Enjoy!

"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." - Albert Einstein

Chapter Forty-Four – A Dangerous Game

When Ankaa opened her eyes next, she stood before a long gravel pathway which she had traversed countless times in her lifetime, and yet this time, the pathway that led up to Malfoy Manor seemed eerie despite the warm sunlight that shone over the stone griffin pillars. Immediately, Ankaa was wrenched forward by her grandmother, who had gripped her wrist none too gently. Ankaa turned to spot her father being ushered forward as well. Seeing the way in which her grandparents were treating her and her father, Ankaa was convinced they knew of the Rhyther family's betrayal. This, of course, meant that whatever awaited her in Malfoy Manor was not pleasant in the slightest.

Meeting her father's eye for a moment, Ankaa's heartbeat quickened. Her throat tightened and she felt a great weight settle on her chest as she was pulled ahead again by her grandmother. If Voldemort already knew of her betrayal, or if he suspected it even slightly, there was no doubt in Ankaa's mind that she was being marched forward for execution. And if, by some miracle, she was spared, Ankaa was not sure if her father would share her fate.

With an exaggerated wave of her hand, Alice threw open the great gates of Malfoy Manor and strode through without a moment's hesitation. Ankaa grimaced at the pain in her wrist but walked along obediently nonetheless. There was nothing else that she could have done; her wand was with Alice, and Apparition was out of the question while Alice still held onto Ankaa's hand.

Just before they stepped onto the marble porch, the dark wood door swung open. On the other side stood one of the Malfoy family's house-elf. There was an unabashed look of fear in the house-elf's eyes, before its shuddering form dropped low to the floor, and remained there as Alice walked past and up the staircase leading from the foyer to the sitting room. Ankaa could hear a hum of voices, which quickly hushed when she was pulled forward and presented to the occupants of the room.

Ankaa recognized almost everyone in the room at once. Lucius and Narcissa sat in the very centre of the room, in the loveseat they had occupied many times before during Christmas dinners and other pureblood socials. Across from them sat Mr. Nott, an elderly wizard whom she immediately recognized as the father of one of her classmates, Theodore Nott. Beside him sat a few other witches and wizards whom she had seen around before, but could not recall their names.

"Ah, you've returned," one of the elderly men rose from his seat. "Good then, I shall return to my post."

The man nodded before padding down the stairs and out the door. Ankaa watched him go in confusion. Alice finally let go of her hand and settled herself onto the chaise beside Narcissa. Joseph soon followed suit, making his way past Ankaa after giving her an indifferent look.

"You've scared the poor girl," commented Mrs. Parkinson as she stood and made her way over to Ankaa. "Come, darling, have a seat."

Ankaa was forced between Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson and onto the grey couch. Henry took a seat beside Joseph, directly across from Ankaa, and leaned back confidently, crossing one leg over the other and placing his elbow upon the armrest.

"She's meeting the Dark Lord today," Alice defended herself, "she should be scared."

Ankaa glanced away from her grandmother then, shifting slightly in her seat. It was chilling to see them speak of Voldemort so nonchalantly. Ankaa had suspected for quite some time now, that these families had been conspiring amongst one another about how to proceed now that Voldemort had returned, much like how the Order had assembled to keep him at bay. Ankaa, however, had assumed that her father would be far away from it all once it all happened.

Narcissa, who sat diagonally to her, gave her a look. Ankaa was acutely aware of the weight of her stare, noting the absence of warmth that usually accompanied the woman. Narcissa's stare left Ankaa with an augmenting sense of fear. In an effort to hide her shaking hands, Ankaa clasped them together in her lap until they started to go numb. She had felt fear before, of course, she had, but Ankaa could never recall feeling such a magnitude that left her short of breath.

"—get ready until then," Mrs. Parkinson was saying when Ankaa finally took notice of her surroundings again. Draco, who had entered the living room in the short span of time that Ankaa had been mentally absent, stood beside the couch and patiently waited. Ankaa looked from him solemn countenance, to that of her father's.

"Go on," he told her, "I'll be up in a bit."

