pulvis et umbra sumus

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Harry Potter or it's associated characters. I only own Ophelia and her mother.

She wasn't certain of many things in her brief existence, but Ophelia was certain that her time in this world was drawing to a close.

The only child of Cyrus Selwyn, previous chairman of the board for Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had known of her family's nefarious history since she was little. Her last surviving family member was talented at keeping secrets, but the rebirth of the Dark Lord could be hidden from no one. Evil was no longer a distant threat in the past. It was staring Ophelia straight in the face, inside her head and soon to be filling up any leftover cavities.

No one ever stopped being a Death Eater. In addition to this, it was a well-known fact that several particularly devoted families within Voldemort's inner circle had their children recruited as well. Her time was coming, and she could feel it. Out of the all of the horrors Ophelia had faced in her life, none could compare to the corruption she was about to encounter. Her mother's suicide, the death of her last remaining family members, her father's abuse; all of it seemed splendidly simple to deal with when compared to the Dark Lord.

She had been trained well to keep her mouth shut and remain obedient, and she supposed she had her father to thank for that. Rules and guidelines had always been replaced by orders in the Selwyn home. Ignorant comments and empty questions were not taken well no matter how small they were, and so Ophelia said nothing of the palpable tension on the warm June evening as she finished dining with her father.

"What was your final mark for History of Magic?" Her father's baritone echoed against the walls of the dining hall, causing Ophelia's eyes to meet his through dark lashes.

"'Exceeding Expectations'." She reported, not expecting praise and not receiving any.

O.W.L's had recently been written at Hogwarts, marking the end of her fifth year. Her father had originally insisted upon her boarding at Beauxbaton's Academy for Young Witches when she'd begun her education, but after hearing that Severus Snape was to be teaching at Hogwarts his mind had quickly changed. Ophelia had her suspicions as to exactly why.

"And the others?" Cyrus raised a brow and demanded more. There was always a very obvious silent implication that stupidity and laziness would not be tolerated.

"Another 'exceeding expectations' and three 'outstandings'." Ophelia bit back, taking another sip of her pea soup.

The grandfather clock sitting on one side of the large room let out a large bong, indicating the end of another hour. Ophelia hoped to one day destroy the dreaded thing. She felt like it was mocking her, slowly chiming each hour as if marching her to her own death. The house was a black hole, despite it being constructed entirely out of white marble.

Her father said nothing in response to her grades, and so she waited. It was generally not welcome for her to start a conversation, and she didn't dare comment on his worn-out appearance nor the fact that his muscular frame had turned rather sinewy since her last visit. She did not come home for any other holidays other than Christmas or Summer, preferring to seek refuge within the walls of the Scotland fortress in which she studied.

"Narcissa and Draco are due to visit in a fortnight," Cyrus eyed his daughter cautiously, watching for any reaction. "My attendance here will be infrequent over your holidays, and we may have other…unexpected visitors."

Ophelia gave a curt nod of her head and kept her face blank, "Yes sir."

Dinner ended early, and she retreated to the library, gears turning in her head. Lucius Malfoy had recently been sentenced to life in Azkaban after irrefutable evidence pointed to his status as a Death Eater. A battle within the Department of Mysteries had confirmed Voldemort's return and led to the capture of several of his followers, one of which being the infamous blonde aristocrat. From what Ophelia had concluded, the Malfoys were quite shaken by the harsh sentencing served at Lucius' trial weeks later. She had not seen Draco since the train ride home from Hogwarts, the only memory that she could conjure being when she'd seen Narcissa pick Draco up from the platform. Ophelia had slid into the limousine that had arrived to collect her and all but forgotten about it. Their families had always been somewhat close, having much in common including the shared title of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Perhaps Narcissa would ask Cyrus for advice, but there was no way to know until she arrived in two weeks time. Resolving to forget about it until it was of immediate concern, Ophelia scanned the bookshelves in search of a very specific title.

