Chapter Ten – Ophelia

They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice…
That suicide is wrong;
When it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world
To which every man has a more unassailable title
Than to his own life and person.

- Arthur Schopenhauer

December 17th, 1969 - First Quarter Moon
The Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

Rionach

Her stomach was a bundle of nerves as she huddled with Fiorenza on the edge of the Quidditch Pitch. Her neck hurt from looking up for so long, but she'd been told that a Ravenclaw standing in the Slytherin cheering section would be too conspicuous, and when Lucius had asked if she wanted to watch, she jumped at the chance, so they stayed off to the side to watch the game far from the crowds.

Fee explained to her that Lucius was the Keeper, and his job was to keep the other team from scoring. Rionach of course knew little about Quidditch, but it did seem that he was quite good, as some time had passed and the Gryffindors had yet to score. She couldn't believe how fast the players flew and how graceful they were. She wrapped the black cloak that Fee had given her tighter, pulling the hood closer around her face. The crisp December air stung her cheeks and burned her eyes, sparkling snow-dust whirling around them.

It had been a quiet few weeks. Since their fight in the Room, Lucius and Fee seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. As promised, she no longer commented when he spent the night at Rionach's side, and he in turn acted as if nothing strange was going on. During the day, he was as cool and composed as ever, rarely looking Rionach in the eye and keeping the conversation light. She didn't complain; the semblance of normality was comforting.

At night, though, everything changed. He didn't always stay for the whole night, but he was always there when she fell asleep. If he did stay, he would lie down on the cot that the Room conjured beside her bed - though he never spent the entire night there. She never brought up the fact that it would probably save him some late-night fumbling to just fall asleep beside her. I think he needs the pretense, she thought wryly.

The first few times waking up in his arms, she was so shocked just to have someone touching her without any pain or malice involved that she simply stayed perfectly still, pretending to sleep until the room was light and Lucius stirred, silently rising and padding out of the room. Soon, she grew accustomed to having him there, soothing her at night when the nightmares clawed their way through her dreams, lying at her side in the mornings, until eventually, she found herself aching for his warmth when he opted to stay in the dormitories. It scared her, this new longing.

She wished he would tell her what he was thinking. She knew that she was nowhere near as beautiful as Fiorenza, but sometimes when he looked at her, a strange tingling feeling danced across her skin and her lack of beauty didn't seem to matter at all. But in the same breath he might refer to her as 'the werewolf' and act like she wasn't in the same room. She bitterly admitted to herself that the affectionate glances could be a complete fabrication of her imagination, but then...why does he stay? That self-loathing in his eyes, that gnawing guilt, could that be the only reason he watched over her, comforting her late into the night? To appease his own demons?

All she knew for certain was that she should be pestering him and Fee constantly for information regarding her lost family, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to do it, because the thought of leaving this place...leaving Lucius...was infinitely more terrifying than anything else .

"Your hair is very pretty today, Rionach," Fiorenza said approvingly, taking a break from tilting her head upwards.

"Thank you," Rionach replied, smiling a little, surprised at the compliment. During the week, she had little to do in the Room other than read, draw, and play with her hair. That morning she'd taken extra care forming small braids and wrapping them around her head, like a crown. Fee had given her an extra set of school robes to wear, her Slytherin badge transfigured into that of Ravenclaw. Rionach had also put on a sapphire blue cardigan that Fee had left in the wardrobe, thinking that perhaps the colour would bring out her eyes.

"Any reason in particular for looking so nice today?" Fiorenza asked casually.

She blushed, grateful to the cool air for lending an excuse for her reddened cheeks. "Nothing particularly," Rionach mumbled. She could tell that Fee didn't believe her, but said nothing. They went back to watching the players above, zipping impossibly fast through the freezing air.

The two players that Fee had explained were Seekers started speeding towards the ground, the Gryffindor one inching further ahead than his rival. Another Slytherin player shot down and seemed to lose control of her broom, knocking into the Gryffindor Seeker and causing the crowd to erupt in boos. A fowl was given to Slytherin. The Gryffindor crowd sounded furious, happy cheering turning to angry screams.

