The Dragon's Child Bride

CHAPTER 21

Lord Voldemort watched impassively as Lucius lay on the floor, writhing under the curses thrown at him by some of the higher ranking Death Eaters chosen to perform his punishment. He noted approvingly that despite the severity of the spells hitting him and the painful blisters beginning to form because of them, Lucius did not cry out or beg for mercy. It was a sign of strength and pride, two things which were crucial to a Death Eater.

The others had been given strict orders not to kill him. Despite his considerable transgression, he was too valuable, given his standing in the Ministry and his considerable wealth and influence, to simply kill. They would release him tomorrow, perhaps the day after. Lucius would be adequately punished, and nothing more.

While the Dark Lord was displeased not to have an easy capture, he was not concerned. Though it would take a bit longer, she would be theirs yet. He smiled cryptically.

If the child could not be taken, she would come to his call.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco arrived at her portrait earlier than usual in a very good mood. He’d had Quidditch practice that morning and if he did say so himself, it had gone exceptionally well. He entered through the portrait hole without knocking and as it closed behind him, he was enveloped in darkness, save for the two flickering fireplaces, one in the open area and one in the bedroom. That was odd.

He checked the clock on the mantle; it’s just a little before 9:15 on Sunday, he wasn’t that early. He walked into the bedroom to find an unmade bed and the bathroom door open, revealing that it was also dark inside. Where was she? She wouldn’t have left without him.

“Laylani?” A tiny sound escaped the numerous blankets on the bed and they shifted slightly. He immediately relaxed, laughing at himself for becoming so anxious over nothing. She’d overslept. That was all. He sat down at the edge of her bed and shook at her hip gently. At least, he assumed it was her hip; she was covered in so many blankets, who knew? A tiny whimper of pain emanated from under the covers.

Furrowing his brow, Draco began to peel away at what had to be at least ten covers, some of which seemed as if she had transfigured out of various objects; he could have sworn the third one was identical to what made up a pair of his socks she’d borrowed not long ago. When he finally peeled away the last damp sheet, what he saw shocked him.

Laylani lay curled up in fetal position, shivering but covered in a fine sheen of sweat that plastered her heavy green flannel pajamas to her skin. Her breaths were slow and wheezing, every once in awhile making her cough painfully into a grimy handkerchief, her eyes closed at all times. What was most disturbing though was that her lips were a faint shade of blue. Draco hesitantly put a hand to her forehead and pulled it back hastily; she was burning up. Something was very wrong.

He tried to get her to sit up, but she resisted him, making tiny pitiful cries that spoke of how much pain she was in. It broke his heart to do it, but he forced her into a sitting position, making her cry out sharply followed by a few small sobs. He pursed his lips.

“I’m sorry love, but we have to get you to the infirmary. I‘m just going to fix you up a bit, alright?” She said nothing, opening her eyes a little, looking around her as if she had no idea where she was. While she slowly looked around, Draco cast a drying spell on her sweat-soaked pajamas that would continually renew itself to keep her warm. Looking at the disgusting handkerchief that she must have been coughing on all night, he did a quick charm to cleanse it. He stood up, facing her shaking form.

“Laylani, can you walk?” He knew it was a ridiculous question, but he had no clue what he was doing. Illness and healing had always made him queasy, thus he had never learned much about either of them. She cocked her head as if to look at him questioningly, but by the way her glassy eyes were slowly roaming about aimlessly, Draco knew that was not the case.

“I have to run.” she said in a whisper-thin voice.

“Run?”

“Run, run, run as fast as you can…” She giggled unnervingly. He undid his heavy winter cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She nuzzled into the fur lining.

“This isn’t mine. They took mine.” Draco decided to play along, if only to set her at ease.

“That’s alright Princess, we’ll get you a new one.”

“I’m a princess?” she asked with a yawn, sounding genuinely unsure. “Of course, the castle…” It was becoming clear to Draco that the fever might be making her delirious. She broke into another coughing fit and Draco picked her up, hoping that her coughing would distract her from any pain he might have caused. It seemed to have worked. He rested her head against his shoulder and began to carry her towards the infirmary.

“Where are you really taking me? I know there’s no surprise.” He kicked open the portrait hole before answering.

“I’m, uh … carrying you off into the sunset, love.” Laylani seemed to accept this.

“You should have told me the first time. It’s because I’m a princess, right?”

“Of course.” Draco noticed the upcoming stairs. Fortunately, they were rotated properly to lead directly to the floor the infirmary was on. However, all the jostling that was involved in walking down them would surely hurt her.

“I’m sorry, love.” he said, taking the first one as carefully as he could. He felt her hand go up to his face and he looked at her.

“It’s alright. You let me go; I forgive you.” Draco continued down the steps.

