Her entire body seemed to ache after the burning, all radiating from the damning mark now seared into the flesh of her left forearm. It ached for days and she worried it'd become infected, but it never showed any signs, no unusual redness or swelling. Soon, she realized that the ache was not physical, simply mental and emotional. And like all such things in her life, she filed it away in her mind and moved on.
Amelia Hargrave was not unfamiliar with bad decisions or criminal actions. Her family legacy was one of illegal action, and while her mother ran from it, she embraced it as a young child. The Hargrave's were an older wizarding family that specialized in tracking others through illegal means and without the approval of the ministry. Upon her tenth birthday, Cowal Hargrave, Amelia's maternal grandfather, presented her with the chance to become a witch, and so, took her from the parents that kept magic a secret from her. By the time she began attending Hogwarts the next year, she had forgone her father's surname- Gerey- in favor of the family name and was being trained to continue the Hargrave work.
The family had had dealings with the Dark Lord many times over years and as he began collecting followers, the Hargrave's were a family he wanted. They, however, refused him, too proud to allow him free access to their abilities. So long as he and his followers stayed hidden away, the Hargrave's had no fear of retribution and continued on, tracking down witches and wizards for the right price.
When the Second Wizarding War began descending upon Hogwarts, and it became clear that choices must be made, and the Hargrave's were split. Many still too proud to allow themselves to be used as tools stood against the Dark Lord, while a small number signed their allegiance over to him.
For Amelia, it had always been about survival. If the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were to win the war, they would not be kind to those who stood against them, of that she was sure. Just as she was sure that if they lost, she would find more mercy among the witches and wizards that she'd studied with and under.
Absentmindedly Amelia brushed her thumb over the mark, the thin fabric of her uniform hiding it from view as she sat in her potions class. She had never cared for potions and Professor Slughorn was more annoying than entertaining. It was in this class that her mind was most prone to wandering, and wander it did. In recent days, she had had a much harder time of concentrating. She feared the battle that was to come, feared what part she would play in it. The fear that had begun to engulf her was stronger than anything she'd ever felt and sleep had been hard to find, her appearance more telling of her emotional turmoil than her behavior. Her normally well cared for hair was left to hang lose, the dark tresses pooling over her shoulder where she could run her fingers through it—a nervous tick. Lack of sleep made her eyelids heavy and broken capillaries left dark circles below her blue green eyes.
When classes were over, she headed for the Slytherin commons, hoping that the dim lighting and lap of water at the windows would calm her thoughts and allow her rest. The halls were busy and part of her hated the students that filled them for being so blind to the upcoming turmoil. She walked quickly, eyes locked forward and frown set on her face, hoping that no one were to bother her. It was only when she approached the entrance to the commons that she was stopped by a hand grasping her arm; grasping the dark mark burned into her flesh. Amelia turned, wand in hand angled to press under the throat of whoever held her, only to drop it just as quickly, objections to her handlings silenced.
The gray eyes, taught pale skin, and sharp features were just as tired as hers and the expression they held asked silence of her as Draco spoke, "Come with me." He pulled her along, through less and less populated halls, not saying another word. The hand on her arm was cold and tense, almost painfully tight against the mark that still felt so fresh. Draco Malfoy was always someone that Amelia respected, if for no other reason than his skill. When they were younger, skill was the young Malfoy's only saving grace. Now however, his skill only accounted for part of her respect for him.
Eventually, he pulled her into a room full of items of all sorts—the room of requirement. She had expected him to release her then, but he continued to pull her along, past impossibly tall piles of furniture all sorted into categories until they reached somewhat of a clearing. Before them stood another piece of what she assumed was furniture, covered by a large white cloth. Confused, Amelia looked to Draco. He stood tense beside her, looking towards the object but not at it, his eyes darting about as he thought. His behavior bothered her; he was clearly nervous, no, frightened. Carefully she touched the hand still tight on her arm, startling him out of his silence. Draco sighed, releasing her arm to run his fingers through his hair, his hand visibly shaking as he began to pace, "Amelia, I can't do it. I just can't do it. Nothing is working and it's almost time."
