The Dragon's Child Bride

A/N: Alright, chapter 36 at long last done. It isn't everything I hoped it would be, but after weeks of spinning my wheels and coming up with nothing that was really improving it, I gave up. This is it, the best I could do.

And in answer to Adree's question (that she asked back in October...sorry for the delay, I just suck sometimes) I don't have an account on quizzila. Actually, while I have some accounts on other HP fanfic sites because I'm a big geek, I don't actually post anywhere else but here on AFF.

Again, thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews over the last several months. Your support and patience is greatly appreciated.

Alright, on with the show...

Chapter 36: Revelations


Remus paced anxiously outside the heavy privacy curtains. He couldn’t keep his hands still; he’d jam them in his pockets, fiddle with the buttons on his cardigan, flail them aimlessly as he muttered quietly to himself. The Headmaster stood back almost engulfed in the shadows, his lips pressed in a grim line.

After what seemed like a small eternity, Madame Pomfrey stepped out from behind the curtain, frowning and wringing her hands.

“I’ve done the best I can. She’s stable now, but…” She paused, her words hanging ominously in the silence. “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

“Can I see her?” Remus asked quietly. Madame Pomfrey nodded.

Her breathing had steadied and some of her color had returned; he took some comfort in that. He sat himself on the edge of her bed, hesitating to touch her. She seemed so delicate and fragile, not at all like the boisterous, cheerful and somewhat klutzy Tonks that he’d come to love.

Yes, he did love her, though he’d never told her as much. He was still waiting for the day she realized that he was indeed a poor old werewolf who couldn’t offer her all the things she deserved. He hadn’t wanted her to feel trapped because of the feelings she evoked in him. Now he wondered if he should have told her; he wondered if he’d missed his chance.

Carefully he set his hand on top of hers and her breathing hitched. Her eyes slid open.

“Remus?” She whispered.

“I’m here.” There was a beat of silence.

“This doesn’t look good, does it?” She managed a rueful grin.

“Not – not great, I’m afraid.”

“Kingsley.” She wheezed. “He set us up. They ambushed us.” Her breathing was becoming increasingly labored. “He’s- he’s one of them. They’ve got her, Remus. Tell Dumbledore they’ve got her.” She was gasping for breath now, coughing painfully. Madame Pomfrey bustled in, carrying a vial of red potion.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now Mr. Lupin.” The words were gentle but firm.

“Of course.” He paused, his hand on the curtain. Remus turned back.

“Tonks…” he hesitated. He may not get another chance to say “I love-”

“Don’t.” she rasped, surprising the man.

She’s told him she loved him dozens of times, maybe hundreds. He’d never once said it back. He’d say things like ‘I know,’ or ‘that’s nice.’ Once he even said ‘thank you’ for pity’s sake! She had come to accept that he couldn’t or wouldn’t say it back, but she would not accept him telling her now because he thought she was dying.

“Go tell Dumbledore.” Remus nodded.

“Right.”

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

Draco drummed his fingers irritably against his desk, impatient for class to end so he could return to the quiet comfort of his room. He’d made a few changes to the weekend Prefect hall patrol schedule and now had a standing arrangement with Dobby to take his meals in his room; if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t have to see another person until first period Monday morning.

He held in a sigh. Tomorrow would be his birthday.

After what seemed like ages, class was dismissed and he was free to lock himself away for the weekend.

“Mister Malfoy, please stay behind.”

Draco looked up at Professor McGonagall, surprised. Why was he being asked to stay after class? He hadn’t done anything. He gave the professor an unsure nod, leaning against his desk as the rest of the class filed out of the room.

There were a few uncomfortable moments of silence as Professor McGonagall straightened her desk and cleared the board. When Draco couldn’t take the suspense any longer, he cleared his throat.

“Uh, Professor?” Professor McGonagall looked up.

“We’ve been summoned to a meeting in Professor Dumbeldore’s office.” She didn’t need to tell him what kind of meeting. “Come along, Mister Malfoy.”

They walked quickly through the halls without speaking. Draco was tempted to ask her what this was about and why it concerned him, but he didn’t. He imagined she would have told him anything she knew, and he would find out soon enough in any case.

They paused briefly at the gargoyle to give the password before mounting the staircase to the Headmaster’s office. The room was already nearing full capacity and still more people continued to arrive. Draco darted across the room to his usual chair, wanting to get a seat while there were still some left.

The room buzzed with quiet conversations. Only able to pick up snatches here and there, from what Draco could gather no one seemed to know why this meeting had been called. It was troubling.

He flexed his fingers nervously against the arm of the overstuffed chair. He could only surmise that this meeting was about Laylani. Why else would they invite him? He’d made a point of telling them she was his only interest in their cause. Was something wrong? Was she not doing well at the safe house? Had she hurt someone? Had she hurt herself?

Questions continued to swim through his mind, each one worse than the last; he hadn’t even noticed Dumbledore take to the front of the room until he began to speak.

“My friends, today I must greet you with terrible news. I’m sorry to say that despite our best efforts, despite my best efforts, it would appear we have harbored a spy in our midst. From what we can gather, Kingsley Shacklebolt has been working as a double agent for Voldemort.”

He disregarded the ensuing gasps and whispered exclamations and continued speaking. “It pains me to say that I considered him a friend, and had trusted him with the details of a great many of our plans. Because of this they have all been compromised; the Order of the Phoenix itself has been compromised. I cannot apologize enough; I have put us all in great peril. Especially you, Harry.” He stopped for a moment and pursed his lips, considering his next words carefully.

