Rey woke sluggishly, the feeling in her limbs slowly trickling into her consciousness. She felt light, whole in a way she had never felt in her life. She didn't hurt as she expected to. But the more she woke, the more the events of the past few days came back to her. Flashes of the men casting spell after spell at her, threatening to defile and torture her. She had endured the Cruciatus curse, feeling as if they were ripping her bones from her body and setting her aflame. When a break in the hexes had come, when the men were distracted by a Floo call, she had tried to flee. In their haste to pull information from her and have their twisted form of fun with her, they had forgotten to lock and ward the doors. She had tried to quietly stumble her way to the front door. But as she was opening it, the hinges gave a loud squeal to proclaim her flight. And she had used her last vestiges of energy to run, no matter how useless such a notion had been considering the state she was in. She had hoped that her attempt at escape would cause the man to fly into rage. She had hoped that in his fury, the fire-haired man would put her out of her misery, regardless of the mystery pendant. He had not. And Rey could not explain her disappointment.

She continued to maintain even breaths, eyes closed to continue the illusion of sleep. She strained her ears, waiting for any sounds of someone else in the room. But she heard nothing, only a small scratching sound near where she remembered the door being. There was no sign of the man who had looked after her, who had been the most gentle person she had encountered in months.

Rey opened her eyes, squinting at the bright light streaming through the windows. She took in the room, the pale blues of the wallpaper accented with cream and gold, four poster bed with its cream drapes. It was a distinctly female room, with flowers in vases on almost every horizontal surface. She started when she noticed the small house elf wringing its hands at the door. He wore a small grey tunic, tied at the waist and fraying at the bottom. It was the house elf from the night before, the one that had stubbornly stood by the front door refusing the red-haired man entry. The elf the man had stunned with a stinging hex and had proceeded through the doors with a chuckle, levitating Rey all the while. Looking at the poor thing now, there was no evidence of his recent treatment, though there was a small glint of fear in his eyes. A tuft of bright orange hair sprouted from between two twin peaks of large ears. He was pale, skin so white it was almost translucent, showing dark veins and orange arteries. He shuffled over to the side of the bed, bowing so low his nose grazed the hardwood floor.

"Good morning, Miss. The master has askeds Beebee to help the Miss with her toilette before breakfast." His voice lilted through several different octaves as he spoke, a strange inflection to his words. He glanced up at Rey, and when she smiled at him, he beamed back.

"Thank you, Beebee. And please call me Rey."

"Miss Rey needs a bath this morning?"

"Just Rey, Beebee. And yes, please, if you aren't too busy," her voice wavered, uncertainty and vulnerability causing her throat to close up. She had only ever had baths at Hogwarts when she had attended. Usually she cleaned herself as best she could with the rain water she collected in a bucket tucked away from Plutt's notice, along with a handful of lavender buds she had acquired while she had been away or received from friends when Plutt was not looking. She had yet to get used to the practice of bathing after years of going without.

If the elf noticed her hesitation, he gave no indication of it. He clicked his fingers, causing a clawfoot bath to appear with steaming water in the middle of a Persian rug gracing the floor of the large sitting area. He busied himself with preparing an assortment of towels and what Rey assumed to be soaps as she slowly freed herself from the bed sheets wrapped around her and stood from the bed. Satisfied with his work, Beebee looked up at Rey, eyes studying her.

"Beebee can assists Miss Rey with bath if she prefers. Beebee helped Mistress long time ago but Beebee still remembers. Yes, he remembers well. And Miss Rey looks so much likes the Mistress." His eyes began to water. Rey wondered if this Mistress was in fact Mr. Ren's wife, and if she had no longer wanted the poor elf's help or if something more sinister had happened to her. She kept staring at the small creature, watching as he continued to wring his hands as he rambled. In his haste to ensure that Rey had everything for a bath, more bottles of lotions and potions than she had ever seen, Beebee's ear had flipped inside out. She lowered herself to her knees, wincing at the soreness of her muscles, and gently pulled the ear back. Beebee stared up at her in wonder.

"There, now. Doesn't that feel better?" She asked, smiling at the look of astonishment she had so rarely seen on a house elf's face.