“Oh… Good then.” She broke into another coughing fit, covering her mouth with her handkerchief. When she pulled it away, it was bloody. Draco saw this and had to force himself to resist his body’s urging to gag. Picking up his speed, he rushed her to the infirmary.

Kicking open the door, he swiftly set her down on a nearby cot. He was just about to run off to look for Madame Pomfrey when her small pale hand clasped his. It seemed her nails were blue-tinged as well.

“Please don’t go. If you go, who’s going to protect me from the bear in the trees?” He couldn’t argue with that logic. Instead he began to call out for the mediwitch loudly with no obvious response.

“Quiet!” she wheezed fiercely. “If you make noise, they’ll find me and I can’t hide in the water anymore.” She began to shiver again, teeth chattering softly. “I can’t swim, anyway.” Draco began to slowly pry her fingers off his wrist. Laylani needed to see Madame Pomfrey; the sooner the better. And it didn’t seem she was around, so Draco would have to find her.

“It’s okay; I can swim for the both of us.”

“You can?” She yawned. This seemed to be distracting her from his removal of her fingers so he kept it going.

“Of course I can; I’m your knight in shining amour.”

“Oh. So you carry me into the sunset, and we live happily ever after.” she mumbled sleepily. With a small yawn she said “You should’ve told me, I would have gone with you then.” Laylani’s eyes slipped closed and the remaining grip she held to his wrist dropped.

Draco took off immediately. All things considered, the most likely place Madame Pomfrey would be was the Great Hall for breakfast. Running at break-neck speed, he moved through the staircases and halls without stopping, despite what he might have ran into or sideswiped along the way. He could’ve sworn it had taken him bloody eternity to finally burst through the doors of the Great Hall.

He ignored the gasps and whispers that rose up from the students around him as he ran towards the Head Table. Madame Pomfrey was indeed there, having just broken a conversation with Professor Snape to stare at his loud intrusion. He only stopped running once he was directly in front of her, just short of crashing into the table.

“She’s sick.” he breathed heavily. “Really, really sick.” ‘And I don’t know what to do.’ he added silently.

Madame Pomfrey merely shook her head. “Mister Malfoy,” She spoke in an annoyingly prim tone. “If you insist on running about and disturbing everyone as if all hell has broken loose, then I’d expect you to be competent on why.”

It took all the restrain he could muster not to grab her by the ears and shake her violently until she went limp. His fingers clawed along the table as his hands balled into fists. Only Snape had the decency to look mildly upset, if not for what Draco had said, at least for what he was doing. In the clearest and simplest words he could use, Draco spoke to Madame Pomfrey as if she were a small child.

“Laylani - is - sick. Very - very - sick, and - you - need - to - go - to - the - infirmary - to - help -her.” Madame Pomfrey seemed to consider this as a small child, unhurriedly thinking through what he had said. All of sudden, every emotion he’d felt since he’d found Laylani that morning seemed to take it’s toll on him and came out all at once; the fear, the anger, the confusion, the frustration. He lifted his fists and dropped them down with a resounding ‘boom.’

“GODDAMMIT! SHE’S SICK! HER LIPS ARE FUCKING BLUE AND YOU NEED TO GET YOUR ARSE UP THERE AND DO SOMETHING!”

She seemed shocked that he would dare take such a tone and such language with her, but at least she was shocked into action, getting up from her seat and hurrying towards the door. Draco spun around quickly to follow her, scowling deeply at whoever might or might not have been looking. The rustle of fabric behind him let him know that Snape was joining them as well, not that he cared. He was focused on one thing alone and that was Laylani. Everyone else could go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned, including Snape.

They couldn’t get to the infirmary fast enough for Draco’s liking. He reached her first, and she lay unmoved from when he saw her last; her arm still hung off the bed. He softly stroked away the damp hair that clung to her forehead. The doors opened behind him and Madame Pomfrey bustled in, followed closely by Professor Snape. She hastily yanked back Draco’s heavy cloak from Laylani and the girl yelped at the sudden loss of warmth. Draco’s face darkened.

“Watch it.” he growled warningly. She frowned.

“Mister Malfoy, if you wish to remain here then I suggest you stay silent.” Draco scowled but she was unaffected. She’d gone through many Malfoy students and relatives in her time at Hogwarts, and by now she was immune to their trademark tempers and glares.

Laylani’s eyes flickered a few times, her body technically awake but not aware as the mediwitch flitted around her, taking her temperature and whatnot. Draco laid a gentle hand on hers, silently willing her to be alright. He watched, forcing himself to a self-imposed silence as Madame Pomfrey began unbuttoning his girl’s flannel top intending to press a stethoscope to her chest to hear her breathe. Snape had the decency to turn around. Just when Madame Pomfrey was to move the flaps of material apart, one small pale hand rose up and as firmly as she could, Laylani held her top closed.

