Neomi fought the urge to scream as the pain tore through her again. She'd lost count of the curses her 'father' had cast on her, lost track of the time he'd spent doing it. If she had the ability to fight back, they'd all be dead. Never one to care for violence, she would gladly kill every person in the room, the sick, sadistic bunch who watched her torture with uncaring eyes. All but Bellatrix. Her eyes laughed at Neomi.

'Her first, if I ever make it out of here.'

Normally, Lucius' eyes would have been dancing as well, but he was under considerable pressure from his master. The Dark Lord was growing impatient. 'The girl must be made to follow,' he'd hissed. 'She must be ours!' Neomi would laugh if she were capable of it. This was their idea of convincing her that their side must be victorious? She might be a child, but she wasn't an idiot. They only wanted her to join them because of the prophecy. Of all the things for Voldemort to believe, he had an almost obsessive conviction in the truth of prophecies.

Neomi had never heard the prophecy that had sealed her fate, but she knew the highlights. The daughter of a muggle and a blood traitor would decide the fate of the second war. The victory of either side was dependent on her alliance. Should she follow the Chosen One, he would defeat the Dark Lord, but if she should chose the Dark Lord, he would defeat the Chosen One and reign supreme.

The Dark Lord heard of this just before he went to kill Harry Potter. Before, he'd been certain that he would defeat the child, but this had convinced him that he needed a backup plan. Namely, the girl the prophecy spoke of. And so, as he went to seal his own fate, he told his most trusted Death Eaters (Lucius and Narcissa, as it would happen, an irony that wasn't lost on her now) to find the child and make her into one of their own. So they had spent a good portion of the time immediately following his 'death' looking for such a child.

Her father, a wizard who she'd seen in photos but knew nothing about, had gone missing at around the same time the Dark Lord had fallen. Her mother had sealed him away in her memory, never speaking of him except to tell Neomi that he'd have been a good father if he'd had the chance. Sarah had learned of her pregnancy two weeks after the last time the child's father had vanished. She'd raised her daughter in the muggle world, telling her that her powers must be hidden. For all she knew, the one her boyfriend had been so afraid of was still in power, and he would find her and her daughter and kill them. She'd remained unknown to the wizarding world until she was seven. That year, her mother had taken ill. She'd passed away quietly in the night, while her daughter slept in the chair next to her hospital bed. Neomi had been placed in an orphanage.

Tormented by her mother's death, her powers had manifested without warning, without her intention for them to do so. It started small; someone who teased her would trip, a missing toy would appear on her bed. But the incidents became more obvious and occurred more often, and the wizarding world took notice. Her orphanage was notified of her powers, a common practice at the time. In addition to this, she was added to a list of orphans seeking wizarding parents.

The Malfoys had been scouring that archive for years, looking for a child. Upon seeing her photo, they were almost certain that they knew the identity of her father. They arrived at the orphanage and asked to see her. Neomi, just a child at the time, was delighted to meet people who could do tricks, like she could. She told them that her mother wasn't magic but her father was. It was all the convincing they needed. The adoption papers were signed and she became Neomi Malfoy.

At the time, she'd been so happy. The thought caused her to smirk ever so slightly, something she regretted a moment later when Lucius cursed her again. Still, she managed not to scream or cry.

"Lucius," Bellatrix cooed, "you've been at it for over an hour." She slid off the table she'd been sitting on, and walked up to Neomi, grabbing her face cruelly. "Surely our little girl has seen our point of view by now…"

In response, Neomi spat in her face. Her aunt reeled back, hissing.

"You little brat!" she screamed, pulling her wand. "Crucio!"

At the curse, Neomi flinched ever so slightly, but fought the urge to make a sound. Lucius rolled his eyes, the most he'd seemed like himself in months.

"Bella," he sighed, "she is defiant. It's likely in her blood, considering her father. If she could be convinced by kind words we'd have done so long ago."

Neomi snorted in disbelief, earning herself another curse. "When have you ever used kind words to woo me, father?' She spat the last word, speaking more than she had during the entire session.

Lucius sighed again. "Neomi, we tried. When we brought you here, we showed you all we could offer-"

"You tortured me for five minutes my first night here because I asked where the telly was! I was 7; I'd been raised by muggles! What the bloody hell did you expect?"

Before he could respond, the room grew silent and tense. Neomi didn't have to look to know who had entered the room.

"Neomi, my child," his voice hissed. It was meant to soothe, she knew, but it made her skin crawl. "Your suffering will stop. You need only say that you will support our efforts in the war. Just a few words and you will be free to roam the house as you once did; you will be fed, cared for. A bath will be drawn. All you have to do is say it…"

Neomi forced her eyes to the Dark Lord's red gaze, refusing to be afraid.

"Go to hell."

When the curse hit her, she was already braced, but it didn't stop the faintest of whimpers from making its way out. Unlike Lucius, Voldemort held it steady, continuing the pain for what seemed like forever. When it finally stopped, she felt as though her ears were stuffed with cotton.

She could hear him giving orders to someone, but couldn't understand the words. She felt a familiar set of arms wrap around her, lift her up. She was carried out of the room and down, into the basement. He spoke to her, whispering, but nothing made sense. A set of silver blue eyes met hers, sympathy in them, as he locked her in one of the cells. She barely made out the words 'I'm sorry' on his lips before she passed out.