Tears began to pour from his eyes, his ears quivering and his little hands unable to keep up with the sheer amount of tears running down his face. Before Rey could even begin to think of what she had done to cause the creature such distress, he hugged her knee. "Miss Rey is so kind. Beebee has never been helped with his ear and it has always been so vexing but Miss Rey helped. Beebee thanks the kind Miss Rey. Miss Rey needs to bath. Beebee will help. He has a potion for sore muscles and the bruising. The awful bruising." He sniffled then ran about, bringing the potions to her with excitement plain on his face. Rey blinked, experiencing whiplash from the elf's quick changes in mood.

He tugged her hand to get her to stand up and levitated a screen to stand near the bath. He gestured for Rey to undress behind the screen and disapparated with a pop which caused her to flinch. She stepped behind the screen, removing the torn chemise from her body. She blushed to think how many people had seen her in her undress, what Mr. Ren must think of her. Casting the thoughts from her mind, she gingerly lowered her battered body into the clear steaming water, appreciating the elf's stasis spellwork to keep the water warm. Once her body had been immersed for some time, the elf apparated back into the room holding an array of combs. He then lathered a cloth with soap from a large bottle and handed it to her, his eyes trained to the Persian carpet.

She paused when she smelled the familiar smell of lavender. Why had the elf given her lavender soap? How had he known? Her eyes began to sting.

"The master saids that Miss Rey might like this soap. Beebee has others if Miss Rey prefers a different soap," Beebee said, toeing the carpet with eyes still downcast. His lilting voice broke her out of her reverie and she began to wash herself with the cloth. How did Mr. Ren know that she would like this scent? It did not make sense.

"N-no. No this is fine, Beebee. Thank you." She cleared her throat, furrowing her brows together to stave off the tears she was sure would fall. Rey decided not to call her Rey, thinking it might upset his already frazzled emotions further.

"Oh, goods because Beebee has hair soaps and lotions and oils that match!" He clapped his hands together, collecting the bottles together and vanishing the others to leave only a small number of vials. She giggled then, for the first time in a while, throwing her head back. The elf's excitement was infectious. Of course, he had probably collected a great number of scented soaps to make sure she would be pleased. He hadn't had to have worried or gone to such lengths. She would have been over the moon with the bath itself. But at his sheepish grin, revealing crooked teeth, Rey couldn't help the small bubble of hope in her chest and a sense of companionship he presented. Maybe it was a good thing that the red-haired man had not killed her, after all.


Staring out the window, he watched as the sun began to rise. It was his favourite time of day when the house was still sleeping, the birds were beginning to rise and sing to the world their melody for the day. His breath created a small cloud to form in front of his face in the chilled morning air. He had forgotten to light the fire in his own rooms overnight and had yet to have enough time to let it heat his bedroom. He turned from the window, running a hand through his ebony hair.

He had gotten too close to the girl. Too familiar. In a short amount of time she had found a way under his skin. And he could not afford the distraction she so unwittingly presented. He needed to be detached, aloof. He could not care for her. As he tucked his shirt into his breeches and donned his waistcoat, he had made up his mind. He would be rid of her, by the end of the day. By any means necessary.


Rey looked at herself in the looking glass. She was clean, her hair in a style similar to how she saw the ladies wear their hair in London, though she had never attempted it herself. Half up, half down, her hair fell in soft waves down her back, smoothed by a spell Beebee had used. Her dress was a light blue, of the finest material she had ever seen, let alone touched, with carefully embroidered flowers in white thread on the hem and tulle sleeves. When Beebee had initially presented it to her, she had instantly refused. She had been sure she would ruin it simply by looking at it.

The house elf had cajoled her, telling her it was the plainest dress he could find. His mistress must have had fine taste indeed! He had beamed when she had finally relented with a huff, allowing the creature to tighten the stays that made her feel like she was suffocating. It had taken the elf an age to button up the back for her. However, as she looked at herself closely in the looking glass, despite the bruising that marred her neck and cheeks, she could have passed for a lady. Rey donned the finely knitted shawl that Beebee had laid out for her on the bed, making sure to cover the ugly purple bruising on her arm. It still throbbed, and Mr Ren's eyes flashed in her mind, windows to the sincerity of his guilt and sympathy. She had felt so sorry for the man, had felt his anguish as if it were her own.