One of the Gryffindors with the big bat - Rionach forgot what they were called - sped towards Lucius. She looked for one of the huge black balls that he was supposed to be hitting, but saw none. He was flying too close. Lucius seemed to concur, and moved away, but the other Gryffindors were closing in to score points so he was forced back towards the threatening bat. Then, something happened, so quickly she couldn't quite follow, and Lucius was suddenly falling, cloaked in black, light hair billowing around him, falling impossibly fast through the glittering snow. A strange verse echoed in her mind, another remnant of her past; And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

Deep, echoing words reverberated through the Pitch. Lucius's form slowed as it drew nearer to the ground, snow gently shifting as his body lay slack. Everyone was quiet as he lay there, unmoving. Rionach started to run forward, Fiorenza calling her name.

The other players started to fly down to see what happened, but Rionach reached him first, throwing her body over his protectively. A nasty cut across his cheek was already surrounded with darkening bruises, and his breath rattled as he breathed.

"Oh God oh God oh God," she muttered over and over, brushing hair out of his face. "Lucius, wake up! Lucius!" She started to giggle hysterically, her mind reeling from the absurdity of it all. Begging her captor to stay alive, fingers tangled in his hair, bile rising in her throat.

Is he still my captor?

She didn't know anymore.

Watching his hands as he told her about the stars. Feeling his heavy breath on her hair in the morning. The ache in her bones whenever he left her. Everything has become so blurred.

Her crazed laughter eased as his eyes slowly opened, the right one barely a slit due to the swelling of his cheek. "Rionach," he said hoarsely, lifting a hand to her face. She didn't realize she was crying until his fingers wiped away her tears. She blinked quickly, the salty liquid catching on her lip.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered, mentally slapping herself for asking so obvious a question. He grunted affirmatively, eyes bright, glassy. She looked around at the other players and teachers starting to run towards them. They looked like gray shadows, dimly jerking at the edge of her vision, while Lucius was pink cheeks and purple bruises and red mouth. "I have to go," she said regretfully, but somehow couldn't pull away. She felt like a sunflower, thick roots grinding into the soil, her face turned to the sun, soaking in his gaze.

An aloof, crooked smile that she'd never seen before spread across his face. Warmth bloomed in her chest, instant and hot, searing across her skin, sharply contrasting with the biting wind. "You look very pretty today," he said, grinning.

She somehow barked out a laugh. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe I'll wake up, and Pettigrew will be waiting for me at the door, and hard, reassuring pain will snap me back into reality. But her hands did hurt, they were stiff with cold and turning red, and a beautiful boy was lying in front of her, the elegant planes of his pale face marred with blood and swelling. "I think you hit your head pretty hard. Fiorenza-"

"Fee is very beautiful," he murmured, and a sinking feeling took hold in her stomach, the warmth in her chest growing cold. He gave a little shrug, wincing at the movement. "But you...you have these eyes…" his hand fluttered from her cheek to her brow. She closed her eyes, swallowing shakily, as his fingertips trailed down her face, his middle finger following the line of her nose, brushing against her mouth and the tears gathered on her lower lip, finally resting on her chin.

Then she was being pulled away, and swarms of people were crowding in as Fee hissed in her ear that they needed to get out of there before one of the teachers looked at her too closely. Rionach turned to her, feeling the hysteria rising again. "What would happen to me if Lucius died?" she asked, fighting down giggles, tugging at the scarf around her neck. Her face felt like it was about to burn off.

Fiorenza halted in her quest to drag the other girl back to the castle, and seemed taken aback by the question, her perfect mask sliding from her face, violet eyes dark with concern. "He isn't going to die. You don't need to worry."

"I don't need to worry," Rionach repeated. Despite her best efforts, a small giggle erupted from her throat. She could still feel where his fingers touched her cheeks.

Alarm was now etched into Fiorenza's features, and she reached out a hand to steady Rionach as she swayed in the snow. "Really, Rionach. Our school Healer will have him patched up in a matter of hours. All will be well. I've seen him take bigger hits than this."

"Would you give me back to Abraxas if Lucius died?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Her hysteria vanished as quickly as it appeared. Fiorenza tossed her scarf over her shoulder and looked down at the redhead calculatingly.

Rionach was suddenly struck by how tall Fee was. She felt like a mouse cowering next to a shimmering python who was debating on whether to eat her now or play with her first.

"No. I would not," she said finally. She turned to look at where several teachers were levitating Lucius's body and were leading it to the castle's entrance.

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "You're growing on me."

