A/N: Have I mentioned lately how absolutely awesome GoddessxNyte2 is? She's a wonderful friend, and a fantastic beta reader, and we should all appreciate the work and time she puts into my fics and all the crap she puts up with…such as surprise chapters and me disappearing for weeks at a time.

Thank you! ;-; 3

Persephone hadn't meant to apparate to the Shrieking Shack, but didn't seem to have the energy to move from where she landed, and proceeded to crumble to the wooden floor moments later.
That she couldn't apparate again was abundantly clear.

Not safely anyway.

"Dolly?" Her voice was met with silence, and it could be easily assumed that she was either too far away or Dolly couldn't hear her because Persephone wasn't a Malfoy. "Fuck— I just need a house-elf," she managed to groan into the darkness.

A cracking sound had Persephone's heart racing as a hideous creature appeared and turned in a slow circle to face her. If she had been able to move, she would have taken off like a shot— but if she had, she wouldn't have found out that the being was actually an ancient-looking house-elf with an angry grimace on his face.

"Who are you to call for Kreacher?"

Persephone wasn't quite sure how to speak for a moment and watched with horror as he raised his fingers in what she recognized as the beginnings of a finger snap.

House elf apparition.

He was going to leave her there.

"Wait! Don't go!"

Whether it was heard as an order or the elf was simply willing to give her a chance to explain was unclear.

"Well?"

"Your name is Kreacher?"

"You wants to know if the name I called myself is my name," the elf grumbled, and his face wrinkled with displeasure.

"You're a house-elf?"

Kreacher looked as though he might kill Persephone if he had the chance and narrowed his eyes to slits. "You the one who calls for house-elf."

"Yes, I did, I— I don't know how I have a house-elf, but I—"

"You have a house-elf because you have a house."

Persephone and Kreacher stared at one another in silence for a few moments until she finally moved into a seated position.

"Okay, then. Okay. That's. That's a huge surprise." But it was also a very beneficial surprise, seeing as how she needed to contact someone to let them know she was alive and to come get her. "Can you take me there?"

Smooth leather met her fingertips and Persephone jerked up with a start, to find herself in a room she didn't recognize.

A few panicked breaths later, it hit her: she was home.

The House of Black.

A mess of everything dark and gothic and oozing melancholy; it was, simply put, a very beautiful, very quiet, and very sad home.

The previous residents were long-gone, but the house contained knickknacks left behind in a few otherwise cleaned out rooms, with stacks upon stacks of somewhat organized books spread throughout. The rooms that remained untouched were filled with cupboards and drawers full of jewelry and hand mirrors, dresses and robes, ledgers and documents— and seeming to hide in every nook and cranny were some cursed objects or other that waited for the unsuspecting to pick them up.

It had the air of having been well kept for a very long time before falling into disrepair, and was followed by an attempt to be redecorated— terribly, and with too much red, she might add— before being abandoned. Perhaps more than once, based on the competing styles she came across in the renovated rooms.

Kreacher had led her from the basement kitchen up the stairs to an entry hall. The ground floor boasted a sitting room, a formal dining room, and what Kreacher declared as a smoking den for the master of the house, and a drawing room for the lady. For all of her prim-and-proper, ladylike needlepoint projects, and stuffy afternoon tea parties, if she had to guess.

The remaining levels were comprised mostly of libraries, sitting rooms and offices, bedrooms, and bathrooms.

The tour had been short and simple, as though Kreacher were hell-bent on doing the barest of minimums for his new American "owner."

She couldn't fault him for that, considering how some house-elves were treated— and he didn't seem to be treated well— but it wasn't like she had the energy for much at the moment.

He had vanished without another word after showing her around as he muttered rather darkly to himself about finding Floo Powder.

She was free to browse the library— the least dusty room in what was apparently her home. However that came to be. Naturally, she had made the mistake of sitting on the couch where she completely and utterly crashed because she had overdone it. Maybe. Just a bit. Okay, a lot a bit.

But now that she was awake, Persephone remembered that life was still happening while she napped, and she still needed to check in at the manor.

Persephone looked around the fireplace and was relieved to find a few handfuls of Floo Powder that was either left behind by some unknown occupant in a dish on the mantle, or retrieved for her by Kreacher.