Since her departure from Hogwarts, she had been fascinated with the subject of Occlumency and had devoted all spare time towards researching it. Protecting herself against any types of attacks was a skill Ophelia valued very highly, and after opening up a book found on the fifth shelf she dully recognized the irony in that. She would need these skills in the time to come. In some ways she had always practiced shielding her mind from a variety of things, especially when it came to the abuse suffered at the hands of her father and the malevolence he spread like a plague. Perhaps this was the reason she had been so successful in her attempts to learn the ancient art.

Cyrus' violent nature extended past his daughter, and while she wasn't sure, Ophelia held the belief that her mother's suicide had a lot to do with her father's vile ways and the family's grisly history. Her ancestors had gotten their way with pure carnage and terrorism, acquiring vast wealth that caught the eye of some of the most powerful wizards to have ever existed. The Selwyns had been a family proud to serve the Dark Lord in his prime. She knew that her own father had been responsible for an amassment of deaths in the past, and the family had gone through so many house elves due to his deadly outbursts that Ophelia was somewhat thankful he served as chairman of one of the boards in the Ministry. With his capability of pulling strings and his sinister threats, he was never convicted of any of the charges that had been lain upon him – including the assassination of his own parents.

Her mother's death was different. Although many other pureblood families reckoned that he had finally snapped on his own wife, Cyrus hadn't lain a hand on Antoinette.

Pushing the memories out of her mind, Ophelia focused on the words before her and quickly became consumed with the advanced literature. She could only practice defenses independently as she was not permitted to have visitors at any time, and counting on her father to assist her with her studies was not realistic. She did not know whether this was because he trusted her to take care of herself or if he truly did not care for her well being, although the latter was more likely.

Ophelia took a deep breath and shut her eyes, sliding onto the comfortable leather couch in the centre of the library and taking the opportunity to focus on wiping her mind of all thoughts and emotions. She had been practicing this basic step since she had returned from the castle and had found it rather simple. However, improvement was necessary if the Dark Lord was to become intertwined in her life in the foreseeable future. She had little interest in exploring Legilimency as she was rarely ever the attacker, forcing her to settle on developing the Occlumens skills alone for the time being. More advanced forms of the art also involved suppressing the mental matter that the attacker was seeking out, so if she truly wanted to protect herself, she needed to excel quickly.

Time slipped from her grasp as she dropped all thoughts from her head and began to breathe deeply through her nose, listening to nothing but the pattering of the rain on the window and the soft clicking of her silver watch. She tried to picture what she thought a vast, empty time pocket would look like, mimicking the same blank sensation with as little fear and anxiety as she could.

Her short progress was interrupted by a quiet clicking at the door, and upon turning to investigate Ophelia huffed at the sight of Lando, her speckled black owl.

"My poor Lando," She complained as she opened the window to allow the soaked bird in, plucking the letter from its beak in the meanwhile. "Why on earth does Daphne choose the rainiest days to reply?"

Lando hooted lowly, chirping and bumping her hand with his round head. Ophelia smiled and fished a biscuit out of one of the expensive glassware sets sitting near her, giving it to the bird who cooed in thanks.

She opened the mail and skimmed the short letter, allowing a smirk to pull at the right side of her cheek when she read that her classmate's mother had gone bonkers upon discovering that Daphne had nearly failed Potions. While she wasn't particularly close with the girl, Daphne was more tolerable and not nearly as air-headed as the other Slytherin girls. For the time being she was a safe acquaintance, but Ophelia never made the mistake of putting her full trust in anyone.

It was quiet in the large manor during the summer, as Cyrus rarely allowed his daughter to step outside and they had little to no visits from others. She was stuck in the enormous home to her own devices, but she'd grown used to it.

Ophelia quickly replied to the other girl, letting her know not much had changed in her manor and that all was well. She added in a few more questions about the Greengrass family, wishing them all good health. Lando chirped fretfully as he looked between his owner and the pouring ran outside, clearly not thrilled about the prospect of delivering another letter in such conditions.