"This way Miss Rey," the elf gestured to the hallway with the wave of a tiny hand, eyes impossibly big. She steeled herself for her departure from the safety of the bedroom, wondering if she would ever see it again.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and she found herself surrounded by opulence. Paintings of all shapes, colours and sizes adorned the hallway walls, all of the occupants moving through the frames as they continued to follow, watching her and the house elf make their progression through the empty halls. Her shoes clicking on the polished and gleaming black and white checkered marble floors and the paintings' curious whispers were the only sounds. The furniture was all tastefully upholstered and intricately carved, neatly arranged to match the paintings hanging above or the surrounding décor and suits of armour lovingly preserved, not a speck of rust or dust to be seen.

They turned the corner into the next hallway. The elf had to stop to ensure she would continue to follow as she had slowed, completely in awe of what was before her. On one side, bay windows looked out on the lake and extensive grounds of the manor, the natural light illuminating everything in a soft glow. A large pond of water with a fountain in its centre lay in the middle of it all, surrounded by a garden untarnished by the ravishing hands of winter. She glanced up and her mouth popped open. Every ceiling was either hand painted in frescoes that moved as she watched, or had elaborate mouldings covered in gold. She watched as a beautifully painted knight with shining silver armour and a brilliant white horse rode past a village, running out the room's ceiling and into the next hall, followed by a centaur, its chestnut flank gleaming as if it was running in the afternoon light.

As the elf continued to lead her through the serpentine halls of what could only be a palace, Rey could not stop feeling as if she was intruding, that she was the mud under this man's foot. Who was he to have such a home?

She hesitated when she passed by one large painting in a gold frame, no furniture surrounding it to distract one from peering at the great beauty that was contained within it. Her deep red dress clung to her figure and flared out at the hips, her delicate shoulders and collar bones exposed. Her dark brown hair fell around her face and shoulders in smooth ringlets, highlighting the delicate structure of her face. Her brown eyes focused on Rey, emanating a warmth, but tinged with sadness as if she had seen many things in her lifetime but refused to be tampered by it. She smiled, a wide sweet smile that made Rey smile automatically in return.

"It has been quite some time since I have had the good fortune to see another woman here. Pray tell, what is your name?" came her soft voice. She spoke so eloquently. Rey made a small curtsey and bowed her head, feeling clumsy in her borrowed clothes, an imposter in her borrowed finery.

"Rey Lucas, and may I ask what yours is, Madam?"

"Padme. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, Rey. I believe we will get on well together." The woman's lack of using her last name did not bother Rey, for what was her last name to anyone, really? It was probably not even Rey's real name. She cast her thoughts aside and smiled at the painting. It would not do to dwell. "I trust Beebee is treating you well?" Padme raised an eyebrow at the house elf, then smiled lovingly when he bowed low, his nose once again almost hitting the floor.

"Yes, he most certainly has. He is wonderful, I am lucky to have him as my guide today." The elf glanced between Padme and Rey, his mouth just slightly upturned, preening under the attention and then promptly shrugging his shoulders in the most human and ungraceful way Rey had yet to see him move.

"We must go, Miss Rey, the Master is waitings."

"Oh, do say hello to Ben for me," Padme said, her smile brightening her face again. Rey looked at her a moment more, wondering if the magic preserving the painting and the woman it depicted was wavering somehow. Because surely, she must have meant Ren, Mr Ren. Rey had yet to hear or meet another person in the manor, and by the behaviour of the men the night before, it did not seem as if there were many people frequenting these halls. Rey curtsied and smiled her assent before descending the grand staircase, hand trailing on the smooth wood of the railing. The elf led her through the halls once more, and Rey found herself once again in awe of her surroundings.