"No, I'm not," Rionach replied, thinking of her argument with Lucius several weeks prior.

Fiorenza sighed, clearly irritated. "I would not, because Lucius would not have wished it."

She could tell from the fierceness in those violet eyes, the rigidity of her body, that she was telling the truth, and when she turned back towards the castle, Rionach fell into step alongside her, the silence between them feeling strangely comfortable.

Lucius

He awoke slowly, his senses assaulted by the smells of the infirmary. He tried to shift in his bed, but the starched sheets were firmly tucked in, and his body was stiff and sore.

"Lucius." A soft, gravelly voice halted his struggling, and he looked over at Rionach's face, strange candlelit shadows thrown across her cheeks.

He leaned back, letting some of the tension ease from his body. "What happened?"

She looked somehow...put off by the question, but her face quickly cleared as she answered. "One of the Gryffindor...I forget what they're called, with the bat? Fee said his name is McGonagall. He says he was aiming for the ball, but hit your face instead. You fell."

Lucius hissed through his teeth, flashes of the past few hours running through his mind. "Was he at least kicked out of the game?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know. I didn't stick around to see how it all played out," she admitted, staring at her hands. "Fiorenza said that she was going to...take care of him." She shivered slightly, remembering the strange glint in the other girl's eye as she'd wandered away, humming to herself.

Lucius grinned. "That's my girl." The werewolf frowned a little, but didn't comment.

"How do you feel?" she asked tentatively.

He brought his arms out from under the sheets and flexed his muscles carefully, then touched his face gingerly, flinching a little when his fingertips made contact with the welt on his cheek. "Not too bad, I think. McGonagall's lucky my neck didn't snap, though."

Rionach inhaled sharply, and he looked up, surprised. "What's wrong?"

"It's just...I'm not sure what I'd do, if something were to happen to you, you know? Right now, you're all I have," she mumbled. He watched her curiously, thinking that, despite having seen the girl nearly naked in a cage being tortured by his father, now, in this moment, she looked more vulnerable than ever.

Her hair fell across her face, reminding him of how, earlier, it had been pinned up and braided, and he'd said...sweet Salazar, he'd told her she was pretty...and she'd blushed beneath his gaze, closing her eyes at his touch…

He wriggled up on the bed, annoyed with how the sheets made his movements seem so disjointed, and adjusted a pillow behind him so he could be at eye level with the girl. She seemed so fragile in that moment, he felt that one wrong word could shatter her. He felt a strange desire to comfort, but didn't know how, never being comforted by others before. Thinking of how she calmed under his touch when he soothed her nightmares, he reached over, taking one of her hands in his, and her gaze flew up to his, eyes wide with shock.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly, his thumb stroking the side of her hand. He felt light-headed and warm, his thoughts disconnected and nonsensical. He wondered briefly whether his head injury really was something to worry about, but decided he didn't care, because he was leaning forward towards Rionach and her eyes were closed and Gods, she smelled so good, he just wanted to breathe her in for the rest of his life-

"Lucius?" Eldred's voice cut through the fog, and the pair instantly leapt apart, looking anywhere but at each other. The other wizard strolled into view, his eyes quickly assessing the flushed cheeks and downcast eyes.

"Er...I brought you something to eat," Eldred said, continuing to look from one to the other.

"Thank you," Lucius said curtly, extending his hand.

Eldred gave him the paper bag filled with goodies, then stepped back awkwardly. "I don't mean to intrude, but I was meaning to ask you, Lucius…" his voice trailed off uncertainly.

"You're not intruding on anything," Lucius snapped, regretting his harsh tone when Rionach winced a little beside him, but continued on. "What's the question?"

"Fee invited all of us," at this he looked at Rionach as well, "to her family's home in Sicily for the break. What do you think? With the castle so quiet during the holidays, Rionach will probably be noticed if she's wandering around the halls alone."

"I won't be able to join you until the 24th," Lucius replied, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. At the girl's raised eyebrow, he added, "My birthday is the 22nd, and my father likes to make it into a large affair due to the winter solstice falling on the same day. Christmas Day isn't very important at my house. We honour the old pagan holidays."

"I forgot about that," Eldred said mildly, though he gave Lucius a pointed look, which the blond ignored. He knew what his friend was getting at, the unanswered question in his eyes hanging between them. Are you going to be a Death Eater after your birthday? Thankfully, Eldred kept his thoughts to himself. "But you will join, then?"