"What? Send you out into a storm?" Ophelia reassured and leaned down to allow Lando to hop on her shoulder, taking him out of the library. "Are you daft? I'm not Daphne bloody Greengrass."

She made sure to avoid the East Wing where her father mainly resided. In what seemed like a gigantic exaggeration, at least in her opinion, she held the entire West Wing to herself. The owlery stood at the end of said wing, it being the only obscenely tall structure in the manor. It offered refuge to several owls and many other creatures, though Ophelia stayed tight-lipped about them as she was certain her father would not approve. The secretive aspects of her home that she had grown familiar with over the years provided her with some sense of stimulation and warmth. She figured it was likely one of the only things keeping her from going absolutely mad.

Lando hooted happily as he soon as he was free to fly, soaring gracefully to the highest perch available alongside several other owls. With the knowledge that he would not be lonely Ophelia left the bird on his own.

She retreated to one of the other smaller libraries in her wing, picking out several books on the History of the World and any Occlumency-related readings she could find. Although it would have seemed quite lonely to the outside eye, she was perfectly happy curled up on the plush couch underneath a fur blanket, flying through the pages on early muggle history that influenced the magical realm. Her father couldn't stop certain information from getting through the walls of the manor, and she'd gained most of her knowledge about the 'unworthy race' from any books she could purchase or find in the house.

It was all rubbish, Ophelia thought with a sigh as she read a passage about how many wizards felt that they were supreme to non-magic folk. Judging one another in the realm of the living was easy, but in the afterlife everyone was an equal.

In some regards she wasn't truly aware of how or when she had begun to think differently about muggles. She supposed it came from her stubborn nature to accept all of the things that had been shoved down her throat as a child. Exposure to pointless killings and violence had somehow helped her understand that it was wrong to torture and kill those who didn't deserve it over prejudices. It was the same logic that was applied to bullying Hogwarts students, which she had never understood. Pureblood ideals aside, she did not want to live up to her family's standard. Still, she was careful not to reveal any of these feelings and even practiced dropping them from her mind in her Occlumency sessions. Appearance held much weight, especially in the tense times ahead.

She had discovered that pain, suffering, rage and heartbreak were easily taken care of when one's mind was blank and empty. It was with great pleasure that she had indulged in practicing the ancient art, especially if her father got particularly rough with her. Ophelia had a sense that she'd been preparing herself for this type of skill for years. Her mother's passing had resulted in a complete withdrawal from reality, barely eating and sleeping. In a zombie-like state and with half of her brain shut off, she'd found peace.

Ophelia and her mother had never been awfully close, but losing a parental figure at the tender age of eight was no easy burden to bear. Antoinette had loved her the only way she had been taught to; all she knew of her life as a pureblood French heiress was patriarchal ideals, and so she had taught Ophelia the ways in which to become a suitable companion for any pureblood suitors that came her way.

The remaining heir lost herself in her own mind again, delving as deep as she could go into her stores of memories only to clear them out seconds later. Imagining a large garbage receptacle, she took each moment she could think of and tossed it away. Emotions were particularly stubborn, but with a bit of yanking they fell to their demise. She continued to rid herself of everything she could until she was left with near emptiness. It was absolutely beautiful. The absence of consciousness and recollection soothed her as she lived in the present moment besides the relaxation of her muscles and her joy, two feelings that made it past her barrier.

Regrettably, she could not stay in her own head forever.

Slowly and steadily, she accepted the memories that had been dropped into the abyss and were waiting in the impenetrable depths of her soul to bounce back. Years and years of experiences flew by at an incomprehensible speed, as if her life was flashing before her eyes. It took several minutes for Ophelia to rid herself of the dizziness afterwards.

It was the deepest she'd ever gone. Allowing herself a small smile at the triumphant success, her hopes lifted by a mere fraction of an inch.