Ankaa's grip tightened on her knees, her knuckles turning white under the grip before she stood. Both Ankaa and Henry knew that he would not have the chance to come up with her. Alice and Joseph already suspected them, and they would not let the two of them out of their sight. However, Ankaa was thankful for the fact that her father gave her a most reassuring look, one that lightened the weight on her chest and made it easier for her to breathe.

Draco took her gently by the elbow as they ascended the stairs and to the guest bedroom that she usually stayed at whenever she visited. Ushering her in, Draco closed the door behind her slowly.

"Ankaa."

You're going to die, a voice in her mind kept saying over and over. Voldemort will read your mind, and he'll know what you've done—he'll know that you're not loyal.

"Ankaa."

Ankaa flinched when her brain replayed memories from the Triwizard Tournament against her will, ones that she had been trying to forget for the last few months. The green jet of light sailing towards Ceph's body that soon became her own. She wondered, briefly, what it must be like to die. Ankaa also wondered of what she would be leaving behind; her parents, her friends, and most importantly, Fred. She had left without saying goodbye to them all, and perhaps now she would never have a chance to tell them—

"Stop it, Ankaa!" Cold hands grabbed her own shaking hands roughly. Ankaa gasped as she was shaken roughly. Draco stood before her, wide-eyed and distressed. "Look at me," he commanded, "You need to breathe okay? Breathe with me. In—out—in—out."

It was so hard to breathe. There was a great weight on her chest that made deep breaths seem like a farfetched idea. She breathed shortly, gasping every moment to get a small amount of air into her lungs. And every time she did so, the weight on her chest got heavier and heavier. Ankaa's head vision started to blur.

"Ankaa," Draco took her face in his hands and forced her to look away from the marble floor. "Please, Ankaa. You're having a panic attack. You need to breathe. We'll do it together, okay? Just try and match my breathing. Take a deep breath in—good, now let it out—good, good. That's good. Let's do it again okay? Breathe in—"

It went on for five more minutes. In that time, Draco carefully lowered them both to the floor, cradling Ankaa in his arms as she continued to take deep breaths. He had no idea what was going on in her mind now, but he was sure that she had realized the position she was in. Draco had already met the Dark Lord, and while his meeting had been precarious, to say the least, he had miraculously made it out unscathed.

Draco was no fool, and he was aware of everything Ankaa had been up to these past few years, and with whom, but he had never commented on it. Draco had wanted to speak with Ankaa the moment she had arrived at Malfoy Manor, to tell her about everything the Dark Lord had said and to get this weight off his chest. But as he held Ankaa, Draco convinced himself to hold back. He had to be strong.

Everyone at Grimmauld Place was busy putting up Christmas decorations. Sirius was delighted, waving his wand and singing carols, albeit exceptionally off-key, and skipping about the place. Maya, who watched him in equal parts amusement and mortification, dutifully passed him the decorations with a smile on her face. Harry watched the scene over the bannister with a slight quirk of his lips before retreating back into the cold and empty drawing room where he sat alone. Harry even went so far as to ignore Mrs. Weasley's call for lunch before he was finally brought out of his zone of self-pity.

"How are you feeling?" asked Hermione, after she had coxed Harry out of the drawing room and into his own bedroom. Ginny and Ron sat there with the plate of sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had sent up, carefully watching the interaction.

"Fine," said Harry stiffly.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she said impatiently. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."

"They do, do they?" said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. While Ron looked at his feet, Ginny met his glare head-on with one of her own.

"You have!" she said. "And you won't look at any of us!"

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" said Harry angrily.

"Stop feeling all misunderstood, Harry," said Hermione sharply. "I don't know what you've gotten into your head after what you overheard on the Extendable Ears—"

"Everyone told you didn't they? They've been talking about me!"

"We wanted to talk to you, Harry," said Ginny, "But you've been busy hiding since we got back, and neither Ankaa nor Hermione were here to knock some sense into you."

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," said Harry, feeling more and more nettled.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," said Ginny angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

Harry remained quiet, processing her words. His heart sank when he realized what he had done, and Harry berated himself for not talking to Ginny sooner. As Ginny concluded that Harry had not, in fact, been possessed by Voldemort, Harry felt his heart swell with relief. He even wanted to join in on Sirius singing his off-key carols before Mrs. Black started shrieking again.