She flung the powder into the fireplace and waited for the flames to turn green, then stepped inside.

"Persephone Black's bedroom at Malfoy Manor."

Nothing happened.

She looked down at the flames and worried for a moment they might turn back to orange if the powder didn't take her where she needed to go.

"Shit, um, what do I— oh! Kreacher?"

The house-elf arrived a split second later and placed his hands on his hips with a rather menacing amount of annoyance. He watched her step clear of the fire with a sharp glare. "What?"

"I think there's something wrong with the Floo Powder— it isn't working and—"

"Nothing wrong with powder!" Kreacher grumbled angrily. "You're just doing it wrong."

Persephone narrowed her eyes at the house-elf and grabbed another handful to toss into the flames. She stepped inside once more and spoke her destination.

The actions resulted in the same manner as before: nothing happened.

Kreacher rolled his eyebrows and sighed. "Other fireplace is disconnected from the network, or wards are blocking."

"Why would they keep me out of my room?"

She wasn't sure how it was possible, but Kreacher glared even harder and huffed with irritation. "Maybe you aren't welcome?" If Persephone was reading into the lines correctly, he seemed to be of that opinion, regarding her presence at the Black family home.

"No," Persephone waved him off— as though his rudeness hadn't been noticed in the slightest. "It's where I've been living."

Which would mean something could have happened to them. "Wait— what if something went wrong after the attack? I left and what if— everyone could be dead—"

Kreacher grabbed the witch by her arm and apparated them to one of the studies she had seen before her nap. He pointed to a tapestry of the Black family line, specifically, Narcissa. Woven in a silver thread on the black tapestry, were the words "Narcissa Malfoy née Black, 7th of September, 1955-."

"Would it change automatically if she— if she died?"

"Yes," Kreacher frowned again. "You would know if you were proper Black like Mistress Bella."

Ouch.

"That's enough of that," Persephone snapped. "You don't have to like me, but you don't get to stand there and question my right to be here without also insulting my father, Regulus Black. If you have a problem with me and how I was raised, you have a problem with him. I am a Black, and if that's a problem, I suggest you build a bridge and get over it."

Not a word was exchanged between two of them after that, but Kreacher seemed a little more appeased— either because she had finally acted like a Black, or because there was an order placed in her statement. But she had only suggested he get over the issue of her presence, meaning it was up to him. So, maybe things were a little better than before.

Persephone wandered the halls back to the library and tried to think of a solution. If she risked apparating outside of the manor grounds, it was possible she would splinch herself. Or worse, there were enemy wizards outside of the manor grounds, trying to get in through enhanced wards.

Her stomach rumbled as she flipped through a book on wizarding communication and was about ready to give up and planning to start over in her family home when Kreacher appeared again.

"If Mistress Black cannot contact Malfoy Manor, Kreacher can apparate in and bring a Malfoy house-elf back."

"And then they could— wow, that's a good idea, thanks!"

Kreacher didn't smile, but he didn't glare at her either, which was still an improvement. He found a bag for her to pack books in and waited patiently for her to grab whatever she wanted to take with her.

Kreacher disappeared, and was back no more than fifteen seconds later with an extremely affronted looking Dolly.

"Get your hands off— what is you— oh, Miss Effie!" Dolly pulled her arm out of Kreacher's grasp and rushed forward to the witch. "Family is so worried, thinks you caught in a trap!" She stopped just shy of Persephone's reach and glanced back at Kreacher. "If grumpy elf had told Dolly, I would be quick coming here."

"Don't be silly, you were quick."

The witch glanced back up to Kreacher and tried to thank him. She really did. But the look of disgust on his face was enough to keep her from trying. "I'll be back in a few days. In the meantime, let's work on getting this place livable again. If there's anything you can think of to do to help while I'm away, please do so— and take care of yourself. Make sure you're eating and drinking enough!"

Dolly took hold of Persephone's hand, and with a much quieter pop than Kreacher's, they disappeared.

Thor and Fenrir were the first to notice Persephone's sudden appearance and one of them cast what might have been an alarm charm, or something, to signal there had been a change in status. Her shoulders were gripped by a set of strong hands— Thor's hands— and he immediately launched into a million questions while inspecting her face carefully for injury. Before she could even think to answer him, she was swept up into a tight hug by the werewolf.