A series of thunderclaps distracted her and the young witch rose from her seat to examine the development of the nasty storm. A barely-used parlour with a large balcony offered her access, and she carefully opened the double doors only to find a raging downpour complete with lightning and harsh rain.

There was something wonderful about not being able to hear one's own thoughts, Ophelia acknowledged as she relished in the feeling similar to that of Occlumency. The thunderstorm made everything else absolutely obsolete, she could focus on nothing else except the June night sky. Still, the pureblood witch could not ignore the change in the air. Something was different, much darker. The thought made her shiver, and she wrapped her arms further around herself as if such a minute gesture would protect her from the oncoming grasp of evil.

A fortnight passed by quicker than Ophelia would have liked it to, but the accelerated passage of time in its unruly efforts to bring her closer to unwanted events was unfortunately regular and expected in her life.

She knew it wouldn't help her case, but she still cursed whatever entity was organizing her life for her as she fixed her light makeup in preparation for the Malfoys arrival. Her soft black curls hung in loose tresses to her mid back, nearly blending in with her knee length dress. The ebony bodycon number clung to her curves nicely, a small slit in the side and off the shoulder sleeves adding soft simple touches without overdoing the amount of skin showing.

The clock struck seven, teasing her yet again. She slipped on a pair of Louboutin suede pumps, a Christmas gift from her father last year, and exited her room. A small pair of pearl earrings, her mother's only jewelry that her father hadn't locked away, were added to her lobes as she made her way downstairs.

She had always hated descending the large looped staircase in the mansion. Something about it made her particularly nervous, perhaps because one could not see around the corner. Toying with the Selwyn family crest symbol on her bracelet and swallowing a gulp, she refused to falter in her steps as she continued down what felt like a walk into the fiery pits of hell.

She could definitely imagine continuing to live at Selwyn manor when she grew older, but not without some alterations. Footsteps echoed everywhere and the house was entirely too big for two people. The color made it stick out like a sore thumb within the pureblood community and it was rumoured to be highly regarded, but Ophelia didn't understand the fascination with it. The white marble made her feel like she lived in a mental asylum. Although, when she thought about it, this was not necessarily far from the truth.

Her father was waiting for her at the base of the stairs and gave her a harsh smack on the back of the head for her tardiness. "Seven means seven, not five after seven."

"I'm sorry, sir." Ophelia held back an angry grimace, picking at her long, manicured nails as she followed him to the foyer where a house elf had been stationed.

Besides the likely reason for Narcissa's visit, she knew that there were other probable reasons for the Malfoys to drop in. The young woman was a prime candidate for an arranged marriage, her vast wealth being a key point of interest for several bloodlines. Her father had not yet told her of any potential suitors, but that did not mean offers hadn't been made. She'd seen the papers from the Nott, Goyle and Zabini family.

Her stomach twisted even further at the thought. Arranged marriage should have been left in the century in which it was coined. In this day and age, it was repulsive that pureblood families upheld such traditional and old-fashioned norms, although it was to be expected and she could not control this. It was best to accept and do what was required to stay alive. Ophelia reckoned she was getting better at it.

Two pops could be heard faintly in the distance, announcing the arrival of the remaining Malfoy family.

Moments like this came rarely, but suddenly Ophelia was grateful for the enormous grounds surrounding her estate and the long driveway leading up to the house. The obscenely large fountain near the main entrance meant that it took visitors twice as long to travel to the front door, which was highly favorable as Ophelia loathed social gatherings with a passion.

Her father rarely entertained, and when he did it was mostly for business. There was no doubt in Ophelia's mind that after the recent advancements involving the Dark Lord and the head of the Malfoy household, this too would be considered a business meeting.

She had to admit, seeing Draco outside of school was going to be strange. They had only ever visited one another frequently when they were quite young, or when Lucius and Cyrus had business to discuss. They had never been close, but were civil and at times helpful to one another during the school year.