"Most likely. I'd rather spend as little time around my father as possible, at the moment," Lucius muttered. The other two said nothing; they both knew what sort of father Abraxas Malfoy was.

"Great! Well, I have to go send a letter...so…" Eldred turned to leave.

"Sending a lot of letters lately, Worple," Lucius cut in.

The other boy shrugged as he turned back to them. "I should let my parents know that I won't see them at Christmas."

Lucius looked at him suspiciously. Eldred never returned home during the break, and rarely corresponded with his family. He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, but the other boy was already gone, disappearing out of the infirmary.

Rionach spoke up. "The full moon is the 23rd. What do I do if I'm with Fee somewhere in Italy?"

Lucius frowned, rubbing his brow. "I doubt I'll be able to join you until the 24th, so Fee is going to have to tie you up, I guess. Her parents are never around anyway, and I'm sure the house has some sort of cellar. I'll teach her a few binding hexes before you go."

Rionach frowned at the thought of being confined and bound in a cellar, but saw no alternative. "All right," she said, standing. "Fee said that they'll probably let you out of here tomorrow - will you come to the Room, then?"

Lucius nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

Rionach gave him a small smile. "I'll see you then." She leaned over and squeezed his hand, briefly, and he watched her go, breathing in slowly to steady his trembling hand.

Eldred

He quickly ran up the steps to the owlery, and once there, pulled out a quill and some parchment, scribbling a quick note. It read:

Growing closer, still keeping distance. Shouldn't be long now. E.W.

He tied the note to the leg of one of the school's owls, and watched it fly off into the night, a black shape against the bright stars.

December 22nd, 1969 - Winter Solstice
Malfoy Manor, Lacock, Wiltshire

Lucius

The Manor felt strangely quiet, the air thick and heavy. He watched himself adjust the sleeves of his robes in the mirror, the gilded silver frame remaining silent. He started at a blur of movement behind him, then partially relaxed when he realized his father had quietly stepped into his quarters. Abraxas moved directly behind him, his eyes barely visible over the top of Lucius's head.

"Father," he said in greeting. The old man did not respond for several moments.

"Do you know why we call you Lucius, my son?" Abraxas asked, standing behind Lucius while the younger man fiddled with the buttons on his robes.

"Because all of the men in our family are named after Roman rulers?" Lucius ventured.

Abraxas shook his head. "They are, but we named you Lucius especially, because we wanted you to have a brother."

Lucius raised his eyebrows, flicking his gaze from the mirror to his father. "A brother?"

Abraxas sat down on a chair, laying his cane across his lap. "Yes. You see, when Marcus Aurelius took the reins of power in Rome, he refused to become Emperor if his brother, Lucius Verus, could not also rule. And so, for the first time, Rome had two Emperors. Brotherhood is a truly powerful thing, and I wanted you to have it. I think, perhaps, having a brother would have made you...stronger."

Lucius stiffened, his hands halting their fumblings. "What makes you think I am not strong, father?"

"A father knows such things instinctively," Abraxas replied airily. His eyes refocused on Lucius and his tone turned brusque. "You were always a lonely child. No matter. Tonight you will be...tested. And if you do not comply, I will be very disappointed in you." He rose from his chair, and pulled a glittering brooch out of his pocket. A silver serpent twisted around a bed of emeralds. Stepping in front of his son, he put his cane under his arm and attached the brooch to the front of Lucius's robes. At his father's request, he and the rest of the guests were wearing all white. "This is a very old family heirloom that my father passed to me at your age."

"Thank you," Lucius automatically responded. He turned towards the mirror and watched as his fingers traced over the serpent's body.

"I will meet you in the ballroom," Abraxas said curtly, and swept out of the room.

Lucius let out the breath that he'd been holding, shakily sitting down in the chair his father had been using. He put his elbows on his thighs and dropped his face into his hands, letting waves of relief roll over him. He didn't know. He would have said something by now if he knew. Rionach was safe.

He thought of her large, blue eyes staring back at him as he left. They seemed even more blue than usual, the cardigan she was wearing reflecting their colour. He hoped that everything went smoothly with the full moon tomorrow, and that Fiorenza and Eldred would take care of her. Taking a deep breath, he rose, and moved back to the mirror to braid his hair and check to make sure not a thread was out of place on his dress robes. They were a little tight in the shoulders; his chest was broadening, and he'd grown several inches in the past six months, but they were so well made that you could hardly tell.

