Serves Him Right
part IV
"Master Malfoy?"
Draco groaned softly and stirred, but did not wake. "Master Malfoy?" the voice piped up again, this time jarring him from his dreams.
Lying on his stomach, he pushed himself up with his arms and nearly cried aloud at the pain. The welts crossing his body stung anew with his movement. Draco, half-awake, struggled to remember how he'd gotten them.
"Malfoy, sir, your father wishes to speak with you when you are ready." The voice was coming from his bed, right beside him. Draco shook his head and when his vision cleared, he found himself looking into a pair of huge green eyes. The house-elf reached over and timidly dabbed his forehead with a wet cloth as if afraid Draco would bite his hand.
With a grimace, Draco irritably waved the house-elf away, and brought his legs underneath him. He stayed that way for a minute or two, steeling himself for the pain he knew waited in store - from both dressing and walking down the corridor from his room to his father's study.
Antony had really let him have it. Draco had been supported only by his magically bonded grip on the wall by the time his father had come to watch. By the time Lucius had finally allowed Antony to stop, the last remaining shred of Draco's resolve had disappeared, and he had become a child again, sobbing for his father's forgiveness.
Antony had lifted him easily and Draco remembered being half-walked, half-carried to his bed. After that, sleep had stolen over his tired, tortured body and he'd known no more.
"Master Malfoy?" the house-elf prompted, trembling.
"Tell father I'll be before him shortly," Draco told the house-elf, face devoid of any emotion.
The house-elf jumped down from the bed and bowed to Draco before scurrying away.
Draco closed his eyes tightly and lowered himself from the bed. He staggered to his wardrobe and forced himself to pull his clothes on, although the fabric chafed across his welts. He whimpered as he pulled his black pants on; Antony had focused the belt's swipes mainly on his lower torso and especially the back of his legs. Draco clasped his black robes shut with a silver pendant and started out the door to his bedroom.
He leaned for a moment against the frame of the doorway. Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the pain, he forced himself to stand up straight and kept walking.
The gypsy moths flew around her in dancing circles, their white and cream-colored wings softly reflecting the moon's light. She laughed and let them fly around her, delighted. They bobbed and darted teasingly from her reaching hands and just barely escaped her nimble fingers.
She saw her brother laughing beside her then. He reached out to the winged creatures and they became emboldened. One alighted in his hands and he held it gently. He whispered something to it - what, she could not hear. She leaned closer to hear him . . .
"Karylie?" someone's voice called gently.
She sat up bewildered, and looked all about until she recognized her surroundings. The Hogwarts' dungeon? What was she still doing here? Someone stood beside her and she looked up.
"Snape?"
"You slept well, I hope?"
Karylie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got up from the student's desk. Embarrassed, she closed the book she'd been resting her head on and covered a yawn.
"I can't believe I fell asleep like that. I don't know what happened . . ."
"Have come across anything you can do for Draco?" Snape asked hopefully.
"No . . . nothing that Lucius can't trace back to me and throw me in Akzaban for, anyway. Snape, what can I do? I can't take Draco back to Hogwarts until Lucius is ready to send him back, and that probably won't be until he manages to get rid of me," Karylie sighed. "There has to be something I can do . . . even I can't take Draco back here . . . there must be something. . ."
"Did you dream of him?"
"Y-yes . . . how do you know?"
"Because the potion I slipped in your pumpkin juice last night was supposed to have that effect," Snape said, with a slight smile on his lips.
Karylie's mouth dropped and she shot Snape a look that could kill. "You made me fall asleep? I can't believe you! You wasted a whole night for me to find something to help him and --"
Something about Snape's smile made Karylie stop her angry ranting. She fell silent for a brief moment then, "Well, why didn't you tell me you did that anyway?"
"Dream potions don't work for people expecting dreams, Karylie. I don't supposed they covered that fact in your home-tutoring?"
"No," Karylie admitted. "Allright. I forgive you 'cause you meant well. But I didn't come across any solution in my dreams."
"Perhaps you are mistaken. What did you dream about?"
"Moths. And my brother. We were in this meadow . . . one of them landed in his hand and he was talking to it . . ." Karylie broke off and Snape saw clearly behind her silver eyes that her mind was already beginning to formulate these seemingly useless ideas into a plan.
"By George, I think I've got it . . ."
"By George who? What?" Snape repeated, confused.