A loud commotion downstairs had startled her, and the curtains continued to swing wildly over her portrait as Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron trampled out of the room and leaned over the railing. Downstairs, in the main hallway, they could see a little house-elf had Apparated into Grimmauld Place.

"Who is that?" Hermione gasped, joining the rest of the children as they raced down the staircase.

"Tipsy?" Maya moved past Remus, who had drawn his wand and aimed it at the house-elf in case it tried to do something. "What's happened?"

"Oh, Mistress!" Tipsy was sobbing so much that it immediately reminded Harry of the time when he had encountered Dobby during his second year.

"How did she get in here?" Sirius asked, exchanging glances with Remus and Molly.

"That's Ceph's spell book," Maya pointed to the book in Tipsy's hands. Gingerly, she reached forward and carefully pried it from the sobbing elf's hands. Opening it, Maya found a slip of paper enclosed within the pages. Maya immediately recognized Dumbledore's neat scribble, along with the written address.

"Tipsy—"

"Where did you get this book, Tipsy?" Maya interrupted Remus urgently, "What's happened?"

Harry noted the shift in her tone, and the worry in her voice startled not only him but everyone else around her. Tipsy's sobbing was no longer the same as Dobby's, it seemed more serious. Harry exchanged glances with Ginny and shifted to the side as Fred and George came barrelling down the stairs.

"It's Mistress Ankaa," Tipsy babbled, heaving through her sobs. "Mistress Ankaa and Master Rhyther were taken—" she heaved once more, "—by a witch and wizard, Mistress, they came into the house and took them—Alice and Joseph Archer, Mistress."

Harry could see the color leave Maya's face.

"Ankaa's grandparents?" asked Fred incredulously, looking between his twin and the hiccupping house-elf. "They're here? They've got her? What's going on?"

Harry noticed the adults share a look. Maya's face regained composure, but it had lost all of the warmth Harry was accustomed to seeing on the woman. Instead, at that moment, Maya's expression bore a striking resemblance to that of her daughter; cold, composed, and expressionless. The black-haired woman stood, patting Tipsy on the head.

"Get her some water," commanded Maya. Hermione nodded quickly and ran into the kitchen, returning swiftly with some water and passing it to the house-elf gently.

"What do we do?" asked George. "Where is Ankaa?"

"They have taken Mistress to—"

"That's enough Tipsy," said Maya. To the adults, she said, "Let's get inside, we've got things to discuss. Remus, talk to Albus, he should be here. Tipsy, why don't you head into the kitchen and you can fill us in on everything that's happened, alright?"

Tispy nodded and sniffled, following after Mrs. Weasley, who guided her into the living room with a sympathetic look. Fred and George watched incredulously as all the adults walked past them, sharing solemn looks but taking no action. When the twins took two steps forward, intending to follow after Maya, they were stopped with a stare from said witch.

"You're staying here," she told them.

"What!"

"Why!"

"If Ankaa's been abducted by my grandparents, this is now business for the Order. Last I checked, you lot—" Maya gave a pointed stare to all the children standing behind the twins, "—weren't officially a part of the Order. Gallivanting around trying to save her is not going to help, so sit back—"

"Like hell!" Fred was the first to protest, and loudly enough that Ron squeaked. "I'm not going to sit around here while she's in danger!"

"You seem to care now, all of a sudden?" retorted Maya with a malicious intensity Harry had never seen. "A few days ago you were screaming her in front of everyone for having two fathers, weren't you? Had a change of heart?"

George subtly pulled Fred back when he noticed him clench his jaw. George knew Fred would regret it immensely if he said something hurtful to Maya in a fit of fury. And knowing Fred's nature, quick burst of anger and slips of the tongue were no stranger to the man.

"Maya," began George, "We just want to help."

The woman's gaze softened slightly as she looked at the children before her. "I know," she whispered, "but you don't understand what you're up against. It's a miracle that Ankaa was able to get this message to us at all, and if we falter in the slightest, my mother will not hesitate to kill her."

George felt his brother's hand clench into a fist. However, George realized that arguing with Maya would get him nowhere. Instead, he nodded before pulling his brother harshly by the arm. The twins made their way upstairs, Fred casting angry glares down at the closed door until it faded from sight.