Tonight you will be...tested. And if you do not comply, I will be very...disappointed in you. Why did his father always have to be so insufferably cryptic? He shook his head, gave himself one more appraisal in the mirror, and turned on his heel to head towards the ballroom.

As he walked down the main hall, the glares of his ancestors' portraits even more loathsome. Anxiety felt like it was gnawing a hole through his belly. His father had been distant and cold, though he reminded himself that was hardly unusual, and his mother, apparently quite ill, had remained in her rooms. He fiddled with his cuff-links as he walked, wondering what waited for him on the other side of the manor.

He paused at the doors to the ballroom, listening to the tinkling of glasses, soft violin music and lilting laughter. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the heavy door forward, and stepped into the room.

The room was kept quite dark, the only light coming from massive, concrete bowls filled with fire that lined the walls. The flames reflected off the ice sculptures placed haphazardly around the room, depicting various Roman Gods and Goddesses. Elegantly dressed men drank and watched a group of young girls dancing in a circle around a woman who was sitting on an elaborate throne in the center of the room. The girls wore simple white dresses, hair unbound and entwined with flowers.

The only woman not dancing was Bellatrix Black, who sauntered over to Lucius as he stepped into the room. Her long, white dress gathered at her hips below the tight, leather bodice, and a red, silk shawl barely clung to the crooks of her arms, the fabric fluttering behind her like a stream of blood.

"My, what a lovely celebration Abraxas has put together for you, Lucius dear," she said, smiling coldly. Dark ringlets fell across her face as she looked up at him."You're a lucky boy to have such a doting father."

"Quite," Lucius replied stiffly. He focused on the woman in the center of the room, who appeared rather old, and very under-dressed for the occasion. She seemed to be wearing dirty rags, and long, gray hair fell across her shoulder in matted clumps. One side of her face was streaked with blood, and the rest of her was bruised and filthy. It looked as if she was trying to get out of the chair, but couldn't, and attempted to cry out to the bystanders, but no sound left her lips.

"Ungrateful little thing," Bellatrix commented, following his gaze. "Abraxas has gone out of his way to be a good host to it, and all it does is struggle and scream. I didn't mind, but it made some of the younger girls uncomfortable, so Dolohov silenced it."

"Who is she?" Lucius asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Oh? You don't know? This must be a surprise for you!" Bellatrix said gleefully, clapping her hands together. "It's name is Ophelia Ollivander. It's the wand-maker's Mudblood wife."

"Ah," Lucius said, understanding dawning over him. "Will I have to hurt…?"

"No no, this one isn't for you," Bellatrix replied, rolling her eyes. "How boring. At least...I don't think she's for you. Who knows what Daddy has planned, hmm? But as it happens, the Dark Lord was kept away this evening. He's recruiting giants in Lithuania. Your initiation task will be much more interesting than this, I assure you." Her teeth sparkled as she glanced back at him.

"Why is she here, then?" Lucius asked impatiently, twisting his serpent ring around his finger.

"Like I said, your father has prepared a most lovely celebration for you today," Bellatrix answered. "In honour of the Solstice, your father is reviving the ancient traditions of Saturnalia from the Romans. They would pick a slave, and-"

"And treat him as a King for a week," Lucius whispered, pure horror etched on his face. "And at the end of the week…"

"The slave is killed, of course! You are so good with history, Lucius. I'm sure your father would be proud," Bellatrix said approvingly, seemingly oblivious to his evident discomfort. "Of course, an entire week of indulging a Mudblood is too much for anyone to endure, so it's been fed and treated well today, given every luxury, and now...the fun begins."

The music stopped and the dancers stilled, parting to make way for Abraxas, who clunked forward, leaning heavily on his cane, robes trailing on the floor. He stood next to the throne, hardly glancing at the woman who glared at him from her confinement. Abraxas also wore white robes, a thick white linen cloak gathered about his shoulders, and white beads woven through his long, silver hair. He seemed to glow in the firelight, gray eyes flashing mercilessly.

"Friends, we are gathered here today in celebration!" The room erupted with gruff cheers and clinked glasses. Abraxas raised his hand, motioning for silence, and the room instantly quietened. "Today we honour not only the sacred day of the Solstice, but also the sixteenth birthday of my dear son, Lucius."