"Oh, a Muggles saying, nevermind it. I have to see Dumbledore. Thank you for everything." Karylie said, eyes bright with hope. She smiled widely and rushed out the door. Two seconds later, she rushed back in and hugged Snape. Snape sputtered, bewildered, not quite knowing what to say. Snape watched as Karylie fairly sprinted down the hall to Dumbledore's office and a smile formed on his lips.
Karylie was like her brother in many ways, but she definitely put a new spin on the name Malfoy.
"Draco," his father greeted him, looking up from The Daily Prophet.
His voice sounded kinder today, than it had yesterday, and Draco felt a thin needle of hope prick his heart.
"Sit down," Lucius ordered. Draco carefully lowered himself into the wooden chair before Lucius' desk and forced himself not to wince. "Good. I see you are handling yourself better than you did yesterday."
Draco flushed in embarrassment. "Father, I'm sorry--" he started, much to his surprise. Draco realized then that the beating he had suffered had turned any previous anger at his father into guilt, and any hatred had poured out of his body along with his pleas for mercy. No, this can't be . . . I can't let him do this to me . . . Draco thought defiantly. As a scowl formed on his lips, Lucius' eyes narrowed and Draco shuddered and looked down, defeated by his fear.
"Doubtless, you are wondering why Karylie is no longer part of this family. Is that so?"
"Yes, Father."
"You deserve to know the truth. I should have told you of it long before, only I wanted to spare you the shame of it. Look at me, Draco." Draco obligingly lifted his head and gazed back into his father's storm-colored eyes. "Karylie not only endangered the Malfoy lineage by going after a certain young man with all the tricks of an ill-bred slut---"
Draco's fists clenched so hard, his knuckles began to turn white. He didn't realize he was glaring until his father glared in return. Fear once again lanced through his heart, and he lowered his eyes submissively.
"Shall I continue?" Lucius asked, icily.
"Yes, Father," Draco answered miserably.
"She also made me look like a fool in front of Lord Voldemort by her idiotic actions," Lucius spat. "Even then, she cared nothing for the fact that she was pure-blood. She developed an interest in Muggle affairs and Muggle past-times that rivaled even that idiotic pauper Weasley. Had I known she was attempting to infect you with her disgusting Muggle-love as well --"
"She wasn't!" Draco burst out. "I don't care about Muggle-things at all!"
"Yes. Your mother and I managed to purge those filthy ideas out of your head after Karylie's departure. I shall continue now, without further interruption."
Draco swallowed and his fingers curled under the edge of the chair, fingernails picking nervously at the small pocks on the wooden surface.
"Karylie was disobedient even to the last. The final straw was her idiotic release of one of Voldemorts' prisoners from the cells below the Manor. We had finally captured Dumbledore . . . Voldemort had him chained here, wanting first to see what the extent of the old fool's powers were. Hearing that Dumbledore had powers to rival his own, he wanted to see what Dumbledore could do . . . or perhaps what he would do to free himself. Karylie ruined everything, including the Dark Lord's chance to rid himself of the only wizard he'd ever feared." Lucius' face was livid, and although Draco was outraged at his harsh words about Karylie, the boy knew better than to show it.
"She claimed to me later," Lucius sneered, "That she'd heard a beautiful music coming from the dungeon and walked down to investigate. She had the sense, at the very least, not to take you with her - for the dungeons were forbidden to you both. She disobeyed my specific orders, and walked toward the music. Pheonix song, it was, and Dumbledore had been recreating it, perhaps to while away his boredom. Stupid fool that he was, he was wasting his magic and his time to escape before Voldemort came to claim his life.
"She stopped before him and asked why he was down there. Dumbeldore lied to her. He said he was a guest who'd come over for tea and he'd wanted to see the dungeons. Mistakenly, he'd gotten too close to the magic shackles binding his wrists and had been stuck there for quite a while. A stupid story, but even stupider was Karylie for believing it."
"Could Dumbledore have bewitched her?" Draco ventured cautiously.
"No. He did not . . . although that's what I hoped had been the case. He easily could have, but when I looked into her eyes . . . I saw that her stupidity and gullibility had served Dumbledore better than any spell could have. You were there when I confronted her, Draco, although you must barely remember anything of that night, save for the whipping you recieved for your disobedience. She was dancing with you, laughing, as if nothing in the world were wrong. As if I hadn't been spending the last four hours of that day, groveling before Voldemort, suffering curse upon curse of his wrath, all to spare her wretched life. He agreed, on account that I would punish her myself.
"You did not hear her screams, Draco, over your own cries of pain. If you had known what Voldemort put me through . . . you would have taken delight in them as I did, while she suffered the Crucatius Curse."
