The sound of a nameless house-elf tending to the fire filled the room, the crackles and pops of the dancing orange flames hissing out. There wasn't much in the cold room, other than a bed, fireplace and dresser, with only one lumpy armchair facing the only window in the room. The view was nothing but clouds and mist, given the height of the bedroom, as well as the morning wintery fog. Two doors were carved into the rough stone walls at opposite ends of the circular tower room, one for the recently added bathroom, and the other for the exit.
Draco sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, facing the unconscious woman beneath the thick layers of blankets. The blonde woman had been bathed by the house-elf by the fireplace a mere hour ago, and now radiated the fragrance Draco had yearned after for years. Three years, to be precise.
Octavia's hair, whilst chopped to shoulder length, now spiralled in the tight curls he loved he so much, framing her sickly pale face as she breathed evenly in her deep slumber. Draco's hand gently cupped her hollow cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over her blemished skin as he gazed down at her in her tranquil silence. Her slumber was no longer induced by the injury he had caused her, but by a spell of his own creation. He had constructed the sleeping spell for that very occasion; the day he had returned Octavia to her rightful place.
It was a calming charm, submerging its victim in a deep, dreamless slumber, only to awake once fully rested. No nightmares would plague her fragile mind for the duration of the charm, a detail he had spent considerable time on perfecting just for her.
The room began to warm with the heat of the roaring fire beneath the mantle, circular walls constructing the bedroom in the highest tower of Malfoy Manor. The thick wooden door behind him was wide open, as he had only entered moments ago to visit briefly. With the capture of twenty-seven Order of the Phoenix affiliates, Draco had a lot to tend to, but needed a moment with Octavia beforehand.
Soft thuds sounded out, footsteps nearing the open door, a new presence tickling at Draco's senses. He didn't need to turn around to know who had arrived and stopped in the doorway, presumably leaning against the doorframe in a usual arrogant manner. Draco had known that he would come.
Draco turned his head to the side, his gaze fixing on the carpet; not quite looking over his shoulder, but ordering the newcomer to speak with the silent gesture.
"I wanted to see her," Blaise said after a moment of silence, his crisp tone contradicting with the nostalgic reasons for his visit.
"Why?" Draco responded coolly, returning his gaze to the sleeping beauty on the bed.
"You know why, My Lord." Blaise answered robotically, no feeling behind the formal title he spoke.
Draco remained silent as his silver gaze rested on the long eyelashes of Octavia, a smirk tugging at his lips as drool trickled down her cheek. Wiping away the drool with his long index finger, Draco had to remind himself of the companion in the doorway, almost forgetting that the world didn't revolve around the girl in the bed.
"Come another time," Draco ordered coolly, a sharpness to his tone. "Octavia needs to rest for now."
"Yes, My Lord." Blaise drawled, pushing himself from the doorframe, sparing a lingering glance at the sleeping figure.
The sound of retreating footsteps alerted Draco to the fact that Blaise had taken his leave. Now alone with Octavia, except the house-elf that continued to tend to the fire, Draco cupped her cheek gently and lowered his face to hers. His soft lips pressed gently onto her cracked lips, kissing her tenderly for a moment before pulling away.
His soft gaze moved up to the patched wound on her forehead from when he had whacked her head onto a dumpster. He probably should have used magic to render her unconscious, but he had acted on impulse, desperate to not give her a mere millisecond to escape. He had made that mistake back at the abbey and years ago at Hogwarts. Draco just hoped that she would forgive him for it. And everything else. But he was certain she would, in truth. With time, Octavia would come to see things his way. She would soon share his views of the world, or if not, at least accept her role in it all.
"My Lord," Lucius's cool drawl came from the doorway, Draco momentarily taken off guard.
"What?" Draco snapped, fleetingly wondering if he'd ever have an uninterrupted moment with Octavia again.
"We have the Hufflepuff Cup; everything is being prepared as we speak. The ritual will be ready to commence on the next full moon." Lucius advised in his usual cool tone. "The prisoners have been secured in the dungeons, but we were unable to find Miss Hermione Granger or the Weasley boy."