Bellatrix tittered happily and Dolohov strode over to clap Lucius on the back good-naturedly. Lucius repressed the urge to flinch, and instead grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby floating tray, swallowing its contents in one gulp.

Abraxas continued with his speech, smiling wide. "Lucius is a good son. The Dark Lord himself has expressed great interest in his future, and regrets that he will not be attending this evening. However, fear not; for there will be plenty of entertainment to be had!"

Dark laughter rippled through the guests, and Lucius plucked another glass of champagne from the tray. Abraxas gestured towards the girls in white dresses. "I would also like to thank the Pureblood daughters that could join us this evening to perform the dance welcoming the return of the light, on this dark winter's day." There was a smattering of polite applause. "Finally, I would like to thank our honoured guest, Ophelia Ollivander, here to take her place as Queen for a night within the revered circle."

Abraxas leaned his cane against the throne, and waved his hands around quickly and elegantly, a shimmer of gold following his movements. Three flowers appeared, floating before him. A dahlia, a sprig of aconite, and a rose. "For you, my Queen," he said, smiling down at the old woman. She glared up at him, spitting towards his face, but it missed and he laughed, throwing back his head. "We have a spirited ruler! How fortunate!" The guests laughed with him, and he plucked the red dahlia from the air, letting it fall on the woman's lap. "For dignity," he said, smiling. Lucius heard Bellatrix snort beside him.

Next, Abraxas selected the sprig of purple aconite, twisting the stem in his fingers for a moment before letting it fall. "For misanthropy." Lucius felt cold, his eyes following the path of the flower. He wrenched his gaze back to the last blossom, a simple black rose suspended in the air.

"For death," Abraxas said simply, though instead of letting it fall as he did the others, he slowly plucked each petal off of the blossom, letting them fall around the throne, in the woman's hair, on her shoulders. When he was done, he let the naked stem fall into her lap.

The room was silent. Lucius could hear Bellatrix breathing heavily, mouth open in anticipation. She stepped forward, wand outstretched, a terrifying glint in her eye. "Please, Abraxas, if I may begin?"

Abraxas looked as if he were coming to a decision, and asked the guests, "Have we tired already of our Queen?" He was met with shouts of approval, so he stepped back, extending his arm towards the throne. The violin music started again, and the girls continued their dance around the mock queen. Bellatrix hissed out a spell that Lucius had never heard before. The old woman silently cried out in pain, released from her perch on the chair and flopping down onto the floor where she spasmed uncontrollably.

Bellatrix flicked her wand and Ollivander's limbs jerked up, dragging her to her feet, as if puppet strings were attached to her knees, spine and wrists. The girls never faltered in their dance around the chair, the prisoner following their movements around her throne in a gruesome parody. Lucius forced himself to watch, teeth clenched, terrified that if he showed the smallest sign of weakness, his father would force him to somehow participate.

"That's right, Mudblood. This is just a taste of what your blood-traitor husband is going to endure at my hands," Bellatrix said softly, muttering another foreign spell and watching coolly as the woman's hair was shorn off, falling around her in thick, gray clumps.

"Look, Lucius," Dolohov said casually, gesturing with his glass. "They are rather pathetic, no? Can you believe that such creatures believe themselves equal to us?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Lucius simply nodded, transfixed by the scene before him. His head felt heavy, the air thick. He could smell smoke from the fires, and the girls dancing seemed impossibly lovely and surreal next to the awful display of savagery in their midst. He drank his champagne steadily, reaching for another glass the second one emptied.

After a time, Bellatrix seemed to grow bored, and the other guests took turns, trying out various curses and throwing out increasingly creative insults towards the victim. Soon, all eyes were on Lucius, and he stood, frozen, staring at the old woman crumpled in front of the throne, bald and shaking in the firelight.

"It's your turn, Lucius," Abraxas commanded, handing his son a long, cruel-looking knife. The handle was made of a beautiful, dark wood, runes carved into its surface.

"Father, I- I can't do magic off school grounds," Lucius stuttered, his eyes flicking from the knife to the prisoner. He felt hot, and bleary-eyed, and he wondered how much champagne he'd had by now...