Every inch of Draco's body was shuddering - not in fear. In rage. He stood up, eyes smoldering. "She was only fifteen, Father . . . and you . . ." was all Draco managed to choke out, before Lucius backhanded the boy viciously.
Draco sprawled across the floor, landing on his back and crying out in agony.
"Do you understand any of what I have said?! She betrayed me, Draco! If she were not my daughter, she would have suffered death! I turned her from the Manor not only to save her life, but to save you!"
"She - she didn't know what Voldemort wanted with Dumbledore!" Draco yelled back. "But y-you beat her and cursed her for a accident! A stupid accident, but an accident nonetheless!"
Lucius snarled and for a terrifying moment, Draco thought he was about to be beaten again. With a horrible scream of rage, Lucius seized an empty glass on his desk and flung it at the wall. It crashed, sending shards of glass scattering everywhere. Lucius took several deep breaths to calm himself down. Draco didn't dare move, not wanting his father's attention on him.
"Accident or no," Lucius rasped finally, "That girl has caused me more suffering and more shame than Potter himself. You, Draco . . . you were my success. You have never induced Voldemort's wrath upon me, and for that, I was grateful and did not discipline you as harshly as I might have for your antics. Have you ever felt the Crucatius Curse, Draco?"
"N-no, Father . . ." Draco stammered, afraid.
"That is because you've never earned it. And be grateful to me. I have been far easier on you than any Malfoy has ever been on me, or on my father before me. You are my only child, Draco . . . and you have no idea how comforting those words are to me."
They stared at each other for a long time, father and son. Lucius was about to say more, but then he cursed and looked down at his arm. Voldemort was calling him.
"I must go, Draco. You will return to Hogwarts when you hear the truth about what she is and how very much she owes me." Lucius apparated out of his office, leaving Draco gasping on the carpeted floor. He choked and began to sob. He didn't even know why he was crying; he normally never cried. A sharp twinge in his back from laying on his welts suddenly turned into a spreading inferno. Draco twisted around and got shakily to his feet.
"You," he called weakly to a passing house-elf in the hall outside. He scurried to Draco immediately, bowing madly. Normally, such a sight would make him laugh. How could anyone be so faithful to somebody who constantly hurt him for the slightest offense? Draco would normally kick the house-elf through the doorway - they really were disgusting creatures, despite their usefulness. But for the first time, he realized how much he had in common with the miserable creature cringing before him. Father had Draco whipped, but Draco still obeyed without question. Father beat the house-elves, and they obeyed without complaint. Draco made no move to hurt the house-elf and instead staggered past it.
Karylie's unheard screams were echoing in his head and he suddenly leaned against the desk to support his legs.
"Clean up the glass," he ordered, over his shoulder. "And tell no-one to bother me for the rest of the day," Draco said numbly. The house-elf, grateful Draco hadn't attempted to kick him to the other side of the Manor yet, immediately began the task.
When Draco could bring himself to walk, he left the room.
"A registered Animagus? How intriguing . . ." Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully. "But tell me again, how can that form out of any other serve you? You'd be at the mercy of the winds."
"Yes, but I'd be small enough to sneak in and back out again undetected. It would do both of us good if I could visit Draco."
"Hmm, yes I most certainly agree, my dear. The Manor is quite a bit drafty and lonesome - well from one of my experiences anyway. Speaking of which, is that why you've told me all this? To my recollection, I do owe you a favor or two at the very least." Dumbledore said, winking at her.
Karylie shook her head. "You do not owe me anything. All I did was release an overcurious guest from his predicament, and only later did I realize what exactly I had done. I must stress that you owe me nothing, Dumbledore."
"We've been through this conversation before, have we then? Yes, yes. I remember it now . . . very well, dear. I can see you're in a hurry to set off your plan. But whether you saved me or not, I am gladly at your service. Now, what do you need of me?"
"Your advice. Do you think it will work? Is there anything I haven't thought of?"
"Two things, I must confess, were not entirely explained to me. How do you plan on getting to the Manor? I daresay, they'll hear that motorcycle of yours a mile away."
"Well . . . I intend on flying there in my Animagus form, to speak the truth."
Dumbledore's eyebrows raised in surprise. "But the storm clouds and the wind -- no, Karylie, that's too dangerous."
"What other option do I have? My apparating skills are horrendous, and my broomstick-flying is half-hazard; you remember when I flew straight into the Whomping Willow my first year?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Madame Pomfrey had her hands full, I must admit."
