Alexandra forced her arm to cooperate and wipe her face clear before her father noticed. Her aching body didn't want to move after so long under the crutiatus curse, but she had to make it.
"Get up." The command was issued quietly, and Alexandra forced her head to look over at him. How could this man be her father? She wondered that often, and used to like to pretend that he wasn't-that she was some girl he kidnapped, and that her real parents would come and save her and everything would be okay. That was crap-nothing more than childish daydreams, and Merlin knew she didn't have time for them.
"Get up," he commanded again, never patient, but he must know how difficult it is to gather your thoughts after the crutiatus. Well, he must guess. After all, he had never faced it.
Alexandra forced herself to her knees, unsure. If she stood, that could be a mistake, but if he wanted her to stand, kneeling could be a mistake.
"Rise." Only then did she dare to force her weight onto her legs. Her limbs were exhausted, and simply did not want to cooperate.
"Stand up straight!" Now he was getting impatient with her. She forced her trembling shoulders back, and locked her knees, else she'd never be able to stand straight now. Her long brown was to her shoulder blades, and some strands were plastered to her sweaty forehead.
"Now go to your room."
"Yes Father." Her voice came out hoarse, and her throat was raw from screaming.
She staggered out the door and a death eater fell into step behind her-Dolohov. He was powerful, and not the smartest, but he was a right bit smarter than Crabbe, or Goyle for that matter.
Of course he wouldn't let her roam alone anymore-he didn't trust her. Well, he had never trusted her before, but the idea of escape, especially after Timothy, had never occurred to her. He was always somewhat blinded by her. It wasn't fatherly love for a daughter, oh no. There was no way in hell that would ever happen.
If she had known about the prophecy, she would know that he got distracted by her with thoughts of immortality and power. That was why she had accomplished the no-small feat of stunning him twice. It would not happen again. All the death eaters would no longer head her commands, and she would not step a foot out of the castle without being accompanied by Voldemort.
But Alexandra didn't know anything about a prophecy. How could she?
So she staggered into her room upstairs, locking the door behind her, wishing for at least a window to see the world, completely ignorant of the reason that a Dark Wizard like Voldemort kept her alive.
"Timothy's safe now," she whispered to herself, sinking into her bed. Green and silver of Slytherin, it had never been inviting. It was probably one of the most comfortable beds in the world, but that didn't make it inviting. Nothing about the house was inviting.
"He's safe, and that's all that matters."