“Not if you haven’t paid.” she murmured. Draco’s eyes widened and he tried to see Snape and Pomfrey’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

Not that he cared what they thought. They could print that information on the front cover of the Daily Prophet and he would still stay by her side and treat her as a queen for all to see. It didn’t make a bit of difference to him what anyone else thought, the whole world could know. Wait - scratch that last one; the whole world could not know because he knew it would upset her if they did. She was still horribly ashamed of what she had done in the past, and he doubted if she would ever forgive him if he didn’t stop her from letting any more of it slip out.

“Lani? Love? You have to let go so they can help you.” Her eyes opened a bit and it seemed, if nothing else, that she registered that she was not negotiating a prostituting proposition. She glanced unsteadily first at him then Madame Pomfrey, to Snape’s back, and then again to Draco.

“You aren’t wearing your amour.”

Madame Pomfrey muttered “As I thought: delirious.” Draco held in a relieved sigh.

“No, not today love. I can’t wear amour swimming.”

“Oh.” She coughed a few times into her napkin, and again it came back flecked with blood which did not go unnoticed by the mediwitch. Her distant eyes moved back to the shrewd gray-haired woman holding the stethoscope inches away from her nearly-bared skin. “Who is she?” she asked with groggy suspicion.

Draco had half a mind to tell Laylani who and what he thought Madame Pomfrey was right now, but aside from not being helpful, she could obviously hear him.

“She’s the mediwitch, love. You need to take your hand away so she can help you.” Laylani’s eyes widened a little. Seemingly unaware that Madame Pomfrey could hear her, she spoke.

“No. He doesn’t want to help me. He’ll put my secrets in the paper again and make me cry.” Draco frowned, remembering the bastard who had done just that. Madame Pomfrey began to interject with something helpful when Laylani turned to her. “Shut up.”

Draco tried desperately to hold back a smirk while Madame Pomfrey stopped short with a huff. Regardless, Laylani was sick and Madame Pomfrey might be the only one at Hogwarts who could help her.

“No, pet. This is a different medi-witch. She’s going to help you, I promise.” Laylani frowned, but she would be no princess if she didn’t trust her handsome hero.

“Alright, as long as you’ll stay.” He nodded and she dropped her hand, but not before muttering quite loudly “Medi-Bitch.”

Madame Pomfrey gasped and the Potion’s Master let out an audible snort of laughter. Draco could not suppress a smirk. ‘Damn right.’ he thought. ‘That’s my girl.’

Madame Pomfrey pressed the stethoscope to the girl’s chest. Laylani winced and tried to pull away. The mediwitch frowned.

“Ms. Stanners, you need to hold still so I can hear you breathe.”

“It’s cold. It hurts.” she whimpered.

“I know dear, but we need to hear your breathing so we can fix it. I promise it won’t be much longer.” Laylani bit her lip and managed to hold relatively still except for the occasional shiver, as the woman continually repositioned the apparatus over the girl’s chest, clutching Draco’s hand as tight as her weakened body would allow for. Finally, she finished.

“There you are, my dear. All done.” She did up the buttons to the flannel shirt and Laylani relaxed back into the pillows while the mediwitch pulled the cot’s covers up to her chest, then left for a few quiet words with Professor Snape. Laylani turned her engagement ring on her finger. Turning her head to Draco, she spoke.

“Where do we go after the sun sets?” Draco was taken off-guard by her question.

“What?” he asked.

“You carry me off into the sunset, and it does. Then where?” Draco searched his mind. Out of logic, he likened the question to where they would go for their honeymoon.

“We haven’t decided that yet. Where would you like to go?” She closed her eyes and for a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep again, but then they opened part way and she answered.

“Somewhere warm.” she murmured. “So warm that I can sleep naked without blankets.” Draco liked that idea. Very much. Just the thought of his fiancée’s naked body splayed out next to his in the warm night was giving him thoughts and reactions he shouldn’t be having when said fiancée was so very ill.

“Anything else?” Her eyes opened a bit more.

“Near the water. They should teach princesses how to swim.”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t swim, so after the sun sets I’ll have to sit on the shore.” Draco couldn’t be positive about what she meant by that but he had an inkling about what she might have been trying to say.

“Would you like it if I taught you how to swim?” She smiled faintly.

“Then I wouldn’t hurt my fingers on the rocks.” Draco was tempted to kiss her, but then she broke into a series of hacking coughs, putting that temptation at bay.