"Did anyone else manage to evade you?" Draco growled dangerously, implicating the blame to rest with Lucius.
"Two others, My Lord." Lucius answered hesitantly, almost nervously. "Sirius Black escaped his restraints by transforming into a dog, and managed to take Remus Lupin with him, My Lord. Others are unaccounted for, but we believe that they apparated to a separate location after the battle in the abbey."
Draco sighed quietly as he ran his knuckles over the gaunt cheek of Octavia, longing to have a peaceful moment with her. Alas, things had to be seen to, and that day was a very busy one at Malfoy Manor.
"Also, Lord Potter is requesting your presence, My Lord." Lucius drawled, undoubtedly trying to catch a glimpse at the girl in the bed.
Draco nodded once, flicking his free hand to dismiss the false father in the doorway. He presumed that Lucius bowed respectfully before retreating, but didn't turn to check. It felt near impossible to tear his gaze away from Octavia's beautiful face, despite the sickly pale complexion and hollow cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and could have gazed at her for all eternity.
Draco couldn't resist the smile that twisted at his pink lips as he observed her warmly. The victory was evident in his silver eyes, triumph blazing beneath the affectionate glimmers.
Three years too late, but he had her now, and that is what mattered.
Draco Malfoy, after three years of hunting and searching, finally had Octavia Granger where she truly belonged.
By his side.
Octavia Granger was simply furious. Every scrap of hurt, betrayal and heartache had morphed deep within her and transferred to her anger. Her entire body vibrated with brutal rage, her hazel eyes wide with fury, short curly hair framing her livid face.
She had awoken two days ago in a circular bedroom with stone walls and meagre possessions, but that's not what stirred and roused her fury, no. It was the fact that Draco Malfoy had put her there, locked away in a tower with only a silent house-elf as her companion. And even then, the house-elf was palpably eager to get the hell out of the bedroom after Octavia had been fed her three meals a day.
Octavia didn't ask the elf questions anymore after quickly realising that the tiny creature wouldn't speak at all, let alone provide her with answers. It mattered naught, anyway. For Octavia knew who had trapped her in a tower, and she recalled everything that led up to the night of her capture. Octavia remembered the battle in the abbey, the presumed abduction of Pansy, the massacre in the muggle street, and most of all, Draco knocking her out by slamming her head into a dumpster.
So when the thick door of the bedroom clanged, indicating that it was unlocked, before the handle turned, Octavia wasted not a single second before scurrying over to the door. As expected, Draco stepped into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him, but he hadn't expected what occurred when he entered her bedroom.
Not a moment before the door clicked behind him, a hand shot out and belted him across the face with surprising force. Octavia's arm reeled back, her hand clenching into a fist, taking advantage of his mild surprise. Draco opened his eyes to meet her gaze, perhaps to attempt to reason with her, but he didn't get the chance, for her fist collided with his nose, earning a sickening crunch from her efforts.
A yelp of agony ripped through the tower room, but the sound didn't come from the assaulted Draco. Instead, it came from Octavia as she clutched her fist in her other hand, wincing at the throbbing pain in her slender fingers. Blood trickled from Draco's nostrils, but he remained perfectly still, as though he hadn't been hit at all.
With her hand now injured, Octavia resulted to other means of inflicting pain on her capturer; stomping on his shoe-clad feet.
Draco stood perfectly still, accepting the wrath of the slim girl in front of him, his jaw clenched tightly as she began kicking him viciously on the shins. He made a mental note to purchase her shoes when she whimpered at her now-injured toes.
"Are you quite finished?" Draco asked coolly as she turned her attention to inspecting her bare toes.
"Fuck you," Octavia spat, all pain in her toes forgotten as she shoved him harshly against the wooden door. "You're disgusting, and I hate you, you fucking monster!"
"I love you too, baby," Draco drawled sarcastically, reclining casually against the wall.
