Clarissa awoke to an eerie silence, a creaking four-poster, a fading red skyline. Usually, the house-elves would be banging away in the kitchen below her borrowed bedroom, or Narcissa and Lucius would be having a hushed, harried conversation that would carry in whispers through the old manor's pipes. Today though, everything seemed slightly off