It was chaos, complete and utter chaos. Hux had once again single-handedly destroyed any semblance of order he had made in continuing the Plan. The Plan to eradicate all muggles in one foul swoop. If they were to arouse any suspicion within non-magical Britain, not only would they breach the already fragile Statute of Secrecy, the muggles would revolt, resulting in more deaths of wizarding kind. It could not be abided. Kylo clenched his fist, fingernails cutting into his palm. He watched as the picture on the cover of the newspaper continued to replay the scenes of muggle London. The burnt houses, the dead lying on London sidewalks for all to see the Marks of the Order carved into their foreheads.

The First Order were not barbarians! They were supposed to be revolutionists! Making the world better for their wizards and witches in arms. Hux and his Troopers had nearly destroyed every single step Kylo had made in executing Supreme Leader Snoke's aspirations.

His fist hit the wooden table, causing his tea cup to clatter and tip, and the tea to spill over the newspaper. He crumpled it up, forming a ball of fire with a controlled wandless Incendio. When all that was left of Hux's failure was ash, Kylo stood. He would need to travel to London as soon as he was finished with the girl. He would need to do reconnaissance in order to establish exactly how much damage had been done, then eliminate all loose ends, weak links.

The muggles were already claiming that it was the work of a vicious cult, rising like an omen to signal the next disaster like what occurred during the Black Plague. Wizards and witches had steadfastly tried to come to the muggles' aid through that dark time in the seventeenth century. Their potions and healing magic had significantly helped in curbing the number of deaths. But wizards were blamed for using their powers against the muggles, causing the Black Plague in the first place, and were put to the stake resulting in the Statute of Secrecy to be put in place to protect them all. And that was exactly why Kylo knew that muggles needed to be put down like the rabid dogs they were. They did not deserve a place in a world where something as beautiful as magic existed.

Kylo had only known this, had only been enlightened for half his life. Snoke had opened his eyes to the savagery that was ignorant mudbloods and muggles. And he was furious. Furious at his mother for not being able to understand this, to love the muggles enough to abandon her son. To marry a mudblood who was not ready to be a father, had never intended to be one, and had resented Kylo from his first intake of breath. He was furious that wizards had been forced into hiding, keeping their gifts hidden while muggles could galavant about as if they owned the world.

He was facing the window, his face screwed into a scowl when he heard the door click open, quiet clacks of a heeled shoe announcing the arrival of the girl, the thing keeping him from serving his master and from returning to his overall mission.

"Tell me about the pendant," he turned to face the girl, only to see her shy smile become downturned. She was magnificent, a powder blue gown accentuating her eyes and colouring so well that he felt his jaw go slack. Her hair was half up showing her elegant neck, tendrils already loose and curling around her temples, framing her face and the rest flowing down her back.

"I've already told you, Mr. Ren. I do not know of a pendant. I have never owned anything of value, nothing to cause anyone to find me and take me. To interrogate me." Her lips trembled.

"Then pray tell, what do you know of the Resistance?" He sneered.

"The Resistance?" She asked, arms folding across her chest. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

He slammed his hands against the surface of the table, the sound startling Rey, her hands flying to cover her throat as if to protect it. He leaned onto his hands as his breathing came in laboured puffs. "That is simply not true!" His voice rang through the room. "You have information. I know it! I will flay you within an inch of your life if you do not provide me with what I need." At this the girl dropped her hands, taking steps closer and raising herself to her full height, her gaze unwavering.

"I will remind you, sir, that I have survived the ire of men more determined to watch me suffer than to kill me out right. I have had years of knowing a man's twisted need to release his fury on someone he felt was lesser than him, and I will remind you that I am speaking the truth as I know it. I have no knowledge of a pendant, no information to provide of a Resistance which stands against the twisted regime you follow and monster you call master. Release me or kill me if you have no further use for me. But I will not suffer another minute at the hand of any man. I would rather die a thousand fiery deaths than continue with this-"

"Are you quite finished, Madam?" he interrupted. She was a sight to behold, chest straining against her stays and the tantalising neckline of her dress. She had worked herself up into such a state that her cheeks and chest were flushed a pretty pink. She continued to glare at him. He was thankful she had not mastered her wandless magic nor have a wand as he was sure she would have burned veritable holes into his head. He watched as her hands curled into fists at her side. He strode over to her until he was close enough to touch her, watching the guarded look that contorted her features. He narrowed his eyes at her and bit the inside of his cheek. "You know just how powerful I am, you know I can take whatever I want?"

