Dawns of Another Day

All Character belong to JKR, save for the OC who narrates. This is a general disclaimer for all chapters henceforth.

Endings to Start With

I'd once heard the women chose men who are most like their fathers. I know this will never happen to me, because nobody is like my father. Nobody could be like my father. No one could willingly cause so much pain and suffering, except my father.

I don't think he was ever taught what pain and suffering meant. No, I take that back. He understood them perfectly-that's why he was so good at what he did. He transformed torture into an art form. He made is look beautiful, seductive. The blood, the screams, the withering….it was simply part of the show, details in the sculpture. My father could give pain like no one else, because he meant it. I remember, when I was eight, how he explained it to me.

"They need to feel your rage, Keturah." He had said, seriously. "You make them comprehend that their life is going to end, but first you are going to show them just how horrifying it can be."

Profound things for an eight-year-old to be thinking about, let alone discussing with her father. He taught me these things, but never expected me to ever use them. I was not destined to be any sort of warrior, or even an heir. When you're planning on living forever, there is no point in having heirs. Father taught me these things for the sake of teaching me, I suppose. When I thought about it, I guess he had hoped that I could be his right-hand-man, of sorts. Then it turned out I wasn't a man. But that wasn't my fault.

He named me Keturah. Since it was probably a creation of his own, I have no idea what it means. It didn't really matter. It was just a name. He was the only one who called me "Keturah", anyways. The rest of the time it was "My Lady" or some other formality from the people around. The few, the proud, the whimpering Death Eaters. Around that lot, I felt like a princess. I was respected like no one else. And I could tell, I was the only one who wasn't afraid of my father. I respected him, but I could not fear him.

"Ah, Keturah." He would say upon my entrance. "My dear, we were discussing the little problem of the Order of the Phoenix. They have far too much pull over the public. What say you?"

Or, "My dear, Malfoy apparently thought handing out my personal possessions to blood-traitor Griffindors was a valid method of distribution. Shall I explain to him the flaws in that method of thinking?"

Now that I'm older I understand that his parenting skills fell more than a little short. He may or may not have loved me. I could have been a mistake. I may or may not have been his child. However, that didn't matter. Not then. I was the Dark Lord's daughter, and that meant the world.

My birth is a bit of a mystery. My mother was someone completely unknown to me. The only thing I was told was "She's dead, she was a loyal follower, she loved you." Narcissa told me these things, when I was a child. She was the only sort of Mother-figure I had, but even then my experiences with her were brief. My real mother had been selected for the task of procreating with the Dark Lord. She did it, and then died before I became two years of age. According to my father, I look nothing like her, instead resemble him greatly with my dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.

"You would have done well at Hogwarts. And I would have let you go, had that muggle-loving fool not been the Headmaster."

"What were your years at Hogwarts like?"

"Me? Ah, my dear, I was the most talented student to go through that hole. I received more than a few rewards for services to the school, I was Head Boy, and after I left I could have gotten a job anywhere…I did very well for myself, Keturah."

"Do you think I could have been as great?"

"Oh, yes." He hissed.

The other side told me that he was heartless. Supposedly he didn't know how to love, had, in fact, never loved or been loved by anyone. They said he had merely been a power-hungry psycho. Derranged. Defective. Mad.

When they told me these things, I didn't know what to say. My father was not a lovable, cuddly person. He never tucked me in at night, sang me songs, or hugged me. He rarely showed affection. I had been essentially raised by his followers, seeing as he had been missing for fifteen years of my life. All the things one uses to mark the measures of love he had failed to show. He was, mostly, a prominent figurehead. We had intellectual discussions, not heart-to-heart chats. He taught me curses, not how to read. He revealed to me ways to read a persons' mind and how to hide away my own, but he never showed me how to dance. My father gave me great books of learning and certainly never read them to me.

Did he love me? Perhaps. I shall never know now, though, shall I?

-XXX-

At the very least, he was fond enough of me to keep me around and teach me. He wasn't unnecessarily cruel. I never saw him as "an evil, manipulative git" as they called him on the other side. He was "Father", who could be mean at times, but was, for the most part, indifferent.

Ash and smoke pour into the sitting room in a small "poof" as the woman fell through the fire place. She stands, dusting herself off as she clung to the marble mantle.

"He's dead!" her sobs echoed through the great, nearly-empty manor. "The Dark Lord is dead!"

The few women that sit with me in the parlor of Malfoy Manor were silent for approximately thirty seconds, then they begin screaming to high hell. I wince, waiting for them to stop. When something resembling silence resumes, I stand from my armchair.

"Explain yourself, Lidana." My voice is considerably firm for a girl who has lost her father. "How can the Dark Lord be dead."

"The Potter boy!" She shriekes. "He did it. He killed-he k-killed—"

"Enough," I snap.

