To Die For
Chapter One
Christine Balfour waited anxiously by the river in Spinner's End- which was black with pollution and filth- among the over-grown, littered banks. Christine's soft, elegant beauty looked oddly out of place in the gloom, like a precious, pristine stone in a mound of dirt. The only noise was the trickling of the dark water, and she was the only moving thing, though only slightly. It was as if time had stopped itself, seldom her and the whispering waters.
"Christine!" Narcissa's voice was barely the breadth of a whisper, but in the near-dead silence it was startling, and it made her jump.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her heart racing. "Why aren't you with Bella protecting the vaults?"
Narcissa glanced around skittishly, as if worried that they would be overheard, before continuing. "Please…Christine; you must not go through with this. It's nothing that you can handle- it'll destroy you."
"That's a lot coming from you," Christine snapped irritably. Her tone was ignorant, but you could tell that she was anxious, her tone unnaturally harsh. "I've got nothing to lose anyway…"
"You have everything to lose!" Narcissa shot back, seizing Christine's wrist sternly, "This is not a game- you could get hurt."
"I am not a child anymore," she growled, wrenching herself out of Narcissa's grasp, her long, straw-colored hair obscuring her intense blue gaze, her expression fierce. "Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do.
"I am not trying to dictate you!" Narcissa exclaimed, teary-eyed, brushing Christine's hair out of her face. "I'm just trying to protect you."
"Well, don't," Christine said quietly, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't need your help. I had to bury my parents last month because they were murdered by the Dark Lord."
"I know, Christine," Narcissa pleaded, her voice cracking slightly. "I lost them too."
"No, you don't," she snapped, an unwanted tear making it's way down her cheek. "I didn't lose them- they lost me… a long time ago."
"Oh, Chrissy! Don't you understand?" Narcissa asked solemnly, "they loved-" But exactly what the Balfour's loved she would not know (not that Christine wanted to hear it; she already knew what they loved- money, parties, and materialistic things).
Their conversation was caught short by a loud crack as a tall, slim hooded-figure in long black robes apparated between Narcissa and Christine. With a swift, easy motion, he removed his hood, revealing himself as a handsome, blonde-haired boy of about seventeen, with fair skin and grey eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked his mother tensely. He did not sound angry, rude, or even impatient. His tone was worried, almost alarmed.
"You'd better get back to you position at Gringott's before he finds out." He said. Draco did not have to repeat himself, as Narcissa dissapparated silently, her eyes still glossy.
Christine lowered her gaze, averting Draco's eyes, no doubt unnerved by his sudden appearance. It was actually more due to the fact of why he was there.
"He's ready?" Christine asked softly, staring down at her feet, all the defiance she had previously displayed diminished.
Draco lifted her chin with his hand, so he could look into her eyes, and Christine could see how much the stress and anxiety had changed his appearance over the period of the last year.
Though still in possession of his good looks, Draco looked sad, tired, almost aged; like a young child forced to grow up much earlier than it should have, one that has experienced years of heart-ache and abuse. His steely grey eyes were scared, and pained, his young face filled with so much sadness and knowledge that it oughtn't to.
Christine felt as if a cold fist had clenched around her heart, and she shivered, her heart beating rapidly with fear. "I'm not ready for this," Christine thought sacredly to herself, and she turned her back on Draco to conceal that she was crying. "Is this what will happen to me?"
For a moment she thought about running away, but it struck her that she had nowhere to run to, no way to hide. The Death Eaters would surely find her before she had apparated so much as a mile outside of Spinner's End.
Draco seized Christine gently by the shoulders, and turning her around to face him, but she merely looked down at her feet. "Hey- hey!" he exclaimed, lifting her chin up, and wiping her tears away. "I have faith in you."
He pulled her into a warm, loving embrace, and kissed her tenderly, afraid that- though quite opposite of his half-hearted encouragements- should he let go of Christine, she might disappear all together.
She held onto him for a few minutes, as she tried to compose herself, and steady her breathing before facing the task that lay ahead. When she was ready, Christine pulled away from Draco, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, and said quietly, "Where is he?"
"The parlor," Draco replied, without meeting her gaze, sounding down-spirited. "The parlor. Go through the painting we used to use- it should take you-" "directly to him." She finished his sentence for him."
It was the passageway they used the most often when they were younger, before they had started schooling. When their parents, along with the other Death Eaters were attending the meetings, they were left to themselves to explore the Dark Lord's most "Loyal Servant's" home.
"Merci," Christine said his face in her hand affectionately for a moment, and gave him another brief kiss. "Aurevoir." With that she turned away, and started her way up the dry, rubbish-strewn lawn to the old, tarnished manor, but suddenly stopped when Draco called her name. She 360'd on the spot to look at him, and he said, only loud enough for them to hear, "Be careful." He only waited a few minutes more before disapparating in a hazy shimmer.
With a sigh, Christine faced the faded, scratched front door, and closed her fingers around the doorknobs smooth surface. There was a moment's hesitation before she entered, but she turned the knob she knew there was no turning back from that point on.
It took all the strength and self-restraint she had to not run away as fast as she could. But, she made it through the threshold, and into the hallway, the wallpaper peeling and faded with age. The hallway was lined with creaky doors; seldom the one section that branched off into a spiral staircase, and at the end of the hall hung an old, peculiar painting of a door. The whole house, as always glowered with the air of neglect and years of being uninhabited.