"Three years at Hogwarts taught me much, but the only classes I really excelled in were McGonagall's and Snape's. And then I was home-schooled for one year, all because of that dreadful rumor going about that I was Remus' boyfriend."
"Weren't you?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.
"I admit I had a crush on him, but really! We were just friends . . ." Karylie began to argue. "And he was a year older than me and in Gryffindor while I was in Slytherin. Another reason it was so scandalous. My father made it ten times worse when he pulled me out; it strengthened the rumor ten times over. Now I find even you believed it."
"My dear," Dumbledore said, smiling, "I didn't hear any rumors. My ears were rather muffled most of that year by my hat."
Karylie scoffed good-naturedly. "A likely story. Where did you get the idea?"
"Were you removing that speck of pudding from his lips with your own? If that was the case, perhaps I'm mistaken about what I thought I saw you two doing outside of the Gryffindor dormitories after the Halloween feast."
Karylie felt a pink tinge come into her cheeks. "I - I . . . well, enough of this nonsense! What can I do to get to the Manor undetected?"
"Perhaps an owl?" Dumbledore suggested, moving right along with the sudden subject change.
"That's brilliant . . . but don't owls eat moths?" she asked, nervously.
"Yes. All the time. Unless they're intelligent enough to know better in cases like these. May I suggest Harry Potter's owl? She's most well-trained; she'll listen to anything the boy says."
"Allright . . . are you sure?"
"If you like, I could make you a particularily bad tasting moth," Dumbledore offered. Karylie laughed, forgetting her anxiety for the moment.
"No thank you, Dumbledore. I'll trust Harry's owl as long as she lines her belly with a couple of fat mice before we fly off together."
Harry agreed on lending Karylie his owl and when she arrived to meet him in the Owlrey, she found Hermione and Ron waiting there as well.
"You three are inseparable, aren't you?" she teased with a grin.
Ron and Harry smiled back, but Hermione wrung her hands.
"Be careful! Oh Harry, are you sure Hedwig's not going to eat her?"
"Perhaps I should've have taken Dumbledore's offer to make me taste bad," Karylie joked and the two boys laughed. Hermione gave a small smile, but Karylie could tell she was nervous.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Professor Karylie?"
Karylie gently took Hermione's hands in her own. "Miss Granger, I know I'm about to do a dangerous thing. But it would make me feel a lot better if I had your confidence. It's something I simply must do."
Hermione sighed. "Good luck then." Hermione hugged her and stepped back as Karylie began her transformation.
"And remember," Hermione cried after the owl as Hedwig flew off with the gypsy moth clinging to her tufted white chest with all six slender legs, "Don't you dare eat any moths!!!"
Draco opened his bedroom window, hoping to get some cool air in. It was almost dusk and Lucius had not returned yet. Draco had been alone all day in his room. He didn't want to do anything or see anyone.
He crawled up on his bed and laid on his chest, burying his face in his pillow. He felt numb inside and didn't know what to make of anything his father had told him. Were they lies? Were they the truth?
His welts still burned and chafed with every careless motion and Draco winced as he tried to get into a more comfortable position on the bed. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been whipped so hard . . . sometimes he got the back of his father's hand for a smart remark, but he only remembered one other beating in which he'd gotten the belt.
It had happened two years before he'd started at Hogwarts - he was ten and his father was explaining to him about Voldemort. Draco had been bored stiff.
His father went on about 'mudbloods' then and this had suddenly piqued Draco's interest.
"But Father," he remembered saying, "Voldemort's a mudblood too, isn't he?"
Draco had never seen his father move so fast in his life. Before he knew what was happening, Draco was sprawled on the floor and so great was his surprise that the pain didn't set in until the tenth lash or so fell upon his body. That's when he started crying, and incidentally, that's when he learned that a Malfoy is not supposed to cry.
His father had seen him off to bed and left without a word of comfort, but he'd come back later to explain to Draco that he had done something almost unforgivable, and if he ever repeated it, horrible things would happen to him. Of course, Draco had believed him without any further assistance from his father's belt.
Draco sighed and closed his eyes, tired. He did not realize he had fallen asleep until a clap of thunder woke him an hour later. He opened his eyes groggily and smelled rain. Draco glanced over at his window to see how thickly the drops were falling just in time to see a white gypsy moth flutter inside.
Karylie had loved gypsy moths and once she had caught one in her hands to show Draco what they looked like close up. Aside from the delicate powdery wings, Draco remembered the small creature's curling antennae, pretty black eyes, and a soft white mane coating it's body.