The assembly of women surrounding me began to babble once more. A crowd of Death Eater wives had been selected to sit with me as we waited for the sedge on the school to play itself out. Mrs. Gibbon, Mrs. Baddock, Mrs. Flint, Mrs. Higgs, Bastia Yaxley, Mrs. Zabini, and Nott's mother all sit around me. Lidana Travers quivers where she stands, soot lining the hem of her dress. She is indeed distraught. Most are crying, sobbing even.

"How can you be sure?" I demand. "Did you see it?"

"No, but Rabastan managed to flee from the Order to tell me and the others. I was able to evade them to tell all of you. They've out numbered us. He is dead!" She wailes.

I roll my eyes. Cliché. "I will not believe it until I see him with my own eyes." I announce. "Where are the others? Bella? Malfoy?"

"Oh," Lidana moans. "Malfoy has betray us! Bella is…is dead. The blood traitor Wesley killed her!"

At this I pause. Bellatrix was my father's most loyal, most favoured follower. Dead? How?

"We…we must stay calm." I say. "Those remaining will return for us, I am sure."

"Or the Order will." One woman murmurs.

The Order of the Phoenix, the heartless bastards that worked against my father? Would they really try to take us? Looking from face to face, I realize there is no way we could go against the Order, or even trained Aurors. Our outlook is bleak. These pampered women know nothing of defense. What can I do?

"I will message Rodolphus." I say in a loud voice. I feel like jelly, like I'm a damn about to break, but I stay solid. "If there is no response…we will go from there."

Turning to one arched window, I prepare cast my spell. Closing my eyes, I recall the feast prior to the invasion of the castle. Draco had smiled at me when Father wasn't looking, even though it wasn't a time for smiling. "Expecto Patronum!"

My silver Lanner falcon flies from my wand to suspend itself in the air. "Go to Rodolphus." I tell it. "'Is the Dark Lord truly dead? Do you need aid?' Now go!"

Looking out the window, I see that is it just past dawn. A strip of electric pink is on the horizon, with a flashy gold directly below it. A new day. A new beginning.

I look back to the weeping women. "If no one answers, go home."

The women stare. Lidana is the first to speak. "What?"

"You need to return home. Don't you see? If you are all found here together, think how incriminating that will be? If you are found in your separate homes, with your families, you are unlikely to be suspected. If anyone manages to escape, they will find you.

I will give the patronus ten minutes. If I get no response, you must leave."

"What about you?"

Surprised again, I open my mouth without thinking. "Me?"

"Where will you go?"

"I will stay here." I lie.

"Really," says Ms. Zabini. "This will be the first place they will look, Keturah." Her eyes tell me that I should know better. I examine her perfect black curls instead of looking at the message clear in her eyes. "Someone ought to stay with you."

"For protection?" I snort. "I am sorry Madam, but I am capable enough to defend myself from twenty Order Members. They surely will not send more than six. I will be fine. Truly."

A defiant silence follows. Whoever said Slytherins only cared for themselves? I tell myself it is fear of my father that causes them to think twice. If, perhaps, he has not passed on, these women would pay dearly if they left me to fend for myself.

"Nobody knows I exist. I will be fine."

It takes some more convincing, but they finally agree. By that time more than fifteen minutes have passed. And no return patronus had shown itself. They leave by apparition, because I won't allow them to leave my Floo. I insist that by now the networks were already in Order control. They leave in twos and threes to split up once they reached their next destination. I would at least make it a little difficult for the Order.

Venus Zabini is the last to leave. She takes my hands. I stiffen. Nobody touches me so freely. With my father supposedly dead, the rules have changed. Can I rely on my bloodlines to save me? To protect me from these ruthless people?

"Do not be a hero." Mrs. Zabini tells me, squeezing my hand. "Save yourself, Keturah. His Lordship would have wanted that."

"Yes," I say, going to the window as she disappears into the flames. The fountain's water glimmers in the morning light. "but he is gone now."

-XXX-

To all my WTVC and Red Sky reader, I am so sorry. This is actually nearly completely written so I won't be away for long. But, the story just gomped the heck out of me and wouldn't let go!

I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Ms. Zabini, who is nameless in the books (not to mention never seen) has been dubbed Venus here, in reference to her multiple marriages. Falcons: Soul Healing, Accompanying the Soul Back to the Soul World, Teaching Swiftness, Controlling Speed and Movement, Understanding Magick, Astral Travelling, Healing, which is why I choose one for her patronus.

Keturah is 19, was born in 1979, and a complete OC. I'm practically queen of them, it seems.

I've done as much research as possible, worked in symbolism into nearly every darn stitch of this story, and have edited only three times!

Please, if you have any questions, comments, or just a general review, I would love to hear from you.