Chapter Two: All I Have

Two Weeks Ago

He's facing the marble fireplace, His back to me when I step into the room. My heart's beating in my throat.

"My Lord."

My words, though soft, ring out in the silent stone drawing room, empty of everyone but Him and me. They're a whisper but they aren't feeble. They're strong and resolute, but quiet all the same. That's how my voice is - quiet. Rough and deep and quiet.

He doesn't turn, just keeps facing the fire. Something about that, the lack of acknowledgment, irritates me, but I wish it wouldn't. The simple gesture - Him not turning around - feels like denial already.

But He can't deny my wish. He just can't.

"Aria," He says simply, in that high-pitched, hissing way of His. "You have a request?"

"I do, my Lord," I answer, staring at His black clothed back. He can't say no. He can't.

It takes a few moments for me to gather my courage, to remember what I'm here for. Remember what I'll be losing if he denies my request. I take a few small steps forward, easing out of the doorway, and the light from the room spills onto my dark robes. I squint and flinch, not used to the brightness. I have always rather liked the dark. The world looks its best when you can't see it.

"I want to go in with him, my Lord," I say finally, releasing it all like a sigh. He still doesn't move. He watches the flames leap and crack in the fireplace, and it's as if I haven't even spoken. The only acknowledgment taht I get is the slight stirring of the great snake at His feet. Nagini's head bobs up, her cold eye locking with mine before she lowers herself to the floor once again, hissing. Am I imagining the shake of her head just before her jaws touch the tiled floor? Is His snake denying me, too?

Frustration builds inside me as the minutes tick by.

He can't say no.

He can't.

Can He?

"Why does it matter to you, Aria?" He rasps, finally breaking the uneasy silence. "Why does he matter?"

I've been asking myself the same question for the last six weeks.

I struggle with my words, like they can't get into the proper order in my head, like something's scrambling them in my brain. When I finally get them out, they sound strangled and incomplete.

"He's - he's all I have, my Lord."

All I have. So He can't say no.

"You have us," He sneers, sounding bitterly mocking as He turns away from the fireplace. His tone and the way His eyes regard me should be enough of a warning for me to back down, to try a different approach, but I ignore the alarms that ring out in my head and continue.

"It's different."

"What," He titters, a cruel smile stretching over his thin lips. Something new flashes in his words. His words are a sneer. "Aren't we enough for you? Our little family?"

I realize my mistake too late. And I backpedal.

"You misunderstand me, my Lord, I only meant - "

He raises a hand; a single hand that says more than a thousand bellowed words. I feel something calm beneath the surface, and the tension in the room slowly slackens. My shoulders are still stiff and my heart is still thumping in my throat, but there's a little less pressure in my chest and a little less constriction in my lungs.

He can't say no.

"Very well," He hisses, and Nagini mimics the action, her tongue flicking out of her mouth menacingly. "Go. Tell Severus. He will make the arrangements."

"Thank you, my Lord," I murmur, bowing lower than I ever have in my life. My shoulders unclench and my heart sinks back down to its place in the cage of my ribs. I feel a thousand pounds lighter.

I know better than to leave right away - I made that mistake once before. Standing rigidly under His piercing gaze, a flush of warmth edged with an icy chill races through me.

Despite the shiver of fear that snakes down my spine, I can't help but feel good around Him. It's a whisper of the old flame that used to burn inside of me, when I first became a Death Eater, looking down upon my Dark Mark, the reminder burned into my flesh that said that I was worth it. That I was useful. That I was powerful. That coursing thrill has since faded, only sometimes reawakened on high-adrenaline missions or duels, or at times like these, when I'm alone with the Dark Lord and He looks at me like He is now, with His critical eyes surveying me and trying to see if I'm still worth it - if I'm still powerful.

Something clears in his eyes and he dismisses me with a curt wave of his hand. The warmth of validation burns within me as I back out of the room, my eyes watering with relief.

He said yes.

"It has been arranged," drawls the velvety voice of Severus Snape. In that moment, I can swear it's the voice of the angels.

We sit in a darkened corner of an empty pub in Knockturn Alley, the closest ears to hear us being the rats that scurry overhead on the boughs and the pub's owner, who is sweeping the floor across the room. He pays us no mind; shadier characters than us have done their business here, so our dark cloaks and need for shadows are nothing out of the ordinary. And, considering the weight of the times, he knows better than to eavesdrop.

"Thank you, Severus," I breathe, shutting my eyes briefly in relief.

"You will need to assume a new identity," he continues coolly, as if I haven't spoken. My eyes narrow slightly. So that's the catch.

"But - "

"The Desere family name is too widely known in the wizarding world as a dark family. You'd be suspected of dark ties before you so much as stepped foot in the castle."

I sigh and nod reluctantly for him to go on. He eyes me carefully.

"Your name is Remy Turner. You born in southern England on December 13, 1980. Your parents are muggles - Cassandra and Humphrey Turner, who is a watch repairman. They hired a witch to teach you magic at home until she fell ill this past summer, which is the cause for your transfer to Hogwarts. You will stick by this information as if your life depends upon it - which it does. Am I clear?"

Nodding hesitantly, I commit the description to memory.

The Deseres are, indeed, a famously dark family - and proudly so. To think that I'll be posing as a mudblood... I can feel my mother rolling over in her grave.

"You will stay out of trouble," Severus continues silkily, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Out of quidditch. Out of detention. Out of anything that will turn heads or justify suspicion."

"Thank you, Severus," I say again with a small smile, to which I receive no response.

"And - Severus?" I call just as he's about to leave, then remember where we are and look to ensure that the bartender hasn't heard me. He only continues sweeping, still ignoring us. Severus turns slightly and inclines his head to show that he's listening. "Don't say a word of this to Draco just yet, mind? I'd like to do it myself."