"I'm not telling you to use magic," Abraxas said coldly, his eyes dangerously dark. He roughly seized Lucius's hand and thrust the dagger into his palm. "But I am telling you to kill her. It's about time you proved your loyalty to the cause. Pity the Dark Lord won't be able to witness this himself, but there are plenty of witnesses." The double meaning was evident in his tone. Plenty of witnesses who would surely report back if it was seen that Abraxas Malfoy's only son was a coward who couldn't kill one measly Mudblood.

Shaking visibly, Lucius clasped the dagger tightly, approaching the woman slowly. When he was mere inches away, she threw herself at his feet desperately, clawing at the front of his robes.

"Please," she mouthed, silent words boring into his soul. "Please. Help me."

Her eyes were blue. So bright and clear, he could see himself reflected in the pupils. He raised the knife, looking above her eyes, over her head. She bowed her face, shoulders shuddering. He tried to will his arm to move, but it remained suspended in the air, trembling. She's nothing. You don't even know her. Just lower the knife...

Abraxas stepped forward, standing so close behind his son that Lucius could smell the old man's sickly sweet stench. "Remember what she is, my son. You must keep in mind all of the pain that will befall our people should the Mudbloods fail to be exterminated. Do you want to be responsible for their kind rising against us, causing true Magic folk to eventually fade away?"

Lucius managed only to shake his head slightly, not trusting himself to speak.

His father placed a hand on his elbow, leaning even closer, his breath wet on his son's ear. "It is unpleasant. I understand. But how else do you suggest we rid ourselves of the filth that has polluted our world?"

Lucius trembled, looking down at the quivering figure at his feet. He knew his father was right. Then why is this so hard? Beads of perspiration rolled down his face, and his heart hammered against his ribcage. "Is there no other way?" he whispered.

Abraxas's hand tightened on his elbow. "There is not." Three words, spoken so softly, but with such malice. Lucius swallowed slowly, trying to stay calm. There is no other way. No other choice.

Lucius kneeled down, his father stepping away as he moved. He took the old woman's chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, tears and sweat blurring his vision. She nodded, and seemed to be trying to appear serene, but he could still see the fear in her face. She didn't want to die.

He took a deep breath, then dragged the knife across her throat, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep the blade steady. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he mused at how much more difficult it was to cut through human flesh than he would have guessed. The old woman made a sick gargling noise, her eyes wide as blood poured down her front, then fell to the side, lifeless.

The room erupted. Amid the applause and cheers of the other guests, he heard Bellatrix distinctly say, 'Well, he could have dragged it out a bit longer."

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder, and the girls resumed their dance around them. The woman's eyes were open in death, now a dull, watery blue, gray hair littered around her. Thick, dark blood pooled onto the floor, drowning the rose petals, the dahlia and the aconite sprig floating on the surface. He thought of the man in the arena, throat torn out by the red wolf, and of a thin girl with a jagged scar across her face, and his hand, shaking, as bruises darkened along her throat…

"The first is always the most difficult, Lucius," Abraxas said, slicing through his thoughts, tightening his grip on his son's shoulder. "You have honoured the name of Malfoy this evening, and made the world we live in a little bit safer. It will get easier, with time." He turned his son towards him roughly. "Always remember that family is most important. Do you understand?"

Lucius nodded numbly, staring down at his hands. His right sleeve was tinged with red. It must have somehow dragged in the blood at the woman's throat. He surged forward, knocking his father's hand from him, and picked up a napkin, dabbing at the spot furiously. A little voice at the back of his mind muttered about the absurdity of trying to wipe away blood with a frilly cocktail napkin. But all he could think about was getting the blood out, cleaning himself of this mess. He needed to wash, to burn, needed to peel his entire skin off and step into a new shell, scorching his old self into ashes.

Excusing himself, he quickly walked to the closest lavatory, and leaned against the cold stone wall, breathing heavily. He killed someone. He killed a woman. He killed a woman who'd been tortured. But it was for the Cause. It had to be done...

He felt hot, claustrophobic. Remembering the serpent brooch on his chest, he ripped it off and threw it against the wall, where it clattered to the ground and seemed to hiss as it landed. Next, he threw off the outer layer of his robes and unclasped the top buttons of his shirt, leaning over the sink, staring at himself.

"Ophelia," he whispered, not recognizing the wild stare of the man looking back at him. "The most tragic of names. Ophelia."