He reached out an arm, his hand almost touching her face when he murmured the spell that would let him into her mind. Dimly he was aware of her stiffening as he tried to concentrate, her breaths coming out sharp and stuttered with the effort to escape his intrusion. He was slipping through her thoughts clumsily. She must have been taught occlumency. He searched through her latest thoughts, finding it interesting when he saw the painting of his grandmother. He paused on this for a moment, marvelling in how she spoke before realising that in all the time that he had spent at this manor, he had never seen the painting of Padme Amidala move.

But the more he tried to find any evidence of a pendant, of the Resistance, of his mother, the more he felt his control slip. The only image he could find in her head that did not make him feel seasick was the reflection of a man he hated, his features rippling in the puddle on cobblestones. The words he was speaking were muted, as if Kylo was hearing him from far away. He could not make out a word. It could only mean one thing. Someone had tampered with the girl's memories before she had been captured. They must have known then, that she was at risk, and rather than hide her, to get her to safety, they left her with no memories to aid the Order in finding them, of no way to protect herself.

As soon as Kylo formed these conclusions, he could feel the girl push back, her thoughts taking on a determined edge. And suddenly he was no longer in her mind, an unwelcome visitor, but she was in his. She sifted through roughly, unskilled, until she ended on the delipidated figure that was his Master.

"You... are afraid that you will never be strong enough! That everything you have ever worked for will come to nothing! And that you would have wasted your life on the wrong path and be alone!" She yelled into his face, teeth bared. He had not realised he was gripping her shoulders until he tried to turn away. He faced the fire place, looking down at the drop of blood spilled from Rey's lips the night before and will remain staining his carpet. He was seething. His breath whistled through his clenched teeth, shoulders moving to help him get air into his lungs. He could not think. He could not feel the fingers cutting half-moons into his palms. He turned on his heel to face her again. She was breathing just as hard as him, hands clenched at her side. Silent tears crept down her face, but she continued to steadfastly stare at him.

"Do. Not. Ever. Do. That. Again." he whispered, having strode so close to her that he could feel her breath on his lowered face. His eyes were almost levelled with hers when he bent his neck at this angle. And despite his anger, he could not help but notice the flecks of gold and green in her hazel irises.

If someone had tampered with her mind, it meant she had valuable information that they needed to keep hidden. It meant that he could not get rid of her until he could reverse the spell. And he would need to go against his promise to himself to once again continue his mission in his isolation and loneliness.

"You will not be leaving this property," he proclaimed once his mind was made. He turned so his back was facing her, allowing him to concentrate on what needed to be said as he paced the five steps to the fireplace and back. "you will remain on the grounds and within the wards of this estate. If you so much as lay a finger past those wards you will find yourself going without it, losing the hand as well for good measure. You will not go anywhere without at least a house elf escorting you. You will not under any circumstances go near my study or rooms. You will do as you are told. If I hear so much as a whisper of any of these rules being broken or circumvented, I will make your worst nightmare feel like a pleasant day dream. Do I make myself clear?" as he was speaking he could feel his magic, and hers in response, vibrate the air surrounding them in their rage at each other. Once the last words left his lips, their combined magic was causing the windows to shake, the crystal chandelier in the centre of the ceiling to vibrate and make a sweet tinkling sound at odds with their violent exchange. She continued to watch him for a moment, gathering herself. Before she replied.

"Crystal," and then turned on her heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

He stood by the mantle of the fireplace, watching the ornate grandfather clock. With every tick, his left eye twitched. He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration, until all he could taste was the copper of his own blood. He realised that his interactions with the girl would continue, that he would become more and more fascinated with her and her magic, the same as his own. He became furious. He could not afford to fail. He threw the closest thing in his reach, a heavy marble bust of a long dead ancestor, and watched as it created a hole in the wall and shattered once it hit the floor.