“After our last meeting, The Advance Guard fell prey to an ambush that we believe was orchestrated by Mister Shacklebolt. It is my sad duty to inform you that Elphias Dodge was killed in this attack, and Miss Tonks has been gravely injured; we are not yet certain if she will survive.” He paused with a small sigh. “And that Miss Stanners has been captured and is believed to be held prisoner by Lord Voldemort and his followers.”

Any ensuing uproar fell silent when Draco stood up from his chair, taking a step in the direction of the Headmaster.

“You mean to tell me that there was a mole? That one of your people delivered her directly to Lord Voldemort?” Draco’s voice was flat and deathly quiet.

“I’m afraid so Mister Malfoy.”

“How could you let this happen?” he shouted suddenly. “You were supposed to keep her safe! I let you take her, let you send her off to Merlin knows where with him and all along- all along he’s been a goddamn spy! How did you not know?” By this time he’d stalked across the floor to Professor Dumbledore, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction. “How could you not know? Doesn’t being a member of your sodding Order require a fucking sleeve check?”

It was at this moment the office door was thrown open to reveal a very troubled Severus Snape, still in Death Eater attire.He rushed in quickly but slowed as he took stock of the room. “I trust you’ve heard, then.”

“And you!” Draco went on, not missing a beat. “How could you not know? Merlin, you’re a fucking Death Eater!” Professor Snape met Draco’s tirade with a level stare.

“While I may be privileged to more knowledge than most about Voldemort, Mister Malfoy, no one knows all of Dark Lord’s secrets but himself. I assure you I had no previous knowledge of Mister Kingsley’s…alternate allegiances.”

Dumbledore spoke before Draco could reply. “Can you tell us anything, Severus?”

“While I don’t know everything,” he said pointedly, “I can tell you this: he believes she possesses all the magical knowledge she needs. Voldemort feels his means would be best served if she now learns what it means to be a ‘proper’ pureblood.” Severus paused for a moment, turning to Draco. “He’s entrusted her tutelage to your Aunt Bellatrix.”

His Aunt Bellatrix. Draco had never met her but her reputation more than preceded her. A psychotic sadist with a preference for the Cruciatus curse. Unbidden, Neville Longbottom suddenly came to mind. His parents. Draco had once heard his father and his various associates discussing it; Bellatrix had tortured them to the point of insanity. She’d exposed them to the Cruciatus curse for so long that their minds had simply let go in order to escape. From what he’d heard, both Longbottoms were now permanent residents of St. Mungo’s fourth floor, Aurors turned drooling idiots who didn’t even know there own names.

“The poor dear.” Mrs. Weasley tutted softly. “Perhaps Moody was right. Maybe, maybe it would have been better if we’d just-”

“Don’t say that, mum!” Ginny nearly shouted. “How can you even think that?”

“What?” Malfoy snapped. “Think what? What did Professor Moody…” he trailed off, his face registering realization, remembering the incident at the Bird’s Nest. “Kill her? You wanted to kill her? When – why was that even considered an option? I would have never even entertained the idea of associating with you people if I’d known you’d even considered-”

“Calm yourself, Mister Malfoy. It has never been our intent to harm your fiancée in any way.

“Well, it was obviously his intent!” he shouted, pointing accusingly at Moody. “He bloody well tried to stab her!” There were several gasps.

Mad-Eye had the sense to look at least somewhat sheepish for a moment before muttering “Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” Raising his voice a bit, he went on. “If I’d done it, we wouldn’t be in this mess we are now, wouldn’t ya say?”

“I can’t believe-!” Draco began, but quickly cut himself short with a tired sigh. “Yes. Yes, I can believe this. I should have never trusted her with anyone but myself.” Head down and shoulders slumped, he quickly made his way to the door and left.

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

He’d walked with no particular direction, keeping his head down for the length of his journey, and yet somehow he’d ended up at Laylani’s rooms. This didn’t surprise him; it had happened often, too often, in the last week. He’d find himself taking routes through evening hallway patrols and even to classes that he’d never used before, always taking him by the portrait guarding her quarters.

He stood staring at the painting for several long minutes before the maiden by the shore asked uncomfortably, “Well? Are you coming in?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course. Follow the yellow brick road.”

The portrait opened and he stepped through.

Unlike last time, ‘the incident’ as he referred to it in his mind, the hearth was empty and cold; someone must have told the house elves that Laylani would no longer be there to enjoy the warmth. The curtains had remained open, however, leaving him enough light to maneuver through the room.

It seemed the house elves had tidied up as well. His firewhiskey mess had vanished, and Laylani’s day-to-day clutter had been straightened up as well. Books back on the shelf, quills and parchment arranged neatly at her desk. Her sweater that had been left hanging over a chair was gone, presumably washed and put back in her wardrobe.

His attention was caught by a small motion in his peripheral vision. Turning towards the hearth, he realized in was the picture of them from the Yule ball. The photographed Laylani had risen up to kiss the photographed version of himself.

He picked it up off the mantle and held it in his hands, tracing his thumb over Laylani’s form. If the figures in the picture noticed him, they certainly paid him no mind. Both seemed completely enraptured with each other. That’s how he’d felt then, totally swept up in her, how beautiful, how wonderful she was, and that somehow he’d been lucky enough to have her as his own. He still felt that way; he’d always felt that way, if perhaps in less complex terms when they were children.

A thought struck him then. She wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was an attractive woman, now at the mercy of Death Eaters. His stomach lurched and he felt the bile rising in his throat.