The moth was fluttering towards him now, and Draco reached a hand out to let it land in his palm. But instead of landing anywhere, it did a most uncommon thing for a moth to do; it started glowing. Draco sat bolt upright, forgetting about his welts, which proved to be a very big mistake.
He gasped and laid back down again hurriedly, but to no avail, the burning swept all along his body, distracting him from whatever the moth was doing.
A flash of lightning filled the room with light and Draco looked away. He blinked to get rid of the spots before his eyes. A hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. Draco jumped in shock, scrambled backwards and quite accidentally tumbled off the bed.
"Draco, are you allright? I didn't mean to scare you so," Karylie's voice whispered, in alarm. She glided around the bed and helped Draco to his feet, noticing with concern that his face was tight with pain.
"What happened to you?" she demanded. "What did he do?"
Draco suddenly found himself wanting to ask Karylie all types of questions, and he was incredibly annoyed because of this. He looked up at Karylie, and it all suddenly caved in on him . . . the beating he had suffered, hearing her screams of agony in his head, his Father's hatred . . . Malfoy's aren't supposed to cry, stupid, a voice sneered at him. Draco frankly didn't know whether the voice was imagined or real, but he suddenly didn't care when he felt Karylie's arms wrap around him, hugging him close.
"Where's Lucius?" Karylie asked, at length.
"He apparated from his office . . . Voldemort called him for something. Karylie . . . why did he . . ." Draco choked on a sob and his throat was too dry to swallow.
"Why did he what?" Karylie prompted gently, stroking his hair.
"Use the Crucatius Curse on you . . . how could he . . ."
"Oh Draco . . . he told you . . ." Karylie's voice was very faint. "It didn't hurt that bad," she lied weakly.
"Karylie . . . he was smiling when he told me . . . why does he hate you? It can't just be about Dumbledore . . . not even combined with you liking Muggles or disobeying you . . . he can't have done that to you and enjoyed it just because . . . what else, Karylie, what else? Tell me . . . please?" Draco looked up at her, his eyes betraying such hurt and bewilderment that Karylie's own eyes brimmed over with tears.
"Draco . . ." she whispered, helplessly. How could she begin to tell him that his father, the man whom he'd loved and admired all his life, was dark and cruel and cared more about his reputation than his own son and daughter? Cared more for achieving as much power as Voldemort chose to grant him than either of them? It was too much for Karylie to bear. And yet, it was something Draco had to know, painful as it would be for him.
A chill of horror swept down her spine as she caressed the back of Draco's neck. There was something sticky. She lightly ran her fingers between his shoulderblades and he moaned and twisted away in response.
"Did he beat you?" Karylie asked, her voice deadly calm.
"Yes. It's allright, it doesn't hurt."
"I'm sure it doesn't," she said, bitterly. "Malfoy's aren't supposed to admit they're in pain. Rule number something."
Karylie and Draco jumped startled at a particularily loud clap of thunder. "Draco, I'll come back a little later. I'm nervous about your father apparating into this room . . . how long has he been gone now?"
"About five hours, I think."
"Oh my goodness, he could be back any minute . . . any second really . . ."
"You better go," Draco said, alarmed.
"I'll be back later tonight. In the meantime, I want you to take a nice hot bath with some jewelflower and columbine to help with the healing. It never fails."
Draco was afraid he knew how Karylie had found this out. She kissed him on the forehead and in the next instant, a white moth fluttered out the window and disappeared into the shadow of a nearby tree.
Draco gingerly lifted himself out of the bathtub and began to dry off with a towel. The hot water had done much to soothe him, although at first contact, Draco had hissed at the initial sting caused by the herbs in the water.
He struggled into his pajamas, trying to be careful not to bump or agitate his mercifully neutral welts. Just before he walked outside, he heard voices; his father and his mother. They were arguing about him, from what he could hear.
Curious, Draco put his ear against the door to listen.
"The boy needs to go back to school! His grades are low enough. I will not stand to see him taking a vacation just because Karylie is in the same building. Really, Lucius, the whole thing is getting out of hand," Narcissa Malfoy was sniping.
"I will not condone Draco being taught by that mistake of a witch," came Lucius' cold reply.
"Lucius--"
"I rescued him from following in her footsteps; from becoming a failure. He will not be a mistake, like she was. With Draco, I'll show her what she could have been if she had tried to be as faithful to me as a daughter should be to her father."