For a moment she felt bad. The bonds she'd made were genuine, no matter how small the interaction had been, and it wasn't their fault that gaining their friendship marked the very beginning of her coup.

It sounded like someone was smacking at Fenrir and they seemed dead set on not relenting until Persephone was dropped back down to the floor.

Narcissa didn't look like she'd been crying. She looked like she'd gone days without sleep. A woman that had been tearing the world apart to find Persephone— to find her family.

The older witch hugged her with a grip tighter than even the werewolf's and Persephone just as easily laid to rest her doubts. There was nothing to feel badly about. Just because her family and friends would be useful allies didn't mean they didn't love each other. That much was clear.

And Persephone had a sinking suspicion that the people closest to her understood, to some degree, that she was on a mission. Each person knew something someone else didn't, and more importantly, they didn't know the level to which her trust in each ran, if at all.

No one was going to out her to those that would hurt her, no one was going to plot against her with another of the suspected group, and no one was going to stop her.

The relief that flooded through her then was far stronger than the relief of being back in the manor— which was almost non-existent. But at least she looked grateful to be back.

She did, however, feel sorry for worrying her family and friends.

"I'm so sorry— apparating has been so easy and it never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to make it back."

"No, I know," Narcissa patted her back gently. "I believed that to be the case and I'm so sorry I couldn't find you. Everyone kept saying you'd splinched yourself and—," she choked on the rest of her words.

"It's okay!" Persephone reassured Narcissa quickly and finally broke free— delicately— of her cousin's grip. A cousin that was starting to dance the line between loving Persephone like one would extended-family, and loving her like a mother would. "I'm okay. Really— I ended up in—"

"Don't." The order came from directly behind her. It wasn't Rab her friend, but Rabastan the Death Eater— the wizard in charge of educating her, and directing her through their world. "You will need to explain what happened to the Dark Lord before uttering another word."

She gave Narcissa's hand a quick squeeze to reassure her everything would be okay. Because it would be. All Persephone had to do was modify a few things. While recovering from complete and utter exhaustion. On an empty stomach. Totally not stressful.

Persephone flashed a smile to the crowd of her friends a split second before the less desirable Death Eaters arrived on the scene. Thankfully, Rabastan led her around a discreet bend in the maze that led to the Dark Lord's office before they had a chance to pounce.

She didn't know if she should risk talking to Rabastan while they had the time, but had the choice taken from her a few moments later: the Death Eater prompted her to enter the office on her own.

"Wait inside."

Persephone nodded her understanding and waited until the door clicked shut behind her before she summoned a piece of parchment and self-inking quill from her bag.

She quickly composed a general outline.

In her new memory, she didn't apparate to the Shrieking Shack, but an alley in Hogsmeade.

She never gained access to her family home. That had to be entirely gone.

Instead, when she came to, she managed to walk along the road until she found the bakery she had visited when she was last in Hogsmeade. Feelings of relief for the woman's concern and kindness would be easily adapted to the new, magically drained feeling inside of her.

It was almost like taking audio from one song and putting it over another video. Sometimes it would mesh easily in spots, sometimes it wouldn't. But working to train her naturally occluding mind to respond to her was becoming easier and easier.

Next, she focused on how she got a message to Dolly— the sweet baker using the Floo to speak to someone at a village inn and waiting for the inn's House Elf to be available.

Outside her mind the minutes dragged by, and then an hour. Without any food or drink to speak of. Not only that, but there was nowhere for her to go to the bathroom.

Were these interrogation tactics or was no one aware that she needed treatment of some kind?

Considering she had yet to eat since the dinner she ate before the mission, and that she had no idea what time of day it currently was, nor any concept of how long she had slept, she had probably gone anywhere from eighteen to twenty-four hours since eating.

The way Narcissa looked made Persephone think it had been the latter. Maybe even longer.

If the way the inside of her head felt every time she turned to look at something else— like her brain was sloshing around in a fish tank— was any indication, she would need food. Soon.

Persephone was just about ready to risk calling for a house elf when the study's door opened.

One person walking, one snake slithering. The click of the door closing behind them. Trapping her inside.