She would not be touched. He wouldn’t let them. He would…he would… He would what? There was nothing he could do. Draco tried to push those thoughts away, but he couldn’t. He felt sick. He needed to get out of there.

He rushed to the door, slamming the portrait so hard it echoed along with his footsteps in the empty hall. His speed increased until he was sprinting down the hall, trying to outrun those awful thoughts.

He gasped the password to his portrait and slammed it behind him. Breathing hard, he tried to regain some composure.

It was then he realized that he was still carrying the picture frame; he hadn’t put it back. He looked at their photograph for a moment then flung it as hard as he could across the room. Suddenly, he was shouting, screaming wordlessly, throwing books, papers, inkwells and any other knickknacks he could get his hands on. He overturned furniture, and even went so far as to hurl an ashen log from the hearth against a wall.

And just as suddenly as it had come, his anger fled, and he was left standing in the middle of a catastrophe, not quite sure how he’d gotten there. Nothing of the sort had ever happened to him before; it had been pressed upon him at an early age to reserve showing most, if not all emotion and that tantrums were not acceptable. And yet, here he was.

All at once, he was just so tired.

He slumped back against the wall, sinking down behind his desk, next to the overturned chair he couldn’t be bothered to right.

He spotted the photograph, facedown, lying a few feet from where he sat. Leaning forward to grasp it with his fingertips, he slid it across the floor towards him. Miraculously, there was very little damage to it. A corner of the frame had chipped off and the glass had cracked a bit near the bottom, but otherwise it was fine.

Minutes, hours passed. What little natural light his quarters provided had dimmed until he was left sitting in the dark.

The creak of the doorknob was unmistakable and Draco slumped down lower, trying to hide. Sure enough, the connecting door between the Head Boy and Head Girl room swings open and Granger marched in with no formalities.

Hermione frowned. It looked as though a particularly violent tornado had blown through. She had thought she ought to give Draco some time alone to collect himself after the shock; perhaps she’d given him a bit too much time. She looked around the room, almost missing the top of his head from behind the desk when he shifted back, bumping into the overturned chair, and gave himself away. Hands placed primly on her hips, she stepped towards him.

“Draco.” Draco scowled.

“Piss off, mudblood.” He snapped.

Hermione sighed. She could do this. She had promised. She sat next to him, leaning back against the wall.

“I said-”

“I heard you Malfoy. I’m not going away.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?” he huffed irritably.

“I want to know what you intend to do about this.” Draco snorted, gesturing to chaotic state of the room.

“I should think that was obvious.” Hermione frowned.

“I meant what are you going to do to get her back?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do? There’s nothing I can do. She’s gone. What I should have done was take her away the moment I knew something was wrong. I should have never let your lot near her. I should have-”

“I didn’t ask what you should have done, Malfoy! I asked what you’re going to do. It seems to me that sitting around being a miserable prat did absolutely nothing to get her back last time, unless you fancy waiting another eleven years!”

The words stung, but they were true. Laying blame would do nothing to get her back. Hiding out in his rooms would do nothing to get her back. He would have to do…something. Draco sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. I don’t – I’m not sure what to do.” He looked back to the picture in his lap, again tracing his finger over Laylani’s form.

He’d never noticed that she was so short; her presence had never seemed small. But looking at the picture now, she was. He stood over a head taller than her.

“I never really realized just how little she was.” He said, motioning to the picture. “I suppose she can’t be more than 5’3, wouldn’t you say?” Hermione said nothing. “You know, I can distinctly remember both her parents being quite tall.” He stared at the picture thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s from malnourishment. They barely fed her, kept her locked in basements and closets; they chained her up and beat her.” Draco frowned. “She was just a little girl.”

Hermione remained silent. She imagined that the best thing, probably the only she could do for Malfoy right now, was to listen.

He heard the mantle clock strike the hour. Midnight.

“You should shake my hand, Granger. It’s my birthday today.”

“Really?” Draco nodded. “Well, happy birthday.” Bracing a hand against the wall, Draco rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“Laylani’s rooms. I promised her I’d open her gift on my birthday.” Hermione frowned, getting to her feet. It was well after curfew.

“I don’t know…”

“No one’s asking you to come along, Granger.” Draco sneered. Hermione scowled, watching him stride out the door. ‘Fine.’ She thought. Let him wander around the halls at this hour. It wouldn’t take Filch and patrolling prefects more than two minutes to catch him. She should report him herself. Then where would he be? In detention, that’s where.

She heaved a sigh. Who was she fooling?

“Malfoy, wait up!”

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

Luck was with them; there was no sign of Filch or Mrs. Norris, and the trip was relatively quiet and uneventful. They stopped in front of the portrait guarding Laylani’s room.

“Follow the yellow brick road.” It opened noiselessly and the two entered.

Hermione drew her wand and turned on the lights, as well as igniting a fire in the hearth for warmth. She sat down on the sofa while Draco crossed into the bedroom. This was probably something he’d prefer to do alone.

“She said she left it in the closet.” He called out. He stopped in front of the wardrobe, his hand resting on the door handle for a moment. He took a deep breath, letting it out as he opened the door.

The package nearly fell over on top of him. Draco just managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He lowered it carefully to the floor and sat down next to it. He ran his hand over the brightly colored wrapping, winding a finger around the curling ribbon for a moment before pulling, causing the bow to give way. Pulling it away, he set to undoing the wrapping, carefully lifting it along the edges, delicately prying away the Spell-o-tape. He didn’t know why he was being so careful; normally he tore into his presents. He felt the need to make this last; it was one of his last few tangible connections to Laylani.