Looking up from her conversation with Professor Snape, it was clear to Madame Pomfrey that her patient was in the throws of a very painful coughing fit. Moving towards the girl she drew her wand and pointed it at the girl’s throat with the intention to cast a charm that would suppress the coughing, at least until they could get the proper potions and medications into her. Unfortunately, as soon as Laylani saw a raised wand pointed so close to her, her feverish mind immediately assumed the worst. She cried out, digging her heels into the mattress trying to push her body back and away from this crazed woman.

“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything!” she sobbed. Draco immediately grabbed for Madame Pomfrey’s hand, but she pulled it out of reach. She scowled at the boy. If he was gong to interfere with the healing, then he had to leave.

“Mister Malfoy, I suggest you be off.” Laylani’s antics doubled in intensity and the mediwitch yelled for Professor Snape to fetch something to calm the girl.

“No!” cried Laylani. “Don’t go! She’ll hurt me. She’s going to hurt me! Please!” With renewed effort, she tried to get away while Madame Pomfrey made to grab her to hold her still. Draco frantically tried to put some sense back into the situation. He grabbed again at her wand hand, gripping her wrist.

“You can’t point a wand at her without telling her what you’re doing. She gets scared.”

“Obviously!” shouted the frazzled woman. “Mister Malfoy, you need to leave. Severus! Damn it, get in here with that potion!” In a billow of black fabric, Severus Snape rushed into the room carrying two small vials. Hastily pushing his sleeves up and out of the way, he made to give the frantic girl a dose of the draft.

Laylani’s eyes fell upon the sickeningly pale man’s forearm, and her cries turned into all-out screams. She spat out what little of the bottle’s contents he had managed to get in her mouth into his face.

“You’re one of them! He sent you! He didn’t let me go, he sent you! No! No I won’t go! I won’t go! I’ll die before I let you take me!” As if to prove her point she grabbed the long vial from his hand and smashed it on the side table reserved for a patients cards and gifts. With the jagged edge in a hold tight enough to draw dark blood from the skin on her palms and fingers, she made to slash at her neck, barely missing it as Draco yanked her arm back by the elbow. She whipped her head around to face him.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you see it? He’s going to take me! He’s going to poison me and take me. I know it! He’s got the picture, on his arm. I know it, please! Please let me do it! Let me die! Don’t let him take me!” Before she had the chance to try again, Draco twisted her wrist, just enough to make her drop the glass. A look of pure betrayal filled her eyes with tears, but nonetheless she didn’t stop fighting.

Draco finally managed to pin her flailing arm down to the mattress, making it much easier for Madame Pomfrey to secure the other. Pinching her nose with one hand, Professor Snape yanked the cork out of the second vial with his teeth. She held her breath as long as she could, but eventually she had to gasp for air and when she did, he dumped the potion down her throat and forced her jaw closed, and she swallowed while hot tears ran down her face and onto his hands. Satisfied she had consumed the potion, he let go of her face and pulled down his sleeves.

She sniffled as the tears kept falling. Turning to Draco, she whimpered words to him, making even less sense than she had before.

“On dad’s arm.” she wheezed desperately. “Skull eating snake. Snake in my head… He hurt me. His hand’s on my arm.” Her hand flailed weakly to a spot on her bicep. Draco watched on sadly as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“Dad brought the bear and let me go to be punished. Don‘t let him take me…” She made one last tiny pitiful sob and her eyes slipped closed and her body stilled on the bed. The only sign that she was still alive was that her chest heaved up and down in deep, labored breaths. Madame Pomfrey quietly healed her patient’s hands.

The next few moments passed in the purest of silence, as if the universe were trying to figure out what exactly had happened along with the other three in the infirmary.

“Ahem.” Draco turned to see the Headmaster, who’d entered the infirmary unnoticed during the commotion. The old man nodded solemnly to him before turning to Madame Pomfrey.

“Is it as we feared?”

“No, she’s safe still. At least for now.” Draco arched a brow but said nothing, instead silently listening to their conversation.

“So her maladies are purely organic in origin, then?” Madame Pomfrey gave him a small, patient smile.

“Yes. She’s suffering from anaerobic pneumonia. Water in the lungs.” The Headmaster seemed relieved, albeit still concerned.

“Do you have the necessary items for her treatment?”

“For the most part; what I don’t have, Severus can easily provide. Though it will take almost a week until the infection will completely clear.”

The Headmaster sighed, looking tired. Draco had never seen him look quite like this. With his shoulders slumped and his face looking weary, he no longer looked like a formidable wizard, Order of Merlin First Class. He looked like a worn-out old man. His eyes were bland, missing that patented twinkle that had always annoyed Draco so much, though if this was the alternative maybe it hadn’t been so bad.

“I suppose we should be relieved it’s only pneumonia.” Hearing that, all of Draco’s intentions to listen quietly went out the window. Was this man daft?