"George!" Fred finally pulled himself free of his brother's grip. "Why didn't you—"

"It's a lost cause, Fred," said George, digging through his nightstand to pull out a pair of Extendable Ears. "We'll have a better chance with these."

"Sadly, no," said Ginny as she led the Golden Trio into the twins' room. "Maya put an Imperturbable Charm on the door right after you left."

Fred groaned in frustration before falling to the armchair on the side of his room, one that Ankaa used to sit in during the summer when Fred and George would work on their pranks late into the night. His knee continued bouncing in agitation as his mind scrambled to think of another way in which he could help Ankaa.

"Now what?" asked Ginny.

"What do you mean?" retorted Ron. "We don't even know where she's gone!"

"We could go to where she was last? Rhyther Manor, right?" proposed George. "If she was smart enough to get Tipsy to send for help, maybe she's left more clues in her house?"

"You can't risk it," said Hermione immediately. "Whether or not Ankaa left clues at Rhyther Manor, you can't go there."

"Why not?"

Hermione bristled at Fred's tone before answering him sharply, "For all you know, the Archers could still be there! Or worse, more people could be there waiting to ambush you or members of the Order!"

"So, what're you saying we do, Granger?" returned Fred, glaring at the girl. "Do we just wait until we hear about Ankaa being murdered by her own grandparents?"

George and Ginny exchanged a glance. Ginny nodded once, a barely perceptible nod before she got up from her spot on George's bed and settled herself on the arm of the chair beside Fred, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"She'll be alright, Freddie," said Ginny. "Ankaa's a strong girl, we all know it. She's smart too, she'll make it out."

"I'm sure the Order will do something to help, Fred," chimed Harry, albeit slightly uncertainly. "Sirius and Maya will make sure of it."

Fred did not say anything. His hands simply clenched tighter, and his glare focused on the ground as opposed to his friends and siblings. He deserved to be in that room, discussing plans and strategies on how to help Ankaa escape hell.

Ankaa felt like she was a sheep being prepared for slaughter. Her grandmother had taken one look at her red and swollen face and curled her lip in disgust. Alice had taken it upon herself to wave her wand here and there, muttering spell after spell to enhance Ankaa's appearance. The teenager only watched as her reflection continued to change in the mirror before her. Her skin was evened out, all traces of tears and puffiness vanished. Ankaa's hair was straightened and tucked behind her emerald adorned earrings. The woman in the reflection did not look anything like how Ankaa imagined herself to be. Too pristine, too proper; indeed, a sheep for the slaughter.

Once her grandmother deemed her worthy, Ankaa was slipped into a black dress and matching heels. Outside, she met with her father, who was accordingly dressed in a black suit and stood, patiently waiting. Alice smirked before linking her arm with her husband and leading the way down the hall, to the formal dining room.

Wormtail, who Ankaa had desperately wanted to see again just so she could step on him in his rat form and squeeze the life out of him, stood before the grand pearlescent doors. Upon spotting the quartet, Wormtail reached for the doors and carefully pried them open. Alice and Joseph strolled forward without a hitch, but Ankaa slowed her steps slightly.

This is it, she told herself as her father squeezed her hand reassuringly, giving her a warm smile that still betrayed a hint of his own fear.

The moment Ankaa had stepped into the room, the door behind them shut with a loud bang. Ankaa would have jumped had the sight before her not shocked her to her very core. Ankaa had imagined that she would be afraid when she met the Dark Lord for the first time, but the first emotion she could process was the surge of rage that dominated above all else. This was the monster that had slaughtered her brother.

"Ah, the Rhyther family," a deceivingly fragile voice cut through the silence. An unusually pale form stood before her, dressed in dark black robes that only seemed to highlight the translucent-like skin.

"My Lord," muttered Alice and Joseph in unison, before bowing their heads slightly in a sign of respect. It seemed to Ankaa as if they were prey, exposing their necks to the predator in a show of submission with the hope that they would be spared.

"My dear, dear Alice," Voldemort moved forward to the woman first, moving just close enough to take in every detail of her face but not actually touching her. "It fills me with joy to see you again."

"Yes, My Lord," the witch nodded, a giddy shake of her shoulders alerting everyone to how joyful she really was at being in his presence.