He flourishes his cloak and exits the shoddy pub, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Remy Turner.

What the hell sort of name is Remy? A boy's name if I've ever heard one. And a mudblood? I shudder. But I suppose Severus couldn't have made me a pureblood - all respectable purebloods are familiar with all other respectable purebloods, so the completely fabricated character Remy Turner couldn't have passed as one. But surely a half-blood would have been safe?

How did I get into this, trading in a favor from the Dark Lord? Putting on a new identity? Shedding my pure pedigree and donning the filthy family tree of a muggle born?

It seems like ages ago that the problem arose.

I heard the news first from Yaxley the day before yesterday - he always had a problem with Lucius, so any misfortune of the Malfoys was a thing of brilliance in his eyes. He was much more subtle about it, his glee at the news, when he told me, but I could see it in his eyes, in the way they glinted with glee. I heard it next from Antonin Dolohov, who at least had the decency to sound a bit pitying. I didn't want to believe it, of course, so I went to Narcissa.

Two Days Earlier

I tumble from the fireplace, coughing the floo powder from my lungs and shaking off the dizzying feeling of traveling through the Floo Network.

"Is it true? Is he - " I cut off, taking in my surroundings, frozen in shock. For the first time in my life, I witness the Malfoy mansion in complete disarray.

A vase lays broken on the floor and the wall above its chipped and shattered pieces is dented, suggesting that the china was hurled across the room. A loveseat is overturned and a reading lamp leans precariously against a wall diagonally, its light bulb flickering like a dying firefly trapped in a jar. The other fineries in the room are splayed across the floor. A broken but still beautiful woman sits on another loveseat in the middle of the disaster area, her skirt and blouse ensemble disheveled and her usually carefully pinned hair sticks out in places.

Narcissa looks up, startled, and dissolves into a fit of tearful sobs.

"Oh - Aria!" she cries, standing unsteadily and flinging herself into my arms. I stand rigidly, disbelief written over my features. Never in my life have I seen Narcissa Malfoy so distraught, not even after the capture and arrest of her husband.

"So it's true, then?" I whisper into her hair, patting her on the back with a twinge of awkwardness. She explodes with another gasping sob and all but collapses into me. I struggle against her, leading her slowly to the white couch that looks about as uncomfortable as it does expensive. Narcissa nods feebly against my shoulder, her tears sliding down my neck and into the high collar of my robe.

"It's - It's a suicide mission!" she weeps, "He's p-punishing Lucius for what happened at the M-Min-Ministry! It's not f-fair, it's not - " The rest of her sentence is swallowed by another wave of fresh tears and anguish.

I feel knocked breathless, like someone's stolen the air from my lungs. I feel as though someone's pushed me over the edge of a tall building, and the air's rushing by me but I can't take any of it in, so all that's left is the rasping of my empty breaths and the howl of the wind passing around me, and the ground's coming up below me but my vision's darkening so I can't see it and I don't know when it'll come but I know that when it does I'll go splat.

But in a way, ending with a splat would be so much easier. It would be simple - the ground comes up to meet me and I'm dead. The end. But here... well, splat can mean so many different things here.

Draco can fail. He can get caught. He'll be imprisoned. In Azkaban. With the Dementors. And be sentenced to death.

Or he can fail. And not get caught. And the Dark Lord will kill him. And Narcissa. And torture and humiliate them first.

The only way he can get out of his alive is if he doesn't fail - if he defies all odds and manages to assassinate one of the greatest wizards of modern times, and find a way to lead the Death Eaters onto the grounds of Hogwarts, one of the most heavily protected places in the wizarding world. If he can do that, he can get through this.

My heart sinks in my chest. I doubt even the most skilled Death Eater could manage such a feat.

"I've asked Severus to help him," Narcissa hiccups, bringing me back down from my thoughts. She covers her mouth with a delicate hand, seeming to recover some of her dignity. Once again she is Narcissa Malfoy - prim, proper, perfect, and pureblooded. The Four 'P's of Success.

"He made the Unbreakable Vow," she continues, adjusting her blouse. "Should Draco fail, Severus will setp in and complete the task for him."

The weight on my chest lightens, but only fractionally. "Does the Dark Lord know?"

"I suppose He must," Narcissa shrugs a little helplessly. "Bella was with me."

Of course He must, if Bellatrix Lestrange was there. Her name strikes cords of dislike within me, especially when spoken with such a fond tone. How anyone can stand that insane wench is beyond me.

"I-I'll go to Hogwarts with him," I murmur, straightening a little in my seat. She looks up at me as if I'm a miracle sent from Merlin himself. Her eyes widen, shimmering with a newfound, however small, sliver of hope.

"Really?" she says breathlessly, "You would do that? Oh thank you, Aria. It would mean the world to me."

I'm not doing it for you.

Once Severus is gone, I take my leave as well, stepping into the stone fireplace of the pub, floo powder in hand. A few seconds later, I stumble from the marble fireplace into the drawing room of the Desere Mansion.

The house is vacant, bar myself and the beady-eyed spiders that have taken refuse in the dark corners of my home. Accompanied by a flask of firewhiskey, I make my way to my darkened bedroom, my thoughts on my new identity.

I'm to become an entirely new person.

A new name, a new past, a new personality... I reluctantly realize that a small part of me is looking forward to it. It's a chance to start over, even for only a few months, as a new person. A more innocent one.

But even as the thought crosses my mind, I push it away. Because after a few seconds, those four words are twisted around in my brain.

A more innocent person, yes - but a weaker one.