“Relieved?” he spat. “She’s practically on death’s door, and you think we should be relieved?!?!” The Headmaster ignored the boy’s snappish demeanor; he was obviously still very worried, despite the assurance that she would be fine.

“When considering the alternative, I would say it would be in order.” Draco scowled.

“What alternative? The bloody plague?”

“The calling, Mister Malfoy.”

“The what?”

The headmaster’s eyes widened, only to narrow again. He pursed his lips so tightly they practically disappeared behind his flowing beard. Without a word to Draco he turned to face the Potion’s master, who didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.

“Severus?” he asked quietly. Draco looked to his head of house, but his eyes would not be met. What the hell was going on?

“I was waiting for the opportune time, Albus. When he would be most likely to be receptive to what is at stake.”

Dumbledore’s face did nothing to tell if he believed him or not. With a small frown, he spoke.

“Then I suppose that time would be now, wouldn’t you agree?” While his words revealed nothing, his tone held the hint of finality.

“Of course, Headmaster.” Professor Snape turned to Draco, who scowled at him. How could his head of house, the only person he truly respected in this entire school, keep something about his fiancée from him? Further more, why?

“Follow me, Mister Malfoy. It seems we have some things to discuss.”

‘You’re goddamn right we do.’ he thought, but said nothing to the effect. He stopped to look at Laylani’s sleeping form. Gods, she was beautiful. Even sick as a dog in flannel pajamas, he was sure he’d never seen a lovelier woman in his entire life. What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she told him? She always told him everything, always. He’d taken comfort in the fact that she shared everything with him, and he’d always tried to return her that courtesy as much as a Slytherin and a Malfoy could. Why would she not tell him now?

Professor Snape had already made it to the heavy doors of the infirmary by the time he realized no footsteps were following him. Turning around in a flourish of fine black fabric, he saw Draco had barely taken a single step away from the girl and was still holding on to her limp hand, watching her motionless face. For a single moment he let his eyes drift to her face as well and almost immediately regretted it. Asleep she looked identical to her mother as he’d known her. If he let himself, he might believe that she was Layla. But he wouldn’t. Instead he snapped his attention back to the boy, the once cold-hearted, cruel, devious epitome of what it meant to be Slytherin, staring at an unconscious woman - ‘a girl’ he corrected nastily- like some love-sick first year. Pathetic.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” he said irritably “She’s got two bloody doses of Draught of Living death in her; I can guarantee she’ll still be here when you get back and probably still out cold for that!”

Draco’s frown deepened. Carefully setting her hand back down on the cot, he turned to follow the irate Professor to whatever answers he could lead him to.

He followed the potions master to the familiar dungeons and into his private quarters, lavishly decorated in Slytherin theme. Snape sat down to a darkly varnished wooden table, gesturing for Draco to sit as well, but he declined. He wasn’t there for tea and gossip; he was there to find out what the hell was going on.

They sat, and stood, in silence as Snape searched his mind for what exactly to tell the boy. Not thinking about the girl had meant not thinking about explaining her to Draco despite what he’d told Dumbledore, and now he was at a loss for words. After waiting as patiently as he could out of respect for the Professor, Draco could take it no more.

“Whenever you’re ready, sir.”

Snape scowled deeply but Draco couldn’t be bothered to care about upsetting this man right now. He wanted answers and would not be made to wait.

“Recently,” he said, using the term loosely, “We’ve acquired some new information about her past. More specifically, her past in relation to what she is.” Snape refused to use her name, would not even call her ‘Miss Stanners’. The less personal he made it, the easier it would be.

Draco looked on, entirely confused. That had made no sense to him. Less sense than Laylani had made this morning.

“Sir?” Snape took a deep breath before trying again.

“You must have noticed that she is no ordinary girl.” Draco smirked to himself. He certainly had noticed.

“There’s a reason why your fiancée is the way she is, why she knows the things she does. She was taken for a reason.” Draco nodded, finally showing a bit of understanding.

“I see. And that would be?”

“She’s been chosen, so to speak. Not unlike our Mister Potter.” Draco frowned, for a moment side-tracked by the mention of his nemesis. What did he have to do with any of this? If he’d hurt her in any way…

While Draco contemplated the many ways he would slowly and mercilessly kill the wizarding world’s Boy Wonder, Professor Snape summoned a book from the shelf. Quickly thumbing through it, he found the appropriate page. He shoved it roughly into the boy’s hands.

“The first prophecy is that of Mister Potter’s.” Draco’s eyes scanned over it, not really paying attention. His father had informed him of that particular prophecy the summer before sixth year. It was really no surprise to read it. Potter would either kill the Dark Lord or be killed by him. Most likely be killed by him. The thought of a very dead Harry Potter twisted a smirk onto Draco’s lips. He was not prepared for what Snape said next.