She could feel the Dark Lord's eyes on her, as though his gaze focused a laser beam at her head. Out of respect, Persephone stared ahead until he had taken his seat.

He didn't keep her waiting this time. There were no letters to answer, no contracts to create, no lines to sign. No. He dove straight in: "Explain."

Persephone knew the order was intentionally broad. Without asking her specific questions, Persephone would be at the mercy of the cohesiveness of her recollections.

"After we cleaned up in the village, I tried to apparate here, my Lord. I was too tired to make it all the way, so I ended up in Hogsmeade, I guess, and fell asleep. I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up I tried getting help in town. Why wasn't the manor taking Floo calls or owls? It took a while to find a way back."

She hoped that slipping in the question might help shift his scrutiny from her part in the story, and back onto the comings and goings of Malfoy Manor.

"Access to the manor by anyone without the mark was revoked the instant you didn't return. If your disappearance was part of a scheme to endanger us, we needed to protect ourselves," he explained with a calculating gaze. "Which is precisely why I must access your mind. If it is your wish to serve me, I highly recommend you cooperate. I would hate to lose you when you could yet be of use to me."

Persephone gulped reflexively, but didn't bother concealing her anxiety. If the Dark Lord thought she was still worried about locking him inside, that she wasn't practiced enough to the point she felt fear, all the better.

She nodded and didn't jerk away when Nagini brushed against her legs in anticipation. Of something.

Persephone made a show of closing her eyes before taking a handful of slow, deep breaths to "prepare" her mind. She could feel them— the Dark Lord's slimy, creeping tendrils of what felt like the putrescence of death itself invaded her mind.

Show me.

She had made sure to not make the memory too perfect seeming— memories weren't like that. Specific moments stand out more than others.

Heavy and oppressive exhaustion. Cold and jittery fear. Warm and calming hope. Explosive and joyful relief.

Rather than investigate the moments she would have considered the most worrisome, he focused on how absolutely empty her body had felt after disapparating.

"You shouldn't have left alone," the Dark Lord spoke out loud as he finished viewing the moments and withdrew from her mind.

"So it would seem." Persephone hadn't meant for the sarcastic slip-up to pass her lips, but only earned her an arched brow in response.

"What you did was extremely reckless."

"I know, I should have had someone else—"

Nagini flexed her long, scaly body around Persephone's with what might have been a menacing squeeze, or simply meant to encourage her to shut up while the Dark Lord was speaking.

"I'm not talking about disapparating."

Persephone felt her brows pinch together in confusion. "What are you—?"

"Fiendfyre, Miss Black."

"What's—"

"Had I not personally witnessed the intuitive nature of your magic before, and had I not relieved the depletion of your magical core in your memories, I would be feeding Mr. Greyback and Mr. Rowle to Nagini for deceiving me as to your stunt in the village. Now, she will have to go hunting for her own dinner. How very unfortunate."

Nagini slumped pathetically to the floor in what must have been some reptilian equivalent to exaggerated devastation.

The Dark Lord exchanged hissing sounds with the serpent and sighed.

"You will need time to recover, and as much as I would like to let you, there are more pressing matters to discuss. Otherwise, what's the point of your presence?"

Persephone nodded calmly.

"Nagini will escort you to a bathroom down the hall while food is prepared. You have ten minutes."

The witch stood and moved quickly to keep up with the giant snake. Nagini seemed to know how to navigate the maze and led Persephone to a shaded hallway that she had first perceived as being a dead end. Had she not been intentionally walking toward it, she would have never seen the left turn that led to a private bathroom.

Fortunately, ten minutes was more than long enough for Persephone to relieve herself and even freshen up a little. Unfortunately, she had enough time to focus on the paleness in her cheeks, lips that were changing from pale to having a blue cast, and the somewhat sunken look of someone on the verge of severe dehydration.

She needed to eat and she needed to sleep. And take potions, she was sure.

Nagini made it a point to nudge her snout against Persephone's hand repeatedly, as though she smelled something.

She did smell something.

She smelled the rotting damp of the Shrieking Shack, the stale dust of House Black, and a whiff of a House Elf.

Persephone stopped in her tracks and made eye contact with the snake.

Nagini raised her body until she was at eye level with the witch and Persephone felt a disappointed flick of an angry tongue against her face.