Finally the last of the paper fell away, revealing several smaller packages in brown packing paper and a white envelope, his name written in her neat script in the center. Setting the envelope aside, he chose to save it for last and set out the various packages by size, from smallest to largest. He picked up the smallest first.

Pulling the string carefully, the bow gave and the paper fell open. It revealed a Phylias Moonfire broom compass; he was in need of a new one now that the Quidditch season had ended. He admired it for a moment before setting it aside. He pulled open the next package to find himself the owner of a Starbirch broom servicing kit, complete with polish. He could use one of those. Then a set of Osiris’ top of the line black leather guards.

It wasn’t hard to find a theme to her gifts.

Finally, he lifted the largest package, long and narrow, and rested it across his lap.

He didn’t have to guess what this was. It was obviously a broom. But why? His Nimbus Flash was still in fine shape. There was nothing better on the market. Still…

He pushed away the last of the plain brown paper, and for a fraction of a second he couldn’t remember how to breathe. When the air finally came to his lungs, it was in the form of a surprised gasp. How had she managed to get her hands on this? He marveled, stroking his fingertips along the handle.

A Firebolt X, the most publicized broom to come out in years, not due to be on the market until the end of August, wasn’t even to be publicly displayed until the Quidditch World Cup, in his hands. He held it out; lightweight but sturdy, perfectly balanced, every inch of it designed for speed. Magnificent.

How had she done it? How had she even known about it? Laylani was many things but a broom connoisseur or Quidditch equipment enthusiast she was not.

Setting the broom down, he picked up the envelope. Holding it in his hand he ran his finger along the edges before tracing over her writing. Taking a deep breath, he tore it open and pulled out the card. Flipping it open, he read.

***

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRACO!

I know you said things were set in stone, but I can’t – I won’t let you give up on playing professional Quidditch without a fight. Not when I know how happy it would make you. I’m not sure how just yet, but we’ll find a way to make this happen, love. I promise.

And besides, now that you have all new equipment, you really ought to put them to good use!

Love always,

Laylani

***

He smiled for a moment, but just as quickly he sighed and his features became pensive. He reread the note twice before setting it aside and drawing his finger tips back and forth along the length of the broom handle. This continued for several minutes as he tried to put some order to his thoughts.

“Draco?” Hermione looked at him from the archway.

She’d been sitting on the couch almost a quarter of an hour when she’d noticed that there was no longer any noise coming from the other room. After waiting another five minutes, also in silence, she decided that perhaps she ought to check to see if he was alright. She’d watched him for a moment as he looked wistfully at the broom by his side.

“Is everything alright?” Draco did not look up.

“Yes, Granger, everything’s fine. Fine as can be expected.”

“Good then.” Hermione paused for a moment, trying to find something to say. Finally she settled on “New broom?”

Turning to her, he nodded. “Firebolt X.” He hadn’t expected her to recognize the name; he was surprised when her eyes widened in awe.

“Really? Ron’s been going on and on about that broom for months now. It’s a whole new design from Firebolt, isn’t it? I thought it wasn’t due out until August?”

“It’s not.”

“Then how did she…?” Draco shrugged.

“I have no idea how she got her hands on it.” There was a beat of silence. Then another. Hermione tried to keep the conversation going, not wanting the Head Boy to turn back to the undoubtedly more morose dialogue in his mind.

“Did you need a new broom? And-”Hermione glanced over the other gifts. “Other Quidditch stuff?” This managed to get a smirk out of Draco.

“’Quidditch stuff’? Eloquent as always, Granger.” He glanced over his gifts. “No, I didn’t really need it, I suppose. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. It’s fabulous. It’s just – this is Laylani’s way of encouraging me to accept one of the offers from the professional teams.”

“Offers? Plural?” Draco tried to appear nonchalant.

“Yes. Five to be exact.”

“Five? I’m impressed, Malfoy. Harry only got three.” Draco abandoned nonchalance at this point and gave in to the desire to grin smugly. “But you don’t want to play professionally?” Hermione went on.

“No, I do. Of course I do. Unfortunately, it’s just not possible.” Hermione arched a brow. What could be impossible Draco Malfoy, young and rich with the world at his fingertips?

“How so?”

“I have to work.” Whatever she could have anticipated to hear, that response was quite possibly the last thing she had expected. It seemed almost ludicrous.

“Work?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Granger, work. At Malfoy Enterprises. I’m to work under my father until he retires, and then I’ll be head of the company. He took over after my grandfather, my grandfather took over after my great-grandfather, my great grandfather-“

“Took over after your great-great grandfather.” Hermione continued. “I understand.”

“And my son will take over after me. That’s how things are; it’s not even a choice. Malfoys didn’t get rich just sitting on our arses looking good.” He had the nerve to smirk as he said this.

“But what about what you want? It’s your life, after all. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

His features turned serious now. “Of course it does. I want to have the ability to give Laylani and any children we have everything they deserve. I want my family to continue to enjoy the respect and prestige we’ve earned over the years. I want to give my children a name that’s worth something. And I can do that and more by working at Malfoy Enterprises. Quidditch-” He paused, turning to run his hands over the broom, trying to find the right words. “Would be nice, wonderful even, but it would just be for me, just for now. In the long run, it couldn’t give me any of those things.” Suddenly he gave his head a small shake, as if coming out of a daze as he looked back to Hermione. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this.”

“Because I’m listening.” Draco shrugged.

“Maybe.” Taking the broom in hand, he got to his feet. “I suppose we ought to be going.”

Hermione nodded; he seemed to be doing better, much better, than when she had first found him. She wasn’t going to push her luck.