“The second prophecy is hers.”

“Pardon?”

“The one just below Miser Potter’s prophecy is that of your fiancée’s. Need I be any clearer?” Draco frowned slightly, annoyed that his Head of House would treat him like some sort of child when he was mad at him. He read over the prophecy, trying to take in every detail and subtlety it might possess. He frowned, handing back the open book to his professor.

“That’s not her.” Of course it wasn’t her. ‘Consumed in madness’? ‘Claiming their world for Darkness’? It was absolutely ridiculous. Absurd.

“I can assure you it is.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Please forgive me if I can’t take you on your word for just handing me some random prophecy book and telling me one is hers.”

“It is not ‘some random prophecy book,’ boy. If you were to use your keen powers of observation, you might notice that the book contains only two prophecies.” Draco flipped through the rest of the book. That indeed was true. Closing the book, he paled slightly at the silver-inked picture of the Dark Mark on the cover.

“No, this isn’t her. It can’t be.”

“And why not, pray tell?”

“Because if this says what I think it does, that means her kidnappers would have to be Death Eaters, and they wouldn’t do the things she’s had done to her.” Snape’s face revealed a trace of a grim smile.

“I see. Why wouldn’t they?” Draco frowned. Wasn’t the answer so damn obvious?

“Sir, you’re a Death Eater, you should know.” Snape’s face clouded over to an emotion Draco couldn’t read despite his best efforts.

“You’ll find I am many things, Mister Malfoy. I’m afraid you’ll have to humor me.”

“Because she’s pureblood, not only that but a high-status pureblood.”

“And?” Draco started. What did he mean ‘And?’ Wasn’t that answer enough? Draco fumbled for anything to explain himself further but found nothing. The words ‘pureblood’ and ‘high-status’ had always been reason enough.

“Mister Malfoy, purity of blood is hardly the case anymore, nor status. It’s only about power. Why, the Dark Lord himself is only half-blood.”

“Wh….what….I mean…half-blood?” He’d always assumed that Voldemort was pureblood. The heir of Slytherin had to be. Snape nodded.

“His father was a muggle, consequently making him half-muggle.” Draco dropped the book with a loud ‘thud,’ having forgotten he was holding it.

“No, no. That’s not true. None of this is true.” Snape straightened his posture and deepened his scowl. He may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.” Draco answered as sincerely as he could. This had to be some sort of test. Some sort of assessment to see if had what it took to be a Death Eater. Something like that. Anything but the truth.

“I see.” The Potions Master got up from where he sat and crossed the room with Draco at his heels to a small table with a bowl sitting on it.

“Do you know what this is, Mister Malfoy?” Draco leaned in closer to the bowl to read the etchings around the base.

“Yes, sir. A pensieve.”

“Correct. A devise to hold memories. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

Before Draco could question his professor’s words, there was a shove to his back and he felt himself falling into the pensieve. More accurately, into one of Professor Snape’s memories.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She stood in a bloody field. Acrid smoke filled her lungs from fires scattered about, burning low. Bodies, dead and dying, surrounded her like a sea she couldn‘t part. She felt the bile rising her throat but couldn’t bring herself to look away, or even blink. Various screams and moans emitted from all around her. She couldn’t tune them out, how could she? Their cries began to get louder and louder, filling her ears, filling her brain, it felt like they were filling her with the poison that was their pain.

“Stop it.” she whispered in a voice so small she barely heard it herself. The moans went on. She said it again, slightly louder. Still, the moans and whimpers kept rising in volume, worming their ways through her body and soul.

“Stop it.” she cried forcefully. “Stop it! STOP IT! STOP IT!” She was screaming on the verge of hysteria. It took her a moment to realize that the only voice that broke the silence was her own. The moans had died away. A whispered voice rang out.

“Come to me.” She wasn’t sure if the voice was aloud or in her mind; either way, it terrified her. What terrified her even more was that her legs moved to respond and she was unable to stop them.

The blood was still warm under her bare feet and she felt it slide between her toes, nearly ankle deep. She struggled to fight against whatever was driving her to move, but to no avail; her body continued to heed the repeated call.

“Come to me……Come to me…”

Suddenly the ground barely five feet in front of her broke open and a stone throne pushed itself through, raised onto a pedestal of sorts. She stood before it momentarily before she began to climb, knowing without knowing why that the throne was meant for her. She reached the top, still unable to refuse her body to move, and took her seat in the large uncomfortable chair, providing her with a clear view of the lands around her that ripped a scream from her throat.

She knew them; various faces on the bodies, despite their mutilation, were familiar to her. Her mother and father, Narcissa and Lucius. Oh Gods, Draco. Draco lay at the base of the pedestal, his eyes rolled up into his head and his mouth twisted in a silent scream and blood running down his perfect face. Her scream continued, echoed endlessly in the open sky and the fires that had nearly burned out shot up as if to answer her cries, from where Hogwarts had stood, the ash of what was the Forbidden forest, the remnants of the pitch…

“Your kingdom.”