It was startling to say the least, and even though she didn't have time to think about it, she knew that there was something going on with the creature. There was some sort of respect or link between them, even if Persephone couldn't speak to the snake the way her master could.

Or she was misinterpreting what was actually a small taste test before Nagini swallowed her whole.

"I don't know what you want from me."

Nagini's tongue trilled from her mouth as if to chastise Persephone for not understanding whatever it was the snake was trying to communicate.

Persephone put her hands on her hips. "Yeah, well, we're going to be late."

The snake easily overtook the witch and blazed through the doorway ahead of her. For a moment, Persephone was worried that Nagini would immediately reveal the witch's secrets, to prove her a liar.

But the snake remained silent and led the way to Persephone's chair.

Why didn't Nagini say anything to the Dark Lord?

Was her exhausted body, exhausted brain, her exhausted soul, filling her mind with thoughts that didn't belong? Was she seeing what she wanted to see?

There was a plate of sandwiches on a tea table, along with what smelled like chicken soup of some kind. The Dark Lord gestured for Persephone to eat as he rearranged stacks of parchment on his desk.

"This is your defining moment, Miss Black. It's time to do what you've promised to do and make yourself an asset to me, instead of a liability. Tell me how to handle this."

He passed over what appeared to be a small newspaper of some kind and Persephone's eyes caught on the publications' name: Veritas Press.

She picked it up curiously and frowned as she scanned the headlining article.

Apparently, the ambush she and the Death Eaters had walked into had been spun into an entirely different story. One that blamed the attack in the Muggle town on the Dark Lord's followers.

"How many people does this paper reach?"

"Too many."

Persephone finished the first sandwich while she thought, then straightened up in her seat and wiped her hands on a napkin that left her fingers spotless. "Parchment and quill?"

The requested items appeared on a small tabletop in front of her so she could make notes. She scribbled quickly and was pleased to see that even without penmanship enhancing quills, her writing was at least legible. Sometimes, it's the little things in life, she supposed.

She paused when she had filled half the parchment with her thoughts and scanned what she had written. After a few adjustments that involved drawing arrows to slip in corrections, and crossing out any errors she found, Persephone looked back up to the Dark Lord.

"If this article were about anything that didn't involve violence and death, the best strategy would be to ignore it entirely. This situation, however, needs to be addressed head on. The problem is, publicly accusing them of lying isn't much of a defense.

"My recommendation is to have someone interview for an article in the Daily Prophet. Instead of telling the truth, that the other side is endangering and killing Muggles, we need to say that traitors within the ranks are to blame, and that we are running our own investigation.

"Doing so will acknowledge our involvement and presence in the village that night, while simultaneously promising to do something about it. Admitting that it did happen, even if we change a few details to make ourselves look foolish for having traitors in your midst, it will create the illusion of increased transparency in the Ministry."

"And why might we wish to create the illusion of increased transparency?"

Persephone felt her brows pinch together again and sighed to compose herself. It wasn't perhaps polite looking— in fact, she was relatively certain her response to his question was rude. "My apologies. I'm quite tired."

Her cover-up was obvious to both their ears but that was probably for the best. She was far better off letting him think she was terrible at concealing information.

"The more trust you earn, the more people you sway, the more you can discredit what's being shared from the other side. Why spend so much energy fighting when you have the opportunity to lessen the strength of the resistance, somewhat passively?"

The Dark Lord stared at her for some time, probably trying to rattle her. The attention did bother for a few moments, but then she remembered that the contract would keep her from retaliation of any work-related discussions. At worst he would tell her the idea was terrible and exile her from Malfoy manor forever.

Finally, he waved her off and hissed to his companion as he moved a quill to a fresh piece of parchment. "Nagini will accompany you to your bedroom where you will remain until I summon you again."

Aside from nudging her while she walked slowly up the stairs, and eventually winding around Persephone's waist- in a way that felt oddly familiar- to carry the witch herself, Nagini made no other attempt to communicate and left the instant Persephone crossed the threshold into her bedroom.

Dolly was setting a tray of potions on Persephone's dining table when she closed the door behind her. The House Elf ushered her over to sit on the sofa and began handing the witch potions in an order that was far beyond her own understanding.