The hallway was dingy and dimly lit, and sure enough, just as she remembered it, the picture was waiting for her at the end. She swallowed loudly, and took a few tentative steps forward, reached for ward and knocked on the picture of the door. Instantly before her eyes, it transformed into a narrow doorway, and she walked through. The passageway was not long- merely a five minute walk, and she descended from the painting on the other side- entering the parlor. With an eerie creak, the portrait of whom she assumed was one of Snape's ancestor's swung back into its place, resuming its original shape and appearance.
"Christine!" The voice came from somewhere close to where she stood. It was high, cold, and though it was familiar, sent chills of fear down her spine, and she shivered when it's source revealed himself.
Lord Voldemort's ghastly white face shone brightly against his robes in the semi-dark room, and his glistening crimson eyes had a teasing, mocking expression as he watched her, but there was no humor in it. He sniffed the air with his thin, grotesque slits that served him as nostrils, before laughing coldly: "What is that I feel… fear? Loathing? Such hostile feelings."
"No, sir!" she protested, looking alarmed, dropping to her knees, pleading with him. "Please, my lord! I think only of you in the highest regards, and wish nothing but to redeem myself for my parent's mistake!"
The Dark Lord swooped down upon her, pulling Christine to her feet none-too-gently by the neck of her robes. "Do not lie to me!" he snapped harshly, his face merely an inch apart from her own, and she flinched, shuddering. "Understand?"
"Yes, My Lord!" Christine cried desperately. He released her, and she collapsed onto the dusty floor, where she watched him silently, eyes wide with fear.
"Pathetic," he said disgustedly. He heaved a deep sigh, and he walked slowly around her, like a cheetah about to pounce it's prey. "However, luck is in your favor, for the Dark Lord is merciful…" He crouched low, seizing her firmly by the arms and lifting her roughly onto her feet again. "After all… we are family. And families look out for another- is that not right…Christine?"
"Yes, My Lord," she replied, swallowing hard, and recomposing herself. She wiped away any unwanted tears, but made sure to keep her eyes on Voldemort all at once. She was concentrating on blocking off her mind from him, putting her long Occlumency lessons to use.
It seemed that the Dark Lord had taken notice of this, for he was grinning amusedly, and looking as horrifying as ever. "Ahh…yes, Christine. You will make a great Death Eater yet- beautiful, intelligent, talented…" A thin, cruel smile which did not- by any means, make him any bit the more welcoming- curled his lips, and he continued. "Perceptive, and brave. I've often said that the more valuable qualities are wasted on youth."
Christine turned her back on him in attempt to regain control of her, for she was shaking with fury and remorse. She could feel his long, pale, spidery fingers in her hair, and she was greatly impulsed to hack every one of them off.
Spinning her around, he gripped her roughly by the shoulders. "There are far greater things worse than death, my dear. Forget life, as you once knew. Nothing lies behind for you."
She did not respond immediately, for fear of retorting and offending him, despite the fact that she knew he was right. Finally, with a defeated tone, she answered, "What is it that you want?"
With a flourish of his wand and a flick of the he wrist, summoned a small golden compact. Christine opened it up, and on closer inspection, realized that both halves of the inside were mirrors. Confused, she did not know what to make of his intentions. "Pardon monsieur, but I don't quite understand."
"You should be honored, Christine, to know that very few would fulfill the proper requirements for the task I have for you." He said, still smiling creepily. "You're to go undercover- find a way into the Weasley's hearts- I know Harry Potter is to spend the remainder of the summer holidays with him. Come tomorrow, they will be visiting Diagon Alley."
Christine watched him with anticipated anxiety. She could already tell where this was going, and quite frankly she did not want to. However, she held her silence, knowing well enough not to test his patience.
"The Weasley's are naturally sympathetic, and a warm-hearted family. Your parent's deaths were already announced in the obituary, so they know you'll be on your own. They'll feel obliged to invite you into their home for your own well being. I want to study them and Potter, make him fall in love with you. Find his weakness, and when the time comes… kill him."
"My Lord- I can't- I-" She began to protest with him, glossy-eyed, but was cut off shortly.
"Very close to the Malfoy's, are you not? Particularly Draco?" he said vindictively, grinning in a most vampire-like way. He took pleasure in Christine's fear, as she seized up immediately, knowing he had complete control over her. "Surely we'd be devastated if anything bad ever happened to them.
"What's the compact for then?" She asked forcibly, sounding unnaturally helpless, as opposed to her usual strong, independent ways.
"I thought that was obvious," Voldemort scoffed impatiently, "the compact mirrors are a means of communicating. Owls are easily intercepted- we cannot have the weasley's or any Ministry-officials finding out about what we are up to, and we obviously cannot give you the Dark Mark, that would be obvious beyond the point of stupidity. The compact serves as a two-way mirror. We speak through it, so we can see and hear one another. Keep it with you at all times, when I am trying to contact you, it will grow hot."
Christine placed the compact carefully within an inside pocket of her dark robes, and listened for any further instructions. She did not have to wait long for them to come.
"Now go, leave my sight, and don't forget what I have told you. Your course of action takes place tomorrow. Do not fail me- or I will kill you."
Christine, did not have to be told more than once, as she dissapparated from the house, leaving him far behind. For the moment.
5