And then there was a platter in front of her. Probably silver, but she couldn’t be sure because blood ran thickly over it. She couldn’t stop herself as her hands removed the cover. Dropping it noiselessly, a sound began to emanate from somewhere within her, but not a part of her, as the warm blood from Harry Potter‘s detached head began to drip off of the platter and onto her lap. As sickened and frightened as she was by it all, she could not stop the maniacal laughter that forced its way out of her mouth.

The twisted dream went on, the potion trapping Laylani inside her head and leaving her unable to awaken from the horrors that danced behind her eyelids.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco was in an open field of sorts, crowded by over a hundred familiarly hooded figures around a large bonfire.

Death Eaters.

He wandered invisibly among them, recognizing several of those who wore no masks. There was Snape, naturally, and Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and many other parents of his housemates. His father was curiously absent. As he moved through the crowd, the members spoke animatedly between themselves. Draco picked up bits and pieces as he went.

“Their saying this is the one…”

“Says he killed him with his own hands, braggart…”

“But it’s a girl!”

He wandered to the front of the crowd near the roaring fire. He looked around, trying to figure out exactly why these people were there, why he was there in the memory for that matter. Suddenly the crowd fell silent and someone began to speak, but who or from where, he couldn’t tell. The voice familiar, but not enough so that he could place it. Draco focused on the words that were being spoken.

“…The child has been found, of this you can be sure my friends. Our Lord has guided me to her, and now we only need His affirmation.” The voice of the man began to mutter something in a low and hollow voice. Whatever he said wasn’t words, at least not any Draco could identify. The others began to join in, all seeming to know this repetitive chant by heart.

A flash of movement from the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. He turned, but there was nothing but other Death Eaters. He saw it again, just as he turned his head back. Still nothing.

“What the hell…?” he said aloud to no one in particular. Then he saw it clearly. A shadow of a tree cast by the light of the moon was pulling itself up from the ground. It tore away from the earth and flew through the air somewhere into the fire. Suddenly, it was all too familiar.

He drew closer to the fire’s flames that leaped high above his head, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. This simply couldn’t be. No. Not with them. Not her.

Draco walked through the flames painlessly before coming to stand on the rock he hadn’t known was there. In the middle of the rock lay a tiny prone form, wiggling pitifully as the shadows pulled through the air, amassing themselves before her. The girl’s head twisted and with a flip of her hair she faced him, almost as if she could see him though he knew that was impossible.

It was her, it was Laylani. There was no way he could be mistaken; he had memorized her childish features countless times over after she’d been taken. He would have known her if he were blind. Six-year-old Laylani lay helpless before him, her face twisted into a silent scream as tears ran down her cheeks.

Just as she had told him, the shadows swirled in making the form of a man. An unmistakable snake-like man. His arm came down, lowering until it began to slip inside her head. Her scream stopped and her mouth hung open in silent fear.

“No!” Draco went to lunge forward to protect her but instead felt himself being pulled backwards, out of the memory. Once again, he stood in Snape’s private room.

He was surprised to find himself sweating, his body stiff with fear. But that fear almost immediately turned to anger.

“I take it you no longer doubt the involvement of the Dark Lord and his followers?”

Draco could barely keep himself from attacking his Professor and quite possibly killing him.

“You…How could you? You were there! How could you let them do that to her? She was only bloody six years old for Merlin’s sake! How could you just stand there and let all those awful things…Do you know what they did to her? How much they hurt her? What she had to do to take care of herself? You vile, depraved -” Snape cut him off.

“Oh, please. Would you care if it had been any other child? And believe me when I say there were other children.” Draco stopped short. Any other child? Who cared about any other child? The point was it had happened to her. But still… things like that shouldn’t happen to children. It was cruel.

‘Cruel?’ he thought, surprised at the very nature of that thought. ‘Since when does a Malfoy care about what’s cruel or what isn’t?’

But he did. She had been so scared, so absolutely fucking terrified with no one to protect her. Despite the fact that she was pureblood and she came from a wizarding family of good name, everything he’d been taught that mattered in the Death Eaters campaign, they had tortured her mercilessly for years and no one had done a thing to stop it. Slowly, he spoke.

“Well, I suppose it shouldn’t happen to children…”

“What children? Just the pureblooded children? Just the children with magical ability? All children?” Draco had to stop and think again. Was it right to put any child through something like that? Muggle and mudblood heritage aside, they were still children…could things like muggle and mudblood heritage be put aside? Snape persisted with his questions of ethics.