"Stand straight." Her father commanded. As if being held by a string, Ophelia's back corrected itself from its slightly slouched position. Cyrus then slapped her hands away from each other, the sharp smack resounding between the walls of the extravagant home. "Don't pick your nails – it's filthy and unbecoming."

Ophelia seethed in silence. The few times she had bitten back at him there had been hell to pay, and she had emerged from the encounter with many bruises, one of which always having been her ego. She would not make the mistake of crossing him again.

"The Malfoy family have arrived, master." Trotter the house elf – perhaps the longest surviving elf in the entire manor, but Ophelia couldn't be sure as she tended to avoid getting too attached to them – waved a hand and opened the door to reveal the mother and son.

"Narcissa, Draco," Her father embraced the elder pureblood witch, and went to shake hands with the younger blonde. "You are both most welcome."

Ophelia had never heard him take such an easy tone with her, and while she hated herself for admitting it, she felt a twinge of envy. However, she continued to prove that affection and approval were not necessary for growth, and it did comfort her that such tones of his were always a façade. No one would ever receive a true compassion from Cyrus; there was no genuine warmth or love inside of his soul, although this did not bring her much comfort in retrospect.

She stood behind her father until it was her turn to greet the newly arrived exchanged two dainty kisses on the cheek with Narcissa. Draco chose to give her a polite peck on the hand, and she returned an expertly crafted smile in return. As with all who faced her, he did not see through her mask.

"Ophelia my dear, you've become such a beautiful young woman," Narcissa complimented, forcing the girl in question to run her eyes over the woman's appearance. For what it was worth, Narcissa looked very well put together for someone who's husband had just been shipped off to Azkaban. "It's been almost a year since we've seen you last. Draco tells me your studies are going well."

"Yes ma'am," Ophelia responded politely, unable to stop the slight quirking of her brow at the mention of her son reporting school behavior. It should not have been a surprise that eyes were watching everywhere. "Thank you, my exams went well."

"I've missed these white walls," Narcissa murmured as the four made their way to one of the parlours, looking around at the white marble.

Ophelia thought of the few memories she had of playdates with Draco when they'd been younger and her mother had still been alive. It made sense that Narcissa missed the paleness of the Selwyn home, as Malfoy manor resembled a pitch-black morgue.

The small group settled in one of the larger parlours. Cyrus quickly turned to Ophelia only to snap his fingers as he pointed to the liquor cabinet, "Brandy."

Obeying, Ophelia summoned glasses and carefully lifted the heavy bottle out of its spot, struggling slightly as she began to section it for her father and Mrs. Malfoy. She had never been a strong girl, and with stress eating away at her appetite and little to no exercise to speak of, the young witch did not have many muscles left on her after the years. A shadow loomed over her form suddenly and the girl flinched, expecting her father's harsh criticism or rough hands to reprimand her for being so clumsy.

She was surprised to find Draco in the place of her father, gently taking the bottle of Brandy from her hands and pouring it evenly himself.

"Thank you." Her response was guarded, befuddled to see him be so careful and considerate.

He nodded once in response before he turned and dispensed the glasses to the adults in the room.

"Play us something, child." Cyrus commanded, jutting his chin out towards the grand piano in the corner of the large room.

Wordlessly, Ophelia took her seat at the bench and began to play one of the few pieces she knew by heart. Endless piano lessons due to her mother's insistence that she retain a traditional pureblood skill paid off every once in awhile, and it provided her with a moment of clarity. Chopin's Moonlight Sonata was one of her favorites, and the romantic tune rang clear throughout the parlour. Listening to the highs and lows of the song as she played them was very therapeutic, even if it was just for show. She could feel the three sets of eyes on her as her delicate spider-like fingers moved across the keyboard, pedal pressing rhythmically each time it was needed. Playing with heels was slightly annoying, but the lovely sound the piano emitted was worth it. Ophelia proceeded towards the end of the first movement, praying her father would not force her to play the second and third.