When she finished administering Persephone's treatment, Dolly gripped the witch's hand and pulled her toward the bathroom. "Potions give energy enough for cleaning, then to bed with you."

Persephone didn't argue. It was like Dolly had said— where she had needed the snake to carry her not minutes before, she had enough energy to stand and walk on her own without issue.

As much as she wanted to take a marathon shower and follow it up with a bath to soothe what would become aching muscles by the time she woke again, Persephone didn't dally too long in the hot water. She slipped a comfortable nightshirt on and was just settling into bed when the House Elf returned with concern wrinkling her forehead, her eyes downcast.

"What's wrong, Dolly?"

Dolly twisted her fingers slowly and was clearly trying to figure out a way to answer the witch. Why it was so difficult, Persephone couldn't imagine.

"Someone is injured and recovering, and was too weak to see when you came back. Someone might want to know you is okay. Dolly can deliver messages, but new wards keeps Dolly from bringing someone to you if you is wanting it."

The elf gave her a meaningful stare.

It was obvious that Dolly was explaining that Draco wanted to see her and that the House Elf had no way of bringing him to Persephone. But the way she maintained eye contact made Persephone question what the House Elf had actually said.

Draco wants to see her. He's too weak to visit on his own. The wards will keep him out. Dolly can't bring Draco to her.

But she never said there wasn't another way.

No. Dolly couldn't bring Draco to her, thanks to the wards, but maybe someone else could.

"I appreciate that Dolly," Persephone answered her with a smile that she hoped conveyed her understanding.

The elf nodded and disappeared a moment later.

"Kreacher?"

Her own House Elf appeared closer to Persephone than Dolly had been and took a few disgusted steps away from the witch. Apparently, he was not in the mood.

"I need you to try something."

Kreacher looked at her and sneered. "Try? Try? Rude girl, asking me to try when she could just tell me to do it."

"Yeah, okay, fine— I need you to do something. Can you find Draco and bring him to this room?"

Kreacher glared at where Persephone was tucked in. "Of course, Kreacher can get betrothed man and bring to your private bed chamber."

Persephone raised her eyebrow in challenge and watched with satisfaction as the House Elf popped away. He might think her completely lacking morals, but it wasn't like it mattered. Kreacher could think whatever he wanted. She wasn't going to take away his freedom of opinion.

Before she could worry too much that something would go wrong, Kreacher reappeared with a pale, worried looking Draco as far away from Persephone's bed as possible while remaining in her line of sight.

Draco's eyes met hers and the relief that spread across his face made her throat clench. He didn't seem to be able to walk very quickly and carefully made his way to the foot of the bed to see her better. But the words didn't come.

His mind brushed and danced and swirled around hers. He felt of radiant joy against her magical core— against her soul.

"Now you've visited, and Kreacher will return Master Malfoy to his chambers."

"No."

Persephone and Draco spoke the word at the same time, and she had to work not to react as Draco's lips twisted up in such a devious way that it quickened her pulse.

Kreacher grunted and popped away without another word. Before Draco could even speak, Persephone patted her wide bed in invitation.

He didn't hesitate.

He climbed stiffly up the empty space at her feet and crawled carefully to the head of the bed to meet Persephone's eyes. With a brow raised in question, she glanced at the covers and back up to him.

Draco paused, swallowed, and managed to nod before scrambling under the blankets she raised for him.

And there was no time to protect themselves mentally for the way their bodies drew together like magnets.

They moved in tandem, shifting and pulling and tugging wonderfully until they were each crushing the other in a tight embrace.

For a few minutes, there was only them.

She felt like something crucial to her had finally been returned and his mind responded in kind. He shared his fear and worry and pain, and then his relief and longing and serenity.

They became a tangle of thoughts, until Persephone didn't know where he ended, and she began. And one, or both of them, couldn't keep the need to kiss the other suppressed from their thoughts.

Flashes of lips crashing, soft skin, and roaming hands, and roaming hands, and roaming hands.

An unbearable longing to fit together.

Persephone's breath hitched and Draco pressed his forehead to hers in an effort to keep their lips apart. Because they couldn't give in.

They just. Couldn't.

Not even when they were on opposite sides of the bed, and safe in their minds.

Please review on your way out!