Draco shrunk the rest of his gifts and slipped them in his pocket. He didn’t even consider shrinking his broom; one didn’t tamper with a masterpiece. In that time Hermione had set about extinguishing the fire in the front room, and had her wand ready to turn out the lights as he crossed the room and met her at the door. Pushing the portrait open, she muttered a soft “Nox” and the room fell into darkness. They slipped into the empty halls, walking quickly in the direction of the Head suites.

Trying to fill the somewhat uneasy silence, Hermione gestured to the broom.

“Maybe you can take it out for a test flight tomorrow.” Draco looked at the broom momentarily, and then shook his head.

“No. I’ll take it for a test flight when I can take Laylani.”

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

Laylani lay on her back, counting the stones in the ceiling for the umpteenth time. There were 1138.

They’d returned her to her cell almost immediately after introducing her to the snake-man known as Lord Voldemort. Since then she’d been left completely alone. In the days that passed, the door had not opened once, and she could not detect even a whisper or a footstep from beyond it.

She tried to imagine what that meant. Perhaps they’d deemed unworthy, or simply forgotten about her. Maybe now it was just a matter of starving to death; it could be for the best. It seemed like a better alternative.

Laylani sighed, turning her head towards the door and wondered if Draco was worried about her now, if he even knew she was missing. She pictured Draco’s face as she’d been led out of the infirmary by Aurors; the stubborn attempt at his usual aloofness and a forced smirk, sad eyes that seemed to drink her in her appearance in every detail, as if he might never see her again. Her breath caught in her throat. Would Draco understand if she just gave up? Willed herself to die?

The unfamiliar sound of sharp footsteps approaching from beyond the door echoed around her cell. Oh Gods, she thought, someone was coming for her; they had not forgotten her after all. What fresh hell would this bring? The door swung open.

“So this is darling Draco’s fiancée?”

Laylani’s eyes snapped open, shooting upwards to a woman’s face and she pushed herself into a sitting position. How did she know Draco? The woman arched a brow, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“Surely Draco’s told you about his dear old Aunt Bellatrix?”

Laylani bit her lip. She’d never heard of an ‘Aunt Bellatrix’ from Draco, or anyone else for that matter, but something told her saying ‘no’ would not be the right answer.

“O-of course. I just…never had a face to put to the name.” The woman smile grew, obviously pleased, and Laylani held in a sigh of relief.

“Our Master has sent me with a gift for you, pretty pet.” The woman brought her hands from behind her back, showing that she carried a bowl. Kneeling she set the bowl on the ground. “I imagine you’re rather hungry.” Laylani crawled cautiously towards the bowl, eyeing the lumpy gray provisions inside, a familiar staple from her childhood. Reaching the bowl, she paused, casting a questioning glance to the Dark Robes. Bellatrix nodded.

“Go ahead, pet.”

Now having approval, Laylani showed no restraint. She practically pounced on the bowl, digging in with both hands. She knew from experience that it would taste foul, but after days without food, it was almost heavenly.

“And what do you say?” Laylani swallowed, looking up at the dark-haired woman.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” She said sincerely.

“Call me Auntie Bella.” The words in themselves seemed kind and informal, but the tone with which they were said indicated it was not a request but an order.

“Thank you, Auntie Bella.” Bellatrix smiled; the woman had a beautiful smile, but it seemed out of place, too wide to be on her gaunt face. She leaned down and ran her hand over Laylani’s head, petting her like a dog. “You’re welcome, my pet. After all we’re practically family.”

Straightening, Bellatrix removed her hand from Laylani, wiping it on her robe. She kicked Laylani’s bowl aside, slopping what was left of its contents on the floor. “Stand up. We’ve got much to do today.” Laylani rose obediently.

Two masked guards had their wands trained on Laylani as the woman approached. Drawing her wand from her sleeve, she silently removed Laylani’s wrist and ankle shackles before disconnecting the chain to her collar from the wall. She wound the chain around her hand twice before yanking on it and starting towards the door, silently commanding Laylani to follow.

They walked in silence for several minutes down the white marble halls; the only sound their echoing footsteps. Finally, Laylani couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Where are we going?”

Bellatrix turned quickly, wand in hand. “Crucio!” Laylani collapsed hard on the marble floor, her limbs flailing uselessly as incredible pain coursed through every inch of her body. Bellatrix watched on, a hint of a smile teasing her lips before ending the curse.

“You speak only when spoken to. Stand up.”

Laylani forced herself to comply. “Yes, Auntie Bella.” She wheezed. Bellatrix turned again and resumed walking, Laylani stumbling forward to follow.

“You’re filthy. You need to be cleaned before anything else.”

After long minutes of walking the endless marble halls, Bellatrix finally came to a stop at a door. Bellatrix turned to the Dark Robes.

“Wait here.” She pushed the door open and tugged at Laylani’s leash. “Come along, pet.” Laylani followed obediently.

It was a bedroom, a bedroom obviously designed with a female in mind, lavishly decorated in green and black. The large four poster bed with soft looking black comforter and rich green sheets seemed to call out to her, reminding her of all the aches and pains in her body from days on end on a stone floor.

Before she could examine the room further, Bellatrix pulled again at the leash, leading Laylani through another doorway into a bathroom. Spelling the door closed, Bellatrix crossed over to the shower, dragging Laylani along and affixing the end of her chain to a thick metal ring protruding from the tiled wall.

Turning back to Laylani, Bellatrix performed another spell and without warning, Laylani’s clothes vanished. Laylani yelped, her hands instinctively flying to cover herself. Another intricate wand wave and cold water began pouring out of the shower head.