“Where does it end? What parameters make it acceptable to torture or murder another? The morals of a Death Eater are non-existent. Is that something you want to be a part of? A group that tortures women, children, the sick and the elderly for their own pleasure and gain?” Draco’s head began to spin.

“I…I don’t…” This simply could not be happening. This couldn’t be right . Quickly his mind shifted to another point of attack on his professor to escape all these new questions he quite frankly did not want to consider.

“You knew! You knew where she was this entire time, and you didn’t say a thing! You left her to be tortured! When my father hears about this-”

“Your father? He’s the reason she’s in the state that she’s in!” Draco’s mind went reeling.

“B-but no, my father would never-”

“Your father is a Death Eater, Mister Malfoy, and as I’ve told you before, Death Eaters aren’t of high moral standard and you would do well to remember that. Lord Voldemort wants his Chosen One back. Though I’m not sure how he managed it, I have no doubt in my mind your father attacked her in effort to do just that. She did so much as tell you so this very morning.”

“She did no such thing. She’s bloody delusional! For Christ’s sake, she said, ‘dad’ and her father has been dead for more than a decade.” Snape frowned deeply.

“Honestly, boy, I have never considered you slow. ‘Skull eating snake’? ‘Snake in my head’? That meant nothing to you?” Draco’s expression was blank. Snape pulled up his sleeve angrily, for the first time in years deliberately revealing his Dark Mark to another. “Who might she call ‘dad’ that has one of these?” he snapped.

If it were possible, Draco’s face went even paler than it naturally was. Things were beginning to fall into place and it was tearing apart everything he’d ever known.

“No,” he said, sounding much less firm than he had wanted. “My father would never hurt her.”

Professor Snape sighed, resting his forehead in his hands, tired of trying to convince this foolishly stubborn boy to see the truth. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe all of this is some phenomenal coincidence and everything I have told you is a lie.” Draco looked to his Head of House warily. “But if it is not, then the proof lies with Ms... your fiancée. If what I have told you is true, I believe there will be some sort of recent mark on her, more specifically on her arm.” Draco nodded slowly.

“‘His hand on my arm.’” he said quietly. Snape continued.

“If there is no mark or wound, then I shall consider the matter closed and it will not be brought up again. If, however, there is something there, I suggest you think long and hard about placing your allegiances somewhere other than with Lord Voldemort. You aren’t your father yet, Mister Malfoy. There is much to be considered before you should decide to follow in his footsteps. You may leave.”

Draco paused at the door.

“Sir? If this were true, if the Dark Lord did get her back, what would happen to her?”

“They’ll do whatever it takes for her to be molded in the Dark Lord’s image. In short, they’ll drive her mad.”

“Oh.” Draco left without another word. What else was there to be said?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco spent the next two hours alone in the dark of his private room, sitting in front of the unlit fireplace. He wasn’t thinking. There wasn’t much to think about. It was either there or it wasn’t. It was either real or it wasn’t. The question was: did he want to know? Did he want to know if there was hard proof that his father, whom he fiercely respected and whom he aspired to emulate all his life, had tried to abduct the person he loved most in the world? Did he want to know if the people he’d had every intention of becoming were really as sick, twisted and completely immoral as he’d been told? Did he really want to know if everything he’d known in his life was a lie?

Eventually, he left for the infirmary as he knew he would. Despite whether Draco wanted to know, he simply could not not know. He pushed all thought out of his head while he walked, afraid that if he thought too much he might not be able to go through with it, with any of it. He hesitated at the infirmary’s stately doors. This was it.

He pushed the heavy doors open, relieved to find the infirmary completely empty except for Laylani’s sleeping form. He sat at the edge of her bed, on the side of the arm she’d gestured to that morning. He took her limp hand in his and gained the courage to follow through. Her small hand in his own reminded him that he was her knight, her defender and if someone or something was threatening her, he had a duty to know about it and protect her. No matter who or what it was.

With a shaky breath, he began to slowly inch her sleeve up her arm. The loose fabric slid up easily, rippling and folding where her shoulder met her torso. He stopped for a moment at her elbow, just slightly below where she had claimed in her hysteria the bruise was.

The bruise wouldn’t be there, he was sure of it. It couldn’t be. His father wouldn’t hurt her. Lucius Malfoy may have been amoral when it came to mudbloods, but this was Laylani; she was not only pureblood but like a daughter to Lucius, soon to be a daughter-in-law. He wouldn’t hurt her, he couldn’t have. Unconsciously holding his breath, he pushed the material up the last two inches that would make the whole day come clear.

Draco’s whole body went ice cold or boiling hot, he wasn’t quite sure. The material revealed a sickly dark bruise that marred the pale skin of her upper arm. A bruise that was clearly shaped like a hand.