Octavia spat right on his face, literally sputtering saliva onto his lips, an act that she had never done to anyone before then. Draco raised his hand and wiped the offensive substance from his lips before pushing himself from the wall. His cool silver gaze connected with her furious hazel eyes, his body nearing hers, towering over her unfaltering form.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Octavia scowled up at him, almost daring him to retaliate. A foolish invitation, to be sure, but he had no doubt that her bravery stemmed from a place of assurance; she knew he wouldn't hurt her, therefore she could be as feisty as she liked. So long as it occurred behind closed doors, and not in front of the Death Eater army, Draco wouldn't retaliate.
"I have thirty minutes," Draco informed coolly, tucking his curved index finger beneath her chin. "Do you wish to spend our time together verbally and physically assaulting me, or do you desire answers to the questions I am certain you have?"
"I don't have questions," Octavia hissed venomously, her face tilted upwards, aligned with his. "Not for you."
"No?" Draco quirked his brow, enjoying the fire in her captivating hazel eyes. "Figured it all out, have you?"
"Yes." Octavia snarled, whacking his hand from her face.
"And what have you discovered?" Draco asked calmly, stepping around her to approach the simmering fireplace.
"Everything." Octavia snapped accusingly. "You're a Lord, the world's biggest fuckbucket and you're Voldemort's son."
"Ah," Draco smirked, seating himself on the lumpy armchair, facing her as she stomped toward him. "The resemblance gave me away, did it?"
"Don't!" Octavia screeched, stomping her foot childishly, pointing her finger accusingly at him. "Don't you dare think you can joke around with me, Draco Malfoy! I don't want to hear your stupid jokes, I don't want to see your slimy face, and I sure as fuck don't want to be here with you!"
"I do not recall treating you with such disrespect when I was your prisoner," Draco sighed, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his black shirt. "Quite the opposite, actually."
"You lied to me!" Octavia shrieked, her hands balled up at her sides. "You've lied to since we fucking met, Draco! Everything, absolutely everything has been a lie!"
"There are things that I misled you in believing," Draco conceded, nodding once. "But our relationship is, and has always been, authentic. How we feel about one another is no lie. I understand that you are upset, and will be for some time, but you will ultimately come to see things my way. I will not lie to you again, Octavia."
"How we feel about one another?" Octavia repeated incredulously. "I hate you with a burning passion, Draco. I guess you're right, 'cause that's not a lie. That's just the truth, plain and simple."
"Is that so?" Draco quirked his brow. "Tell me; how is it you were unable to produce fire to kill me, Octavia? Was your magic prevented due to your eternal hatred for me? Or do your true emotions rule your abilities, and your heart was unable to end my life?"
Octavia's lips parted as though she had intended to respond, but instead, she stood there, frowning and gaping like a fish out of water, no response able to slip from her tongue. He was right, and she loathed it. She did love him, so very much, but it only served to increase the stings of betrayal at her heart, so she wasn't about to fall at his feet anytime soon.
"If it's ruled by my emotions, then why can't I make fire now?" Octavia frowned, glancing down at her useless hands. She had tried, many times, to produce the flames since her capture. And each time, she failed miserably.
"The bracelet," Draco said, inclining his head at her wrists.
Octavia turned her attention to the silver bracelet secured around her frail wrist, picking at it lazily with her index finger. She had noticed it when she awoke in the tower room, but had forgotten about it quickly when she became overwhelmed with her circumstances. Now that she observed it with more interest, however, she realised that it possessed no clasp, and no matter how hard she pulled at it, the bracelet remained securely fastened to her wrist.
"I cannot risk you hurting yourself," Draco whispered, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. "It is only a precaution."
Steely silver eyes softened as Draco observed her morphing expression, watching as it transformed to utter anguish. As her face scrunched up and the inevitable tears welled in her spectacular eyes, Draco pushed himself from the armchair. Her pained gaze followed him as he approached carefully, not wishing to startle her. Still, she flinched as he stopped in front of her, his hands grasping onto her arms gently. Her face turned to the side, evading his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on her temple before he wrapped his arms around her body and held her against him.
