WARNING: Features graphic violence, traumatizing events, major character deaths, non-graphic sex, torture, and kidnapping.

Stacked with: Fem Power Challenge & Starry Strums

Individual Challenge(s): In a Flash (Y); Slytherin MCx2; Eating Cake; Old Shoes (Y); Lunar Era (Y)

Representation(s): Unnatural Beings; Alternate Universe Primary & Secondary

Bonus Challenge(s): Ladylike; Not a Lamp; White Dress; Persistence Still; Pear-Shaped; Demo (Spinning Plates); Demo (Machismo; Tomorrow's Shade; Muck & Slime);

Word Count: 678

A/N: Extreme canon divergence, just roll with it and it'll be cleared up eventually.

July 7, 1997

High-pitched laughter echoed down the halls, along with the clanking of silver on porcelain plates and shattering glass. The manor had been flooded with people that the Dark Lord had brought back from searching abroad. No, they were things, not people. Draco could tell that much from what he'd seen of them. They looked dead, their veins black and visible through their translucent skin, not a single hair on their heads, and their mouths seemed to be permanently curved into a grin. Their movements were jerky as they walked, making Draco flinch every time they moved.

Draco had only ever heard of Hunter-Witches, thought they were just stories—silly ones that Muggles made about what they thought witches were—but they certainly didn't look like what had been described. He didn't think there was any other type of witch besides what he'd known his entire life, but apparently, there were. He could imagine all of them in the dining room, silver spoons held by crooked hands, glimmering and reflecting the light into their dark, beady eyes.

"They don't get any power from a magical core. They take it from magical creatures," Lucius said quietly, urgently, filling him in as they hid in the training room under the pretense of showing Draco more offensive spells. "Including us."

"How?" Draco asked, horrified. No one could do that. Not even the Dark Lord. Not even Dumbledore.

"I don't know. All I know is that they drain power from those they are with," Lucius murmured. Draco felt faint, trying to steady himself.

"Why did he bring them here, then?" he asked. If they drained power from those they're with . . . then they were drawing from one of the most powerful sources of magic in the world.

"I don't know. But I need you to promise me something, Draco," Lucius said, grabbing his shoulders and looking him in the eye. Draco was terrified—his father never did things like that. Never spoke to him that way. What was happening?

"If something happens to me or your mother, you run. Do not fight. Do not look back," he said. Draco opened his mouth to speak, to ask why and to promise his father that it's what he'd do as tears blurred his vision, but he never even got a word out. A stray Hunter-Witch had apparently overheard their conversation and didn't like what had been spoken.

So Draco ran, blood that wasn't his on his face and shirt, tears blurring his vision. He didn't know what was happening, where he was going, or if he was going to live. He ran out of the Manor, trying to make it past the anti-apparation wards, when he was suddenly on the ground, the wind knocked out of him and nose aching from the fall. His lungs burned from running, and he tasted dirt and blood in his mouth.

He felt a hand grab his hair, whimpering as their nails dug into his scalp. Blood poured from his nose, running warm and mixing with his father's. He didn't struggle against the Hunter-Witch who held him there. He stared up at the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Where do you think you're going?" the Hunter-Witch asked, her breath hot on his ear, a voice like that of a normal woman. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting so desperately to be free from her.

"I don't know," Draco managed to say. She laughed, high-pitched and loud in his ear, and he heard what must've been the rest of them laughing along with her before it stopped abruptly. Somehow, the silence was worse.

"Give me your wand and I'll let you go," she whispered, lips touching the shell of his ear. He could feel the smile she wore, and he couldn't help the disgusted shiver that ran through his body. His heart was in his throat as he made the split-second decision.

He reached into his pocket, drew out the wand he'd grown up with and was so reliant on, and handed it to her.