Bellatrix held out a thick bar of yellow soap. “Alright pet, clean up. You’re as filthy as a muggle!”

That too-wide smile was back again, and Laylani could tell Bellatrix either didn’t notice or didn’t care about her discomfort. She imagined it was the latter; ‘Auntie Bella’ may be insane, but she certainly didn’t seem stupid. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Laylani dropped her hands resignedly from covering herself and took the bar of soap.

“Thank you, Auntie Bella.” She said quietly, lathering the strong-smelling soap in her hands. She worked it quickly through her hair, doubting the woman would give her much time. Bellatrix stayed, keeping her eyes on her but, much to Laylani’s relief, she didn’t seem to be looking at her body. Laylani scrubbed hard, watching with disgust as the water turned a faint shade of gray as it rinsed off her skin.

All too soon, the water was turned off, and Bellatrix released Laylani’s leash from the wall, winding it around her hand before tugging her out of the shower with a “Come along, pet.”

Laylani had just stepped out of the shower when the door flew open and a man, an unmasked Dark Robe, stepped inside.

“Bella…” he began, but his eyes turned to Laylani, who was again trying vainly to cover herself with her hands and he smiled, a disgusting, perverse smile, and took a step towards her.

“Reducto!” Bellatrix cried angrily, sending the Dark Robe flying backwards out of the room, crashing against a wall. “Crucio!” Laylani winced reflexively hearing the curse; she could hear the man screaming in pain. “Try anything Dolohov, and you’ll learn the full extent of my knowledge of the Cruciatus!” Bellatrix hissed. Laylani heard the bedroom door slam shut, followed by the squelching sound of a sealing spell

Returning to the bathroom, Bellatrix cast a quick drying charm before passing Laylani a non-descript brown robe. Laylani slipped it on quickly, grateful to be covered again. Wordlessly, Bellatrix turned, pulling Laylani’s leash to follow her into the bedroom and sat down at the dressing table.

“Sit.” Laylani did as she was asked, sitting herself at Bellatrix feet. Leaning over the vanity, Bellatrix picked up an ornate looking brush from a grooming set, and began to pull it through Laylani’s hair, humming sweetly without a tune as she tugged the bristles roughly through the tangled hair. Laylani clenched her jaw to stop from crying out in pain.

“Such a pretty girl.” Bellatrix cooed softly, “Lucius and Narcissa did well to choose you for young Draco.” The woman seemed to be talking to herself more than anything else. “I’ll teach you what it means to be a good pureblood. What a lovely wife Draco will have.”

“You mean I’ll see Draco again?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them, so excited at the prospect of being reunited with her love. She grit her teeth, bracing to be punished for speaking out of turn. Instead, Bellatrix continued sweeping the brush through her hair.

“Of course, pretty pet. In time, when you prove yourself worthy.” Her cool fingers ghosted over Laylani’s shoulder. “You’ll have such beautiful pureblood children together.” Laylani closed her eyes for a moment, accepting the touch.

“All done!” Bellatrix called out merrily, setting the brush aside and rising from her seat, tugging Laylani’s leash upwards. “On your feet pet, we have much to do today.”

Laylani stood up, frowning. She could only imagine what ‘Auntie Bella’ might have planned for her. They were nearly at the doorway when Bellatrix suddenly spun around to face her.

“Do you like the room, pretty pet?” Laylani looked over the room again. Refined and luxurious in every detail, it was probably the nicest bedroom Laylani had seen in her life.

“Yes Auntie Bella. It’s very nice.”

“It’s yours.” Laylani’s eyes widened. That couldn’t be true. The Dark robes had never kept her anywhere nicer than a closet or basement. They surely wouldn’t let her stay here.

“Really?” Bellatrix nodded.

“Of course; a pureblood lady such as yourself is entitled to the very best.” Laylani bit her lip, trying to keep herself from smiling. She took a step towards the bed, fingers itching to touch it, wanting to know if it was as soft and sumptuous as it looked.

Bellatrix jerked on the leash so hard Laylani stumbled back. She barely managed to stay standing, bracing her hand against the wall. She looked to Bellatrix questioningly.

“Ah ah ah.” Bellatrix said in a singsong voice. “Not yet, pet. You have to earn it. Come along now.”

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

They were running, laughing, holding hands. Twirling, she danced out of his reach, smiling, enticing him to catch her as she ran. He chased, laughing and determined. They ran on and the distance between them grew. The lightheartedness began to dissolve and panic set in. No matter how fast he ran, Laylani only got further and further away.

“Laylani!” he shouted. “Come back!” But it was too late; she vanished.

He stopped running, turning around and around, desperate to catch a glimpse of her somewhere, anywhere.

“Draco.” Her voice was soft, troubled, pained. It came from everywhere and nowhere. “Draco, it hurts. They’re hurting me Draco.” He turned faster, searching for any hint of a direction to follow.

“Laylani!” he shouted, “Laylani, where are you?”

“Draco, please! Please! Where are you Draco, they’re hurting me!” She sounded as if she was crying, but he couldn’t find her. She kept using his name, desperately calling for him.

“You said you’d protect me! You were supposed to keep me safe! I trusted you! Draco, where are you? It hurts so much!”

“LAYLANI!” He shouted, jolting upwards and falling off his side of the bed.

Draco lay on the floor, panting for breath, his sheets, damp with sweat, tangling around his body. He had to find her.