The piano in this parlour had a key that had blown it out last week, and she hadn't remembered to repair it yet. She did not want the same punishment she'd received the last time such a conundrum had happened. Thankfully, as the last chord dissipated into the air Cyrus was merciful and merely nodded as the two Malfoys clapped delicately.

"Narcissa, to what do we owe this visit?" Cyrus gave the woman clearance to explain the reason for their visit, sitting across her on one of the expensive plus couches. Ophelia stayed put where she was, slightly hidden from sight on the bench of the grand piano.

The blonde woman took a deep breath, as if it pained her to do so, and began. "As I am sure you both know, Lucius is not available to speak for the family at the moment. Before his departure, he expressed his wishes that a contract be offered to you. As families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it is our duty to uphold the bloodlines' purity."

A brief pregnant pause, and she continued.

"We are aware that other contracts may have been offered. However, recent…events have left us in less than favorable conditions with our Lord. We wish to fortify our safety and standpoint, and we believe the House of Selwyn will benefit from such a match as well."

This looked incredibly difficult for Narcissa to say aloud, as she was admitting the family's need for help. Her usual snooty expression had been replaced by desperation and fear. Seeing a Malfoy beg on their knees was a sight for sore eyes, Ophelia deduced as she curiously awaited her father's reaction.

"Our own standpoint is not incredibly high," Cyrus rose a brow, playing humble and refusing to comment on the other parts of her message. "I am merely trusted with mass containment and execution matters."

"The Selwyn name is looked upon much more favorably than our own at the moment," Narcissa admitted, pursing her lips. Admitting defeat was eating her from the inside out, but the safety of her family apparently mattered much more. "I believe the match will please him."

"I have much respect for Lucius, I was sorry to hear of his sentencing." Cyrus looked back at his daughter on the piano bench, dark gaze calculating his odds. "She is pure, I'll have you know."

Ophelia nearly gagged at the discussion of her virginity out in the open, but she contained her reflexes and forced the bile back down her throat.

"Our bloodline is dying out," Cyrus conceded, much to Ophelia's surprise. He'd been known to have tortured and killed many of their immediate relatives, cousins and even distant family members, but of course he would never admit to it. "My daughter is the last of us. If I am to accept this contract, I require the promise of children."

The two adults looked towards Narcissa's only son, who paled a bit before swallowing quietly and nodding once. It was then that Ophelia saw the world swim before her eyes, until all was a mass of hues and shades eventually fading to black.

"Ophelia? Ophelia!"

The girl startled at the sound of her name and opened her eyes to find three concerned faces peering down at her. Good Lord – she'd fainted in front of the Malfoys. At the thought of childbirth, no less. She hadn't expected such a demand from her father, and she had failed in containing her shock. It was a stupid mistake she knew she would have to pay for.

"All you alright, darling?" Narcissa felt Ophelia's forehead, frowning slightly.

"Feeling a bit peckish, are we?" Her father ignored Narcissa's question and ordered a nearby house elf to fetch a cold cloth, annoyance breaking through the feigned concern in his tone.

Draco kneeled down to her level and reached out a hand, the gesture surprising Ophelia. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows pulled together in confusion before she reluctantly accepted his help, and with his assistance managed to stand.

"My apologies," Ophelia could not imagine the type of penalty that awaited her for having fainted right in the middle of such an important conversation, especially when they were arranging a contract. It made her look like an ill option.

He said nothing, but clasped her elbow, helping her to sit on the couch.

She fidgeted at his odd behavior until the house elf returned with the cloth, trying to ease the queasiness resting in the pit of her stomach and suppress the urge to vomit. It was surreal sitting next to the person who she'd been betrothed to and practically ordered to have children with. The thought made her head spin once more.

"Cyrus, what say you?" Narcissa turned back to Ophelia's father once she was certain his daughter was safe beside her son.

It took only a moment for him to make his choice, "Let it be done."

