she could. When it appeared that she could accommodate no more of him, Draco shifted his hips and rocked forward to force her to take him all the way into her throat. Her lack of skill made no difference to Draco. Her mouth was hot and wet, and he began to thrust aggressively, seeking his release. Her sounds of choking meant nothing to him. It wasn’t long before he felt his sac tighten and the unmistakable final swell of his penis as his orgasm was imminent. He spilled his seed into her mouth with a grunt and one more command. “Swallow it.”

Over his shoulder, Draco heard the rustle of robes and he glanced to see his aunt with her hand rubbing furiously between her legs. He smirked, and gave the girl one more order. “Go lick her cunt until she comes.”

As the girl crawled over to where Bella reclined, Draco slumped as though boneless against the stone altar, lifting himself onto the slab as his strength slowly returned. He reclined on his side, an arm propping up his head, and watched as she lapped at the older woman’s slit, becoming aroused again at the sight. A seventeen year old wizard didn’t take long to recover, apparently. He rolled to his back and spread his long legs and grasped his swelling penis, stroking it with a tight fist. The girl could be there for awhile, he mused. It took quite the effort to get Bella off, he’d observed. Might as well take advantage of the situation, he thought, rising from the stone with unhurried grace.

“Keep licking,” he ordered. “Get up on all fours and open your legs.” He ripped off the tattered cotton robe to gain better access, and removed his own trousers and pants for easier movement. He lined up behind her and thrust deeply into her unprepared vagina. When he met with the thin internal barrier of her hymen, he pushed harder, ripping through it without care.

Draco grasped her hips for leverage and pounded away, eagerly anticipating another orgasm. His penis had been slick with saliva and his own semen, and its path was now lubricated with the girl’s blood. He didn’t care; she wasn’t the first virgin he’d fucked and would without question not be the last woman whose blood would ease his way. He could hear his sac making contact with her vulva and Bella’s moans as his thrusting pushed their captive’s mouth forcefully into her clit. It wouldn’t be long now.

Draco changed his angle of attack by just a fraction, but it was enough to provide more contact and with half a dozen more thrusts, he came with a roar. Bella followed him by only seconds, a growling moan escaping her lips and a satisfied smirk on her face. She looked into her nephew’s eyes and winked. That, for some reason, made Draco shudder.

He pulled out of the bloody, exhausted prisoner, cast a quick Scourgify on his lower body, and put on his trousers, leaving his pants on the dungeon’s floor. He was still craving friction, and the woolen fabric felt deliciously sensual against his still-sensitive penis. His legs were shaking from the intensity of his release, and he sat on the wooden bench, positive that he’d collapse if he didn’t rest immediately.

“Crawl back over here,” he commanded.

When she reached him, he took her hands and removed the binding with his wand. “Put your hands behind your back.”

He fastened her wrists once more, leaving her naked and shivering on her knees. He looked over at his aunt, who was languidly licking her fingers. “Enough?” he asked.

“Well done, Draco,” she acknowledged. “You can remove the curse now.”

With a silent “Finite” he lifted the Imperius he’d cast some thirty minutes earlier.

“I think you’re ready,” Bella pronounced as the prisoner collapsed, sobbing, onto the cold stone floor. They left her there, and exited the room to continue their discussion elsewhere.

“Here’s what I think you should do…”

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The plan they’d concocted was relatively simple, but needed to be executed with minute precision. If Draco was to capture and kill his quarry, everything would have to go right, including the reactions they had anticipated would come from Dumbledore and his spy. Draco had been both skilled and lucky.

It had only taken him one day to locate the wrinkled hag who had first clued him in to Dumbledore’s impassioned pleas for assistance from the general populace of the Wizarding World. From under his highly efficient Disillusionment charm, it had been a simple matter to silently cast the Imperio that had the poor woman singing a bawdy limerick at the top of her lungs for a moment. She earned a good handful of disgusted glares from passers-by for her apparently unprovoked outburst. Draco had fought mightily for control of his laughter over that silly prank, perhaps most reflective of the vestiges of the teenage boy that still lived buried deep within his heart. He justified it by telling himself that he had to test the obedience curse’s effectiveness. The implanted command had only taken two more minutes of their time, and the old witch was upon her merry way, none the wiser that she’d be betraying the old man and his helpers before the sun set.

She had dutifully passed along the message that important – no, vital – information was being offered for sale, but only under a set of stringent conditions. She’d described the parameters of the deal to perfection; it could have been done no other way under the curse with which she’d been afflicted. The stipulations had been designed to ensure that no other person could fulfill them but the elusive Severus Snape. And the “good faith” tidbit to further entice him out of hiding had been tantalizing enough that the prospect of ignoring it was nearly painful. “Good faith” indeed. How ironic, Draco thought. The instructions she’d passed along had no room for negotiation. The “contact” would be at the designated spot at the designated time via the provided portkey, or the consequences would be dire indeed. The likelihood that this was all a set-up was enormously high, but the risks of flouting this opportunity were higher. The contact would be there.

When the portkey – a miniature cast iron cauldron - activated in Severus Snape’s hands at 1:45 am that Thursday morning, he’d been disarmed and stripped of his clothing before his feet had even settled on the cold stone floor. Draco had cast a Silencio quickly followed by a Stupefy to ensure that neither spoken nor nonverbal spells could be cast by the fly in this spider’s web. He had further guaranteed the former Professor’s immobilization by binding his hands and feet. Some might have called his actions cowardly; his compatriots, especially those who had previously been on the business end of the Potions Master’s dueling wand, would call him appropriately cautious and prudent. To his credit, Draco did not endlessly taunt his former Housemaster, nor did he give a villain’s laundry list of explanations for his actions and the ruse that had captured the wizard now at his mercy. He simply raised his wand, told the man that he’d once admired and respected that his time on the run was at an end, and cast Avada Kedavra with as much venom as necessary to ensure that the dark-haired former Slytherin breathed no more. Draco’s swift and aching erection required but one caress through the fabric of his trousers to produce an orgasm of such powerful intensity that he’d not soon forget it.

Severus Snape’s naked and bound body was discovered that evening, abandoned like so much rubbish in a dirty alley not far from Borgin and Burkes. The word “Traitor” had been burned into his pale chest.

While his murder caused palpable grief among the members of Dumbledore’s Army, it also steeled their resolve to bring down the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. This horrid violence could not continue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger was roused from her reverie by the sound of Albus Dumbledore’s laughter. It sounded so foreign, so unexpected after long months without its rich tremble. What could possibly coax the joyous noise from this man after so much time spent in mournful silence? She turned her attention back to the group that had continued their discussion while she was lost in thought to find that each and every member was sporting a broad grin. Just what had she missed?