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

Monday morning found Draco making an appearance in the Great Hall for breakfast for the first time in nearly a week. He sat holding court at the Slytherin table, conversing and laughing, surrounded by his Slytherin cronies, and with Pansy Parkinson of all people sitting at his right, seeming to hang off his every word. He was behaving like the Draco Malfoy they’d known before Laylani’s sudden appearance.

If the rumor mill had been buzzing in his absence, it was going absolutely mad now.

He held the Golden trio’s rapt attention from the Gryffindor table.

“What the hell is he doing?” Ron hissed angrily. Hermione frowned; she didn’t know what to make of this. Malfoy had seemed genuinely upset that night, but now it looked as if it had all been completely forgotten.

“Maybe- maybe he’s planning something?” She offered.

“Yeah, planning to forget all about Laylani and go back to being the same selfish slimy git he was before.”

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach as Hermione watched Draco rise from the table, offering his arm to Parkinson, who grabbed on so quickly and so fiercely she almost tore it off. She watched them cross through the Great Hall and out the main doors, disappearing from sight.

He had to be planning something, something to get Laylani back…

Gods, she hoped so.

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

It had been three days since she’d been assigned to Auntie Bella’s care, and in that time they’d spent hours discussing and dissecting the various subjects of tapestries and statues throughout the marble halls. All of them warlords, conquerors and dictators. All of them purebloods, as Bellatrix was quick to point out.

“Do you know who this is, pet?”

Laylani took a step closer, examining the tapestry. It depicted a bloody scene in an open field, bodies strewn on the ground. Bellatrix pointed to a man standing in the center, foot resting dramatically on a fallen body’s chest, casting a curse.

“Grindelwald.” Bellatrix nodded.

“Correct. Now, tell me who he was?”

“He-he was a dark wizard, trying to overthrow the wizarding world on the premise that muggles and muggle-born wizards and witches-” Bellatrix grabbed her chin, turning Laylani’s face towards her so violently Laylani would have sworn she was trying to take her head right off.

“Mudbloods are not deserving of the name wizard and witches.” She hissed. “They’re parasites, a pestilence on our kind! Is that understood?” Laylani nodded weakly. Bellatrix turned Laylani back towards the tapestry. “Continue.”

Laylani chose her words carefully. “Grindelwald tried to overthrow the current wizarding system, wanting to create a hierarchy with pureblooded wizards and witches in power and muggles and m-mudbloods as little more than slaves, citing it was ‘for the greater good.’ His means were…violent.”

“The only thing they understand is force.” Auntie Bella said matter-of-factly. “You have to keep them in their place, or they become unruly upstarts, much like they are now. But soon, pretty pet, soon the Dark Lord will take care of them; show them exactly where they belong. We will no longer have to compromise ourselves for their sake. Come along, pet.”

Laylani resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She doubted Bellatrix had ever compromised herself for anyone’s sake, ever. Instead she nodded with a “Yes, Auntie Bella,” hoping it sounded sincere enough to please the woman. The first day of their ‘lessons’ Bellatrix had twice hit her with curses out of nowhere, explaining that Laylani did not seem to recognize the importance and the seriousness of the matters they were discussing.

It was then she’d noticed. The leash, the chain attached to the collar shackled around Laylani’s neck had never once left Bellatrix’s hand in their time together. And now it had been left sitting, just sitting on a white pedestal holding a vase, next to the tapestry.

She picked up the end of the chain noiselessly as Auntie Bella continued further down the hall. She took one step back. Another. Bellatrix kept walking, talking as if Laylani were still behind her, or perhaps to herself; one could never be sure with that woman. There would never be a better chance than this. Moving quietly, Laylani ducked into the next empty hall and began to run.

She had a rough idea of where she was. There was a door- large double doors that surely lead outside- down two floors from where she was. That was where she headed, hoping to God and Merlin and any other favorable deities that might be listening that she was going the right way.

Laylani took the first set of stairs she found that lead downwards. Keeping close to the inside wall, she took them two at a time, hand always on the railing to make sure she kept upright. This would likely be her only chance at escape, and she wasn’t going to sabotage it by doing something stupid like falling down the stairs and breaking a leg. If she kept her wits about her, she could – she would get out of this.

She had to.

A small sense of relief filled her when she found herself on the right floor. She knew where she was going from here; she knew where to find the door. Turning right, Laylani darted down the hall, thankful it appeared to be empty. Turning left at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, she spotted it. She ignored the growing sense of triumph that rose in her chest. She couldn’t afford to get cocky now.

She flung the door open and was hit by a blast of fresh air. Not pausing to enjoy it – there would be time for that later- she stepped outside. With that first step, she could feel a rush of magic wash over her, and her throat close.

No – no! Laylani struggled to take a breath but nothing would come. She continued forward as her hands scrambled to her throat; she tried to think of something, anything that would stop or reverse the spell. She could do nothing, still bound by the chains that restricted her magic. Black spots began to cloud her vision. She stumbled, collapsing onto her knees. This couldn’t be happening.

Darkness seeped into her vision, and she felt herself pitch forward, connecting painfully with the stone steps. The last thing she saw was a hazy vision of Bellatrix Black leaning against the door frame, smiling that too-wide grin.

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

“Enervate!”

The spell was followed by a hard kick to the ribs, probably cracking one or two. Laylani tried to curl up upon herself when she was shoved onto her back. She whimpered; definitely a cracked rib. She opened her eyes to find herself back in her cell, chained to the wall. Bellatrix and two masked Death Eaters loomed over her. Bellatrix spoke first.