Ophelia felt the remnants of an already nonexistent life slipping away between her fingers as she watched a triumphant smile make its way across Narcissa's face. The witch retrieved some documents from her handbag and presented them to Cyrus, sealing two fates that were not hers to seal. Both Draco and Ophelia watched from the couch as their parents signed away, helpless to the turn of the tides and the wills of their parents. By now they were in too deep, caught inside a whirlwind of a war that had nothing to do with them. They were dangling right above the mouth of the Kraken with nothing to hold them up.

Ophelia was called upon to sign first, and Draco assisted her to stand once more so that she could make her way over to the back of the grand piano that was being used as a makeshift table. The young witch gulped heavily upon reading where she should sign, accepting the quill her father handed her and scrawling her name in gentle cursive on the dotted line. It felt like she was signing away her life, and in many aspects that was true. Cyrus did not miss her obvious displeasure at the sight of the contract.

Draco was next, clearly quite perturbed by the events but expressing a calm demeanour nonetheless. He stayed close to Ophelia's side, perhaps finding comfort in solidarity. The young witch didn't know the real reason, but it felt better having someone to slump onto in case her body decided to drop like a sack of potatoes again.

The parchments in front of them were sealed with an unbreakable bond, meaning failure to meet the terms of the marriage would result in death. Ophelia didn't know why this upset her so; she had been expecting it since she had turned seventeen and had begun receiving requests from several other families for a betrothal. Maybe it was the onset of the situation that had made her so nervous, but she admitted to herself that it could have been worse.

What puzzled her even further was her father's snap decision when it came to the proposal; she had not expected him to agree to such a contract so quickly, even if the two families had a history.

"Thank you both," Narcissa made eye contact with both Cyrus and his daughter, before motioning for Draco to follow her. "I assure you this will do well."

The Selwyns escorted them to the foyer. Ophelia took this time to give Draco a cautious one-over. She'd noticed a change in his haughty and arrogant ways, as he was more withdrawn and apathetic than usual. Malcontent and pride had been abandoned for contemplation and brooding, it seemed, and she had a few guesses as to why. Either way, she decided she preferred this Malfoy over the cocky git she'd been housemates with during the last five years of school.

Narcissa moved to embrace Ophelia in farewell, and Cyrus went to shake Draco's hand. The boy gave the young heir a quick kiss on the cheek, only lingering there for a second or two, and then he and Narcissa were gone. Ophelia wished they had stayed longer; perhaps it would have allowed her father to forget her blunder.

In two wide strides Cyrus was upon her, quickly landing a backhanded blow to the left side of her face. Ophelia stumbled in pain before standing straight, awaiting the harsh words that were to be spat in her face. She knew she had not done well in burying her true feelings. "Do not embarrass me in such a manner ever again. Your incapability of retaining self-control is pitiful."

"I'm sorry, sir." She resisted the urge to scream that such statements were blatant lies, instead looking directly at his chest at the pendant proudly bearing another Selwyn family crest.

Apparently displeased with her response, Cyrus gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him. "We have an appearance to uphold. Do not allow yourself such a blunder ever again."

With a wave of his hand she was dismissed, and she managed to hold herself together until she got to her room and cast a silencing charm.

She expected tears, but none came. Opening her mouth to shriek she awaited the deafening noise, but all her throat emitted was a pathetic squeak. Ophelia froze in shocked silence as her brain tried to process what was going on, body unable to cope with the sudden onset of stress. Standing for what felt like hours, the young girl tried to contemplate any escape from her current situation. Each conclusion she drew was worst than the last; disguise, escape, suicide – none of it was worth the risk, nor the final price. She was determined to live a full life on her own terms, but how?

Finally, Ophelia managed to gain back a bit of control and cleared her mind, retrieving the skills she had been practicing. It took a great deal of pushing, but she managed to drop almost everything from her head until all that was left was exhaustion. Heartache, stress, sadness, fear and outrage were swept away, falling to the pits of darkness they had first emerged from. She released a large breath and slowly slipped off her heels to go draw a bath.