"Well, you're overlooking one thing. Draco loves her. He always has, and I don't think anything you can tell him will turn the boy away from her. She's the only person who's ever defied you, Lucius, within your own home. And the fact that she's family is even more impressive; Draco's been taught all his life to respect family and the Malfoy name. You can't all of a sudden tell the boy to do something different and expect him to snap to it."
"Draco is too afraid to disobey me," Lucius scoffed. "And he knows what to expect the next time he does."
"Yes, very well, husband. But don't be too surprised if it blows up in your face like a squib's home-made wand."
"And what exactly do you mean by that?!" Lucius fairly roared.
"Draco won't believe lies, not even from you. Karylie's shown him a kinder hand than you have. She's won respect from him, and try as you might, you can't root it out of him, I'm afraid."
"I can beat it out of him," Lucius said, darkly, and Draco shuddered behind the door.
"You can try," Narcissa replied grimly and walked away. Draco heard her footsteps, quick and soft, walking down the hall. He heard his father's heavy footsteps head in a different direction, treading much slower than his mother's. When at last he heard nothing, Draco opened the door and crept down the hall to his room.
Draco hopped up on his bed and summoned a book from the shelf nearby. It floated over to him and landed in his lap. Draco arranged himself into a comfortable position on his side and opened the book.
His room had turned chilly due to the rainstorm outside, so he had ringed for a house-elf to build up a fire in the fireplace located ten feet from the foot of his bed. The fire was the only light in the room, but it allowed him enough to read his book. Occasionally, he glanced toward the window, searching for Karylie. No sign of a white moth anywhere outside . . . it had been two hours and it was approaching eleven o'clock, the time he usually drifted off to sleep.
"It's amazing what you think you can get away with when I'm not home, Draco."
Draco started and sat up to see his father standing before the fire. The suddeness of his appearance startled Draco; he must have apparated.
"I had a chat with one of the portraits outside of your room. It appears you had some company."
Draco swallowed hard.
"No sir," he lied. "I think the portrait must have been hearing things."
"I don't appreciate you lying to me, Draco." Lucius' back was to the window . . . Draco fervently prayed no white moths would be fluttering in any time soon.
"Who was here?" demanded Lucius. "Karylie?"
"No."
"It was her!" Lucius snarled, gripping Draco's face, hard. "Don't lie to me!" The firelight highlighted Lucius' normally handsome face all wrong; his eyes appeared to be starting from his head, his cheekbones looked as if they were sinking into his face, and his skin was sallow.
Draco tried to get away from Lucius' painful grip on his jawbone and as his eyes shifted he stiffened in horror.
The gypsy moth was back.
Quick as a tiger, Lucius reached his free hand out and his fist closed tightly around the moth's body. Draco cried aloud. When Lucius opened his fist again, Draco's heart shattered. He knew it was all over.
"Would this, by any chance, be your sister?" Lucius asked, mockingly, showing his open palm to Draco. The moth lay crumpled, one wing fluttering brokenly. Eyes filled with tears, Draco reached out a shaking hand and with one finger, tenderly stroked the moth's wing.
Having received his answer, Lucius turned away, the moth still in his hands, and with one easy gesture, flung it's pitiful remains into the fire.
"NO!!!" Draco screamed and ran forward, but Lucius caught him around the waist, holding him back from thrusting his hands into the flames and rescuing what was left of his sister. "Father!!! She was your daughter!" Draco screamed in anguish before he collapsed, sobbing, to the floor. "How c-could y-you?" His body racked with sobs and Lucius stared down, face devoid of any emotion, then calmly walked over and closed the window.
"I made a mistake when I begged Voldemort for her life. But take comfort in knowing that the death I granted her just now was more merciful than the one he had planned for her. You can return to school tomorrow. Perhaps the expectations of your fellow students will prompt you to grow up better than I have yet managed."
Draco gave him no answer save for the sounds of his weeping. Disgusted, Lucius walked out of his son's room, slamming the door shut after him.
Draco made no move to get up from the cold floor. The fire burned brightly, but it was no longer pleasant. Draco cursed himself many times that night. If only he hadn't stared at the moth long enough to attract Lucius' attention to it; if only he had told Karylie not to come back at all that night . . . if only . . . if only . . . how those two words seemed to mock him.
He curled up on his side, turned away from the hungry flames that had claimed the broken remains of his sister, and cried himself into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
He was not awake to see, therefore, the rain-spattered window and the white gypsy moth who beat her wings frantically against the glass, trying to find a way in while the rain and wind did its best to keep her away from succeeding.
Disclaimer: All characters save for Karylie belong to J.K Rowling.