The fear that was so obvious in Draco's voice put Amelia on edge, and as she watched him pace she felt her heartbeat begin to race. "What can't you do, Draco? What do you mean?" Once again, she looked to the covered object, wondering just what it was and how it played into what was going on.
Dropping his hand from his hair, Draco turned to her and suddenly he was grabbing her arm again, pushing the sleeve of her uniform up to expose the dark mark etched into her skin. For a few moments, he did nothing but stare at it as Amelia fidgeted in his grasp. Then lightly, he brushed his thumb over it, his voice quiet, "He wants me to kill Dumbledore, Amelia. He'll kill me if I don't, he'll kill my parents."
Her eyes snapped up to his face, trying to fool herself into thinking that he hadn't just said that, hadn't just confessed that he was Voldemort's chosen tool, that he was going to commit such a crime. Of all the things she expected would be ordered, Dumbledore's death was for some reason something she couldn't comprehend, especially at the hands of someone like Draco. It seemed so drastic but it made a painful amount of sense and with a shaky breath, she had to admit she understood why it had to be done. Death was something she had seen and been responsible for many times before and so discarding the sickening guilt and sentiment was something far too easy. After a moment, she set her free hand on his arm, over his own dark mark, "What's not working, Draco? How can I help?"
Confusion flashed across his face and he looked at her hand before bringing his eyes up to hers, "What?"
"You said it yourself, He will kill you and your parents if you don't do as he has ordered, so you can and you will do it, no matter what. So, how can I help you, Draco?"
His brows creased as he searched her eyes, unsure and desperate. Both of them were tense, their heartbeats racing as they shook. Despite their allegiance, the matching marks burned into their flesh, their past crimes and wrongs, this was something on an entirely different level. His grip on her wrist tightened and he brushed his fingers across the mark again, sending a shiver through Amelia's body. She gasped quietly, closing her eyes to the sensation. He leaned into her, his pleas a whisper against her ear, "Take the fear away, I can't function like this. Distract me."
Then he was kissing her, hard and desperate, letting go of her arm to pull her tight against him. Amelia found herself kissing back, grasping the lapels of his jacket and holding tight, just as desperate and willing for a distraction as he. They fed off of each other, each touch more needing, more forward. Soon he had her against the edge of a nearby desk, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressing hard against her hip. His breath came short when he pulled away, stormy gray eyes clouded with lust meeting hers, asking wordlessly for her permission. In response, she pushed his jacket from his shoulders and pushed her lips to his, running her tongue against his lips. Draco let his jacket fall to the floor and lifted her onto the desk, sliding her underwear away and moving to unfasten his slacks. Amelia's hands lifted the end of the shirt he wore, her fingers sliding beneath to brush against his skin, bringing forth a low groan as his muscles tensed.
Finally he had removed his pants and his hands were on her hips, pulling her down on him. Her head fell back, hands and legs moving to hold him as she moaned, her body shaking as he entered. Once he was sheathed inside her, his movements became fast and hungry, his mouth moving down her throat. Her hands pushed at his shirt and one moved up to twine into his hair, pulling the fine strands when bit down against her pulse. Bucking her hips against him, she gasped his name and he groaned, hands pulling her tight to his body. "Amelia," he breathed, thrusts short and sharp as he neared his climax. Her body was tense around him and she shook, clinging to him when she found her own.
They came down slow, leaning against each other, breathing heavy and loud. Minds fogged over with pleasure and exhaustion they calmed themselves, seemingly ignorant to their original reasons for being in the room. He was the first to speak, setting her on the desk again and reaching to brush the mark that they shared, "Thank you." It was simple and left much to be addressed, but she needed no more than that.
"You're welcome, Draco," she returned, watching his thumb as it moved across her arm, "Anything I can do, I will."
He nodded, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers, "Stay."