It seemed then that Voldemort had grown tired of her simpering, for he turned his attention on Henry next. It unnerved Ankaa when Voldemort simply said her father's name before gesturing to one of the empty seats. She had expected a hollow greeting, but one like this left her curious as to what Voldemort thought of her father, and whether or not he was in the Dark Lord's good graces.

"This must be Ankaa," Voldemort's red eyes then turned to the girl, and Ankaa felt a surge of discomfort at being the recipient of his stare. He regarded her carefully for a moment before turning to the other occupants. "I will speak to her alone."

It was an abrupt decision, Ankaa noticed. It took even Alice and Joseph by surprise, for they had already settled into their seats when they were forced to dislocate and head to the main door. Ankaa's father on the other hand, seemed more reluctant. However, both of them knew they could not disobey. Ankaa watched as her father brushed past her, but neither of them cast another glance towards the other; they knew they had to portray their strength, even if they did not necessarily feel it.

Ankaa settled herself into the seat across from Voldemort. Recalling her etiquette lessons, Ankaa crossed her ankles and clasped her hands in her lap like a proper, pureblood lady. Despite the unfaltering gaze, Ankaa felt intimidated by the wizard sitting before her. He was leaned back in his chair, the moonlight serving to heighten his features and draw attention to the fact that his calculating gaze was fixed upon Ankaa, ever unfaltering.

"Your grandmother speaks very highly of your abilities as a witch."

Ankaa nodded once. "Yes… My Lord. I mistook her and my grandfather for intruders when they came upon Rhyther Manor," answered Ankaa.

There was a hiss from under the table. Every muscle in her body tensed as Ankaa spotted a large snake trailing under the table and towards Voldemort's chair. Its body wound around the legs of the chair before its head came to rest upon the armrest.

Ankaa shifted in her seat, casually brushing back some of her hair. Her eyes then turned from the snake to Voldemort, noting a dull pain throbbing in the back of her head. Voldemort was gazing interestedly at her, and Ankaa could immediately tell that he was trying to get inside her head.

You cannot survive if you are weak, Snape had told her.

And so Ankaa put everything she had learned during her lessons to use. She did not actively block him from seeing everything, but carefully re-routed his explorations when he got too close to something that might trigger a memory.

"Your grandparents were very proud to meet you," Voldemort said, all the while increasing his meandering through Ankaa's mind. Ankaa gave a subtle wince under the pressure, before smiling at him. "They were quite proud to see that you have become a great prodigy."

"Yes, My Lord. It is our duty to work hard, especially now."

"Why now?" It seemed to pique his interest, which Ankaa was eternally grateful for as he immediately withdrew from her mind. Ankaa did not know if he had seen something incriminating, but her best option right now was to pacify him and convince him that she was on his side.

"I'm sure you have something great planned, My Lord, it would be a shame if your servants could not do their absolute best to help you achieve your plans."

There was a tense silence. Ankaa hated that she could not read him as well as she could read anyone else. His expression remained neutral, and he finally spoke again after another few moments of agonizing silence.

"I was saddened to hear of your brother's passing," he said, with his head tilting to the side ever so slightly, "I am sure he would have made a wonderful addition to our cause."

Ankaa only nodded, convinced that his change in topic meant that he did not believe her one bit. Ankaa readied herself for another onslaught on her mind when he spoke again.

"As I am sure you will be," he spoke softly. "I sense a great ambition in you, and I know you are seeking greatness, Ankaa. By my side, I assure you, you will achieve it."

Ankaa had an unpleasant constricted sensation in her chest. She only nodded at Voldemort's words. She was left in the dark about what he really thought of her, and she did not want to stick around long enough to truly find out. What terrified her was that he had chalked up her behaviour to ambition, and that left everything, especially his opinion on her, exceptionally vague.

But Ankaa knew one thing for certain; while she was truly seeking greatness, for ambition is a Slytherin's bread and butter, she knew she would not achieve it by Voldemort's side. Perhaps her greatness lay in his downfall, and if that required great ambition to achieve, Ankaa was ready for it.

Apologies for the late update - been busy with my last year in Uni + just recently recovered from writer's block.

Thank you to all those who have reviewed/followed/favourited - you lot keep me motivated to write, even on days when it feels like all is lost.

Thank you, really.