"I truly regret that it had to be this way," Draco sighed into her short curls. "It pains me to see you like this, Octavia."
In his loving embrace, Octavia resisted the urge to melt against him, focusing on the incredulity of the whole situation to keep her deepest emotions at bay. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair, but it wouldn't change. He wouldn't change.
"You must understand that there was no other option," Draco spoke quietly, feeling her body tremble in his arms as the weeping began.
"I don't understand," Octavia whispered, her voice thick with defeat. "I don't understand how you can do the things you do and think that it's ok."
"This is my destiny," Draco soothed, pulling away from her to cup her face and force her gaze to meet his. "A destiny I wish to share with you."
Octavia shrugged away from him, stumbling backwards as her watery gaze rested on the floor. The anger still burned within her, but not nearly as vehemently as before. The heartache echoed throughout her like blurred memories of pain. She wasn't numb to the conflicting emotions battling inside of her, but the overwhelming sensation of utter defeat had taken her for its own, and she was left with no further strength to fight.
Swallowing thickly, Octavia pushed by him, Draco turning and watching her as she trudged over to the armchair. He saw the beaten energy in her movements as she plopped herself down on the chair, tucking her legs beneath her body, her bum resting on the heels of her feet. Her hands fidgeted on her lap, tight shoulder-length curls framing her blank expression as she gazed at the floor. She didn't look at him, but he knew from her movements that she was inviting an explanation; that she needed an explanation.
Draco waved his hand, conjuring a solid wooden coffee table into the tower room, the furniture appearing directly in front of the armchair. Draco approached the chair she sat on, seating himself on the edge of the coffee table, facing her as she kept her teary eyes fixed on the floor. He clasped his hands together between his spread thighs as he leaned forward, his intense silver stare assessing her blank expression.
"How did this happen, Draco?" Octavia whispered in utter defeat. "All of it … I just don't understand how we got here."
Draco nodded slightly, his silver gaze assessing her forlorn expression, sensing her air of defeat. The least he could offer her were answers.
"The prophecy was predicted long before I was conceived," Draco spoke after a moment of silence, starting from the very beginning to better enlighten her. "Voldemort learned of the prophecy, but misinterpreted its meaning. He believed that he was invincible and that he would not require an heir to take his place upon his death, for he didn't believe that he would die. When the prophecy came about, he split his soul into three pieces: The soul in his body, and two fragments attached to objects."
"The diadem and the cup," Octavia whispered miserably, not daring to meet his gaze. But her peripherals noticed his slight nod, indicating that she was correct.
"Voldemort thought that with the two objects, he would return to life should he die." Draco explained softly. "Details in the prophecy spoke of a baby, but Voldemort didn't wish for anyone to take his place, so he set out to destroy the child. That child was Harry. But before he did this, he made a decision. He learned of ancient blood magic, and completed another ritual. This time, with my mother."
Octavia sniffed quietly, her cheeks and nose damp from her silent tears, listening intently, but feeling as though she was in a dream. It was all very surreal.
"He created a child with my mother, offering her what she desired in life, but something that my father could not give her." Draco continued. "Lucius is unable to create life, so Voldemort did it for him. They saw it as a great honour, and Lucius never saw me as anything less than his own flesh and blood. They knew, of course, that Voldemort had his own motives for conceiving a child. The ritual performed after conception ensured that Voldemort's soul would be connected to that of the child's, so if he died, he could return in the body of his son."
Frowning in confusion, Octavia raised her gaze to his, tears streaming down her cheeks as she snivelled.
"That was his plan," Draco said. "However, the prophecy hadn't been fully predicted at that point. When I was aged one, Voldemort went to kill Harry, but he didn't know that he would die in the process. He didn't know that the prophecy would later speak of two children, as opposed to one. Upon his death, I became a vessel, as did Harry."
"You're … are you going to … bring Voldemort into your body?" Octavia whispered in disbelief and absolute horror.
"No." Draco shook his head. "It is an option, but one that neither myself or Harry will entertain."
"I don't get it," Octavia frowned.
"The prophecy speaks of two leaders taking Voldemort's place," Draco said. "But to do that, both of our rituals have to be complete before we turn twenty-one, otherwise our bodies will remain vessels, and the Dark Lord can return. Harry's ritual has been complete, but without my own, his power will die. We can only survive and exist together. If one dies, the other follows. We are connected."
"But you're using the diadem and the cup in the rituals," Octavia argued. "You said they have pieces of Voldemort's soul in them, so … how do they help you not bring him back?"
"In the rituals," Draco explained, "we destroy the objects. The power of his soul transfers to myself and Harry, but the soul itself dies. It leaves no possibility for the Dark Lord's return, but creates two new Lords in his place. Stronger, united and far more powerful than he ever was."
"And now you have the cup," Octavia whispered. "Because of me."
"You blame yourself for something that was inevitable." Draco soothed, gazing up at her from beneath his lashes. "If you had not informed me of the cup being in the possession of the Order, I would have learned of it regardless."
"How?" Octavia frowned.
"We had already infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix," Draco said softly, almost regrettably. "That is how we knew of your missions; where you would be, how many of you would arrive, at the exact times, what you were after."
"But you didn't know," Octavia argued between small hiccups. "You didn't know that we had the cup until I told you."
"Our informants encountered challenges," Draco sighed. "One perished after he retrieved the cup at Hogwarts, and the other became conflicted by herself."
"Cedric?" Octavia gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "He … He was helping you?"
"He was." Draco nodded once. "He was supposed to drop the cup before disapparating."
"Why would he do that?" Octavia whispered, her face scrunched up. "Why he would betray us?"
"We had his parents in captivity; he had no choice."
"He had a choice," Octavia whined, tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes. "He had a choice and he chose the wrong side."
"He chose his family, Octavia." Draco countered. "He chose those he loved over his morals. It isn't uncommon, is it? One could argue that it is human nature to protect the ones you love most, even if it means betraying your beliefs."
"I killed for him," Octavia croaked, her voice breaking as her face scrunched up in agony. "I killed two people because he died."
Draco ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed quietly. Pushing himself from the coffee table, Draco dropped to one knee in front of her, his hands taking hers gently.
"You did what you felt you had to do," Draco reassured sympathetically. "It is not your fault. Cedric was not supposed to die, but a stray curse caught him. It was a mere accident. People kill and die in war, Octavia. You shouldn't blame yourself."
"Who is she?" Octavia snivelled, her clammy hands cupped in his.
"Who?"
"You said there was a second double agent," Octavia sniffled. "You said 'she'. So who is she?"
Draco sighed, evidently reluctant in revealing the piece of information that she had requested. His soft silver eyes looked up at her as she wept, his hands clutching hers a little tighter than before, attempting to comfort her.
"I'm not the right person to tell you that." Draco said quietly.
"I don't care." Octavia scowled. "You owe me answers, Draco."
"I do," Draco nodded. "I owe you much more than answers, Octavia, but I cannot tell you that."
"Then you can get the fuck out." Octavia hissed, yanking her hands from his. "Leave me alone."
Draco exhaled deeply before rising to his feet. He ran his hands over his face, concealing his forlorn expression briefly before stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets.
"I will return tomorrow. If there is anything you need, inform Dobby," Draco said, staring down at her longingly. "I love you, Octavia."
Octavia averted her gaze to the crackling embers in the fireplace, fleetingly connecting the odd name to the house-elf that waited on her throughout the days. She remained silent, tears blurring her vision as Draco's footsteps thudded out, closely followed by the clang and creaks of the door.
The moment she was alone in the tower room, she had expected the inevitable sobs to assault her without mercy, but none came. Only silent tears rolled down her blotchy cheeks, a depressing silence encompassing her entirely. The bitter taste of defeat licked around her, mocking her cruelly as she stared at the simmering fire.
Before long, Octavia fell asleep on the armchair, the heat of the fireplace keeping her body warm through the cold night.