Octavia sat at the bottom of the shower, the scalding hot water raining down on her as she screamed at the top of her lungs. Everything she had ever known, everything that she had ever been made to believe, was all a lie. Everything.
The numbness cracked, the vacancy gone, and Octavia was left with the remains of her inner anguish. The pain, the rawness of her agony, it all consumed her. Her naked body burned from the contact with the hot water, leaving red and angry marks in its wake. But she didn't care. She barely felt it over the pain inside of her.
The tears she cried were lost in the water that washed over her, but it never washed away her pain. Only the evidence of it.
Her screams went unheard through the manor, drowned out by the music blaring in her destroyed bedroom. The collage on the wall now lay scattered on the floor, shards of glass embedded deep into the fluffy white carpet of her bedroom. Her belongings – jewellery, clothes, collectables, mirrors, everything – were broken and destroyed in her fit of rage.
Not only were her parents Death Eaters, they weren't even her parents. She was a muggle, stolen in the dead of night from her murdered parents, and brought into the centre of the snake pit. The parents who she loved so dearly had lied to her for her entire life, preaching on the preservation of the bloodlines, to which she didn't belong. Her blood was not of theirs; it was of muggles.
Octavia Zabini was not Octavia Zabini; she was Coryli. She didn't even have a surname. She had no identity. She had nothing but lies and deceit and pain.
Would Blaise still love her if he knew? Did he know already? Was she the only one in the dark regarding her true origin?
Draco …
What would he say? What would he do? Octavia would wager a bet that it wouldn't be nice. It would be horrendous if he discovered the truth. When he discovered the truth.
He would break off their engagement, that much she knew. Draco was a blood supremacist to his core; he harboured undiluted and monstrous hate for all things not of blood purity. There was not a chance in hell that he'd marry her once he knew the truth.
That fact should have elated Octavia. She wanted to escape him, didn't she? Yes. But why did the thought of him rejecting her completely tear at the scraps of her soul? Why did it destroy her more than she ever thought possible?
Once satisfied that the vomit she had previously upchucked no longer stained her body or curls, Octavia groaned as she pushed herself to her feet. It was a difficult task; to stand. It took all remnants of the energy that she did not possess. Her legs quaked and buckled beneath her, Octavia falling to the shower ground several times before she was successful.
Not caring that Pinky stood in the bathroom, crying silently, Octavia stepped out of the shower, naked and raw. The house-elf only seemed to cry harder at the reddened skin of Octavia as she snivelled and moved her weighed-down legs over to the mirror. She didn't spare a glance at her undoubtedly ghastly appearance as she reached the shattered mirror. Octavia grabbed her clothes and pulled them on slowly, her movements lazy and dazed.
After Octavia pulled on her silk dress, she turned and staggered into the mess that was her bedroom, making her way lazily toward the chest of drawers. Hiccups and sniffs came from the distraught girl, Pinky at her heels as she grabbed an overnight bag and began to fill it with clothes.
She couldn't stay here. She couldn't see her parents in the morning for breakfast. She couldn't face the impostors.
Her heart wouldn't survive it.
The wards of the manor prevented her from leaving without an escort. But she had to try.
Slinging the bag over her shoulder, O's blood-shot and glassy hazel eyes met Pinky's apprehensive gaze. The elf was in the same distressed state as Octavia, but O didn't care. She only cared about her own pain in that moment.
Extending her hand, Octavia maintained her stare with the sobbing elf who began to shake her head vigorously.
"Pinkys cannot, Mistress." The elf whimpered and whined, pulling at her floppy ears anxiously. "Mistress is not to leaves the manor."
"What did father say to you?" Octavia asked in a gravelly voice, wrecked from the sobs she endured. "What were his exact orders?"
"Lady Octavia is to not leave the manor withouts escorts." Pinky whimpered, Octavia's dazed mind searching for a loop-hole.
"You are my escort," Octavia hiccupped, flexing her fingers impatiently. Waiting for Pinky to take her outstretched hand. Waiting to be taken away from the monsters.
Pinky whined, whacking herself on the head repeatedly as Octavia just watched, too engulfed in her own misery to care. After a few moments of self-inflicted pain, Pinky moaned and took her Mistress' hand, their watery eyes connected.
"Take me to the Leaky Cauldron," Octavia ordered, her voice possessing no authority; only misery.
The house-elf reluctantly apparated them both to the little damp passageway behind the Leaky Cauldron, which served as the entrance to Diagon Alley. Octavia glanced around the back of the pub, seeing that there were no others around in the dingy lane. She immediately tightened her grip on Pinky's hand before pulling the hood of her black robes over her head, thereby concealing her identity from the pub's patrons. Octavia dragged the unwilling house-elf into the dank establishment, both of them going unnoticed by the pub-goers they pushed passed.
When they reached the streets of muggle London, Octavia looked down at Pinky.
"Summon the Knight Bus," Octavia demanded, the elf nodding before closing her big glassy eyes.
Pinky stuck out her bony little arm, her hand clenched into a fist with one long thumb sticking up as she summoned the Wizarding method of public transportation.
Octavia now knew that the Knight Bus would not respond to her beckon, as she was not magical. Not even in the slightest, with dormant magic. She was a muggle and the Knight Bus did not come to those.
A three-decker blue bus appeared on the street, screeching to a halt as it bent inwards before expanding. A slimy bony wizard jumped out of the bus and picked the green spinach from his yellow teeth as he eyed Octavia with mild interest. As her robes concealed her identity, she was certain that his intrigue had peaked, but she paid him no mind.
Letting go of Pinky's hand, Octavia snapped her fingers at the bus conductor, indicating for him to take her bag. He sucked his shiny plaque-stained teeth with his tongue before taking the bag from the silent woman, and stepping aside to allow her passage.
Pinky disapparated instantly, either desperate to return to the manor and snitch on her, or was being summoned by another Zabini. Either way, it was not good for O.
"Quickly!" Octavia snapped at the loitering conductor on the street, kicking him into gear.
"Alrigh'," the greasy man mumbled, hopping onto the bus before it took off at a nauseating speed.
Octavia gripped onto the handle bars as she made her way through the bottom level of the swaying and bouncing bus, settling herself on the edge of bed with tacky sheets. The conductor had followed her, tossing her overnight bag next to her on the double bed. She watched beneath the safety of her hood as he effortlessly leaned against a pole, the bus wobbling and speeding through the muggle streets of London.
"The name's Stanley," he introduced, Octavia remaining silent. "But ye can call me Stan. Where ye goin' then?"
"A train station in London, please."
"Which one, luv?" Stan asked, furrowing his brows as he tried to glimpse her face beneath the shadows of the hood.
Octavia shrugged, fishing out a few sickles from her robes and handing it to him. "The nearest one."
The greasy looking conductor nodded once, Octavia grimacing as she assessed his acne through the concealment of her hood. His bony fingers snatched the transport-fee from her outstretched hand, stuffing it into his pocket before shouting to the driver.
"Nearest train station, Ernie!"
The bus driver didn't respond, but tiny heads that dangled from above Ernie did.
"Hold onto your seatbelts, witches and wizards!" One of the shrunken three heads warned.
The problem was, there were no seatbelts to hold onto.
Octavia shrieked as the bus abruptly halted in his swift pace, the wizard-born muggle flying off the bed and colliding harshly with the floor. Octavia grunted as she connected with the cheap linoleum floor of the Knight Bus, groaning as she pushed herself to her feet unsteadily.
"Don't say I didn't warn ya!" The head cackled, Stanley's eyes widening as she stood, her identity revealed.
"Now what's the Zabini heiress doin' on the Knight Bus, eh?" Stan blurted, his shaggy brows raised.
Octavia sighed, pulling her hood back over her head and ignoring his question entirely. She stomped over to the bed, grabbing her overnight bag and marching through the bus toward the entrance.
"Don't see that every day now, do ya?" Stan asked the three heads as they all watched the Zabini princess jump out of the bus and onto the muggle street outside.
With the overnight bag slung over her shoulder, Octavia strolled through the maze of courts and streets, receiving a few peculiar glances from nearby residents. The muggles of the houses she walked by were evidently perplexed and intrigued by the cloaked figure, but Octavia kept the hood over her face and continued on, paying them no mind.
It had taken Octavia little more than two hours to reach Heathgate, Hampstead, after jumping on a few wrong buses and trains along the way. The overly extensive duration of her transit had caused Octavia great anxieties, for each passing minute brought her parents closer to discovering her absence. Pinky may have ratted her out after apparating back to the manor, therefore her parents may already be searching for her. If she was lucky, however, Octavia's disappearance wouldn't be noticed until the morning come breakfast.
Either way, they would look for her, and she didn't doubt that this would be the first place they would search: Hermione Granger's home in the muggle town of Heathgate. Octavia knew that her family would find her there, but she didn't care. Her intentions were not to flee permanently; that would just result in being found again, with much more severe consequences than before. She might never be allowed a smidgen of freedom again.
It was Octavia's intention to merely escape for a night. She needed to be away from the manor and process her discoveries. The revelations of her true origin, the true natures of her parents.
As she wandered through the muggle streets, searching for the address that she previously sent postcards to whilst on the run, her dazed mind churned with the revelations. Octavia was beginning to realise that perhaps the information could be used to her advantage. Perhaps, after she was found and brought home to the manor, she could enlighten Draco to the truth about her blood. It was a sure way to repel him from her, and thereby end their engagement.
No pureblood would want to marry her, given the truth about her blood status. Octavia would relay the truth to Draco, who would undoubtedly repeat it to others in an act of retaliation for the deceit. It was then that she would be free.
Turning onto Meadow Lane, Octavia grunted as she adjusted the weight of her overnight bag, moving it from one pained shoulder to the other. The Lane was relatively small, so it wasn't long before Octavia reached the humble two story house, bordered with a white fence and a modest garden at the front of the building.
Pushing through the gate, Octavia licked her dry lips anxiously, removing her hood and exhaling heavily. She had never met Ninny's parents before, so she was a tad apprehensive to encounter them. Particularly when she was dressed in such formal attire – by muggle standards, at least – and sporting red, blood-shot eyes and a miserable expression. The thought of forcing polite pleasantries in that moment seemed like a daunting and impossible task indeed.
The sunny Saturday sun beamed down on Octavia, her body perspiring from her long walk and travels. Smoothing out her messy curls, Octavia attempted to make herself relatively presentable as she approached the door to the home. Raising her clammy hand, clenched into a fist, Octavia knocked on the door firmly before straightening out her pristine gown and cloak.
After a few moments of anxious waiting, footsteps were heard nearing from inside the home, a man's gruff voice muffled by the door. The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged muggle man, a little rough around the edges, but soft eyes.
"Yeah?" The man frowned, standing in the doorway as he eyed O's robes with mild interest.
"I … uh," Octavia mumbled. "I'm a friend … of Hermione's. I just … Is she home?"
"No," the man shook his head. "She's at work at the moment. You can come in and wait for her though? She shouldn't be long."
"Oh," Octavia nodded meekly.
She hadn't thought about Hermione not being at home. If she wasn't uncomfortable before, she definitely was now.
"In you come," the man smiled at her nervous expression, stepping to the side to allow her passage into the home.
Octavia smiled weakly in response, stepping through the threshold and glancing around the home curiously. As she had lived in the muggle world for two and a half years, Octavia was no stranger to the muggle ornaments and devices around her. She was not confused by the unmoving photographs on the wall, nor was she perplexed by the telephone on the buffet table. But she had always found herself to be rather interested and intrigued by the modesty of the muggle homes in residential areas. They were always so small and humble, but she assumed that her interest was due to her lavish upbringing and family's wealth.
"What's your name?" Hermione's father asked, closing the front door and leading her down the hallway.
"I'm Octavia Zabini, sir." Octavia answered distractedly, taking in her surroundings as she followed him through a door. "I know Hermione from Hogwarts."
"Ah," he nodded, both of them entering the kitchen. "I figured that from the robes you're wearing."
Octavia only nodded as he gestured for her to seat herself at the small dining table in the kitchen, taking her overnight bag from her. Octavia watched as he placed the bag on the kitchen counter, plopping herself down at the dining table as her attention moved to a woman.
"I'm John Granger, Hermione's dad," the man introduced before waving his hand toward the woman by the kettle. "And this is Jane, my wife of thirty years. Janie, is Octavia; one of Hermione's friends."
"Yes, yes, I heard." Jane smiled. "Would you like some tea, Octavia?"
"Oh, that would be lovely, thank you." Octavia nodded, folding her hands on her lap and crossing her ankles as she sat with poise. "Any flavour will do."
Jane nodded, turning her back on the visitor to prepare the beverages as John sat across from Octavia.
"Is Hermione expecting you?" John asked, glancing at the overnight bag. "She didn't say anything about visitors, so we haven't prepared unfortunately."
"Oh, uh … I just thought it would be nice to surprise her." Octavia blushed. "I should have … realised that she'd be at work. I'm sorry to impose."
"It's no imposition," Jane smiled, carrying a tray of cups and teapots over to the table. "We're always glad to meet Hermione's friends, and we've heard so much about you for many years. We're delighted to meet you, dearie. I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you too."
Octavia inclined her head in a gesture of gratitude, the three of them falling into a silence as Jane prepared the teas. Octavia clasped her hands around the mug of English Breakfast tea, pulling it closer to her as Jane seated herself beside John.
In an effort to break the now uncomfortable silence, John cleared his throat as he stirred sugar into his tea.
"So, Hermione mentioned that you travelled for some time in our world."
"Yes, just over two years, sir."
"How did you find it?" Jane asked. "Is it much different to your own?"
"Quite different," Octavia nodded. "In a good way, I think."
"How's that?" John asked, picking up his mug and sipping the tea.
"Well, the … expectations are different, I suppose." Octavia mumbled, not wishing to delve into the complexities of her culture and society. "Everyone is very … accepting and understanding."
"Not like your people?" John frowned.
"Well, it's different with my society."
"Yes, I recall that Hermione attended a formal Ball at your home a few years ago." Jane nodded. "We do not have many Balls in our world."
"We have frequent gatherings," Octavia conceded. "Several times a year, in fact. Although I do enjoy them at times."
"But it isn't all of the Wizarding World that participates, is it?" John asked. "I recall Hermione mentioning that your society is a world within the Wizarding community."
"Yes," O smiled. "It's a … We're of ancient pureblood lineage. We mostly keep to ourselves."
"I see," John clipped.
"I just found out today, though, that I'm not … of the same bloodlines. That's why I came here." Octavia smiled weakly, her eyes watering. "She's … It's the only place I thought to go to."
"Your family is not of the ancient bloodlines?" Jane asked, frowning in confusion and sympathy for the watery-eyed girl.
The sound of the front door opening caught their attention, all gazes turning to the kitchen door. The silence remained as Hermione entered the home, calling out for her mum and dad as a few bangs were heard. It was only a few moments before Hermione entered the kitchen, stopping in surprise as she spotted Octavia rising from her seat.
"Hey," Octavia smiled, Hermione's eyes wide with shock.
"O!" Hermione gasped, briskly closing the distance between them and pulling her into an embrace. "What are you doing here? I thought … You said you weren't allowed to see me for a while."
Octavia removed her hold on Ninny, Jane getting up to prepare more tea for her daughter.
"I needed to see you," Octavia whispered, Hermione noticing the pain in her glassy hazel eyes immediately. "I had to come. I hope you don't mind … I just-"
"What happened?" Hermione interrupted softly, taking her hands and guiding them both into parallel seats at the dining table. "Did Malfoy do something to you?"
"No," Octavia lied, shaking her head. That was a story for another day, if ever.
"Octavia, talk to me," Hermione persuaded gently, holding O's hands in hers. "What happened?"
Octavia's tears welled up in her anguished eyes, a memory coming back to her with brutal force. Her body began to tense as she warded off the sobs that threatened to strike her, tears leaking from her big hazel eyes.
"I … found a memory in father's …" Octavia tried to explain through the sniffs and pain in her heart. "It … I'm not their daughter, Ninny. I never was."
"What?" Hermione raised her brows, her grip on O's hands tightening. "What was the memory, O? What do you mean?"
"I'm … I'm," Octavia blubbered, her face scrunching up as tears streamed down her anguished face. "I'm a muggle."
Hermione's lips parted, her mouth shaped into an 'o' as she gaped at her snivelling friend. Hermione had always suspected that O was not a true Zabini, given the difference in appearance, but had always thought that her origin remained in the pureblood world.
"A muggle?" Hermione repeated in shock, Jane and John watching the scene intently. "A … How?"
"They … took me … from …" Octavia spoke between hiccups and sobs, trying her best to string a sentence together. "From … muggles … they … were … Death Eaters and … took me."
"What?!"
"I … I …" Octavia groaned, tears collecting at her damp lips as she blubbered. "Ninny, I'm not … a wizard-born … I'm just a muggle, and they lied to me! They … were Death Eaters, Ninny! They took me … when I was a toddler … from the kitchen and they … they … they … I think they killed my real parents!"
The blonde broke down in a fit of hysterical sobs, Hermione flying from her seat and wrapping her arms around O's violently shaking body. Hermione glanced at her wide-eyed parents as she held O tightly, the newly discovered muggle sobbing wretchedly.
Hermione had no idea what to do, and that was saying something. So she did the only thing she could in that moment; hold her destroyed friend.
"Na … name," Octavia blubbered and sobbed against Ninny's shoulder. "It … I'm Co … ri … lee …"
Jane dropped the tea-pot she was holding, John freezing in his chair as they stared at the blonde girl with wide eyes. They looked at her as though truly seeing her.
The blonde tight ringlets, the sounds of her child-like cries, the hazel of her eyes, the upturned nose and rosy pink lips.
Hermione slowly released her sobbing friend, staring at O in complete horror and shock, her mouth agape. O snivelled and wiped at her tears, glancing around at the three Grangers with confusion.
It wasn't until Jane spoke in a broken voice that she understood.
"Coryli?"