“I’m disappointed, pet. I had expected better from you. Needless to say, you failed the test.” She stared at Laylani expectantly, mouth set in a cruel line. Not knowing what else to do, Laylani spoke.

“I’m…sorry Auntie Bella.”

“Sorry? Not as sorry as your going to be, I assure you.” She turned to the masked men.

“Four days. No food. Dementor visits are to last at least thirty minutes.” She turned back to Laylani. “I expect there will be several of those.” She crossed over to the door of the cell and the two men followed. “She’ll be having a visitor tonight. Make sure no one interferes. No one.”

Laylani briefly wondered what that could mean. Who here would want to interfere on her behalf?

“This is for your own good, pretty pet.” The door shut, and the locks were audible.

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

Laylani sat, wedged as far as she could into the corner, with her knees pulled up to her chest. She had her arms wrapped firmly around her knees, tucking her head as far down as possible in the space between.

There had already been two dementor visits and a long session of cold water dousing, and it had only been a few hours. At least, she was fairly certain; no ‘visitor’ had arrived yet, so it had to still be the same day, right?

She sighed.

There was a rattle at the door, and Laylani tensed, trying to prepare herself both physically and mentally for whatever might come next.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. No dramatic swirling fog, no cold water, no hexes. Unsure what to expect, Laylani lifted her head slightly, peering over her knees.

A masked Dark Robe – Death Eater, she corrected - had entered the room. A woman, she thought, judging from the small stature and rather dainty frame. Too small to be Auntie Bella.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” The mask was removed and tossed aside to reveal dark eyes and a pug nose. Laylani lifted her head fully.

“Parkinson.” Laylani rolled her eyes. Of course. Her own personal hell wouldn’t be complete without the presence of Pansy Parkinson. It was almost comical.

“So, trying to run away?” The words were somewhat conversational, if rather snide.

“What can I say? I’m just used to the finer things in life, going to be Mrs. Malfoy and all.”

“Bella tells me you didn’t get more than three feet out the door before passing out. Pathetic.”

“Well, you’d know all about being pathetic, wouldn’t you, Pansy?” Pansy scowled, sliding out her wand from her sleeve.

“Pedis dechirum.”*

Laylani couldn’t contain a scream as the skin on the soles of her feet literally ripped apart in a line from heel to toe. She bit her lip hard to keep any ensuing grunts or gasps of pain quiet, not wanting to give Pansy any more satisfaction.

“Can’t have you running again, can we?”

Laylani scowled, but said nothing. She could feel the blood practically pouring from her feet.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Crucio!”

The spell hit Laylani hard, the intense pain reflecting Pansy’s hatred for her. She arched back, the torn soles of her feet pressing painfully against the floor. It lasted for several long moments before finally letting up.

“You ruined a good thing for me, you know. Our Lord promised me anything, anything I wanted if I could capture you successfully without being detected. I spent weeks preparing, following you and Draco, learning your schedules, your habits. With that done, it was all so easy: Polyjuicing myself as your filthy blood-traitor friends, as Draco. Chatting up his past slags. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life to tell you the truth: that you were filth, not worth the Malfoy name.” She chuckled. “Your expression was priceless. Although I think belting you across the mouth was a very close second…at least until now.”

Her expression darkened. “It was a perfect plan; all you had to do was leave the bloody castle, but you couldn’t even do that! Draco would’ve been mine! Crucio!” Laylani rocked back in a desperate attempt to get on her back and keep her bloody feet from pressing reflexively against the floor.

Pansy let the curse last almost a minute before lifting the curse. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter now; you’ve only been gone a week and already he’s forgotten about you.” She paused for a second, looking thoughtful before a wicked grin lit up her pug features. “Sanguis fervefacium.”**

Laylani suddenly felt warm. She frowned as the feeling of heat rose inside her, becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. Pansy laughed loudly as Laylani pulled at the collar of her brown robe, trying to relieve the heat.

“That’s not true.” Laylani spat.

“I spent the entire day today with him. At the Slytherin table, in the library, in his rooms. ” Laylani had begun to sweat, feeling as if she were boiling. She yanked the hem of her robe up past her knees, but it did nothing to cool her. If anything she continued to warm.

“That’s a lie.” Laylani managed to choke out. Draco wouldn’t waste his time with Pansy Parkinson, not for any reason. Parkinson was just trying to make her more miserable than she already was. While the dreams and the sleepwalking had stopped, it seemed the mind games still continued.

The heat had moved beyond uncomfortable and was fast becoming unbearable. Laylani pulled at her robe, panting, desperately trying to remove the item, only to have it tangle in her chains.

“Is it? I can tell you his password is ‘dragon’s blood.’ I can tell you his bed sheets are green silk. And I can tell you there isn’t any hint you ever existed in there.”

“Liar!” Laylani screamed, clawing at her own skin, unable to escape the heat.

Ignoring Laylani’s desperate gasps, Pansy casually picked up her white mask and knocked twice on the door. After a moment it opened and she stepped through.

“I just thought you’d want to know. Finite Incantatum.” The door swung shut and locked.

Slowly, Laylani’s body began to cool and she began to shake. Unaware, tears began to slide down her cheeks.

“It’s not true.” She whispered softly. “She’s lying. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true…”





A/N: I'm going to say it now. I hate writing Dumbledore. Love him as a character but I never feel like I capture him properly. Just another reason I'm not JKR with billions of dollars...

* Pedis dechirum - Slightly altered Latin and French for ‘Foot’ and ‘Tear/Rip’
** Sanguis fervefacium – slightly altered Latin for ‘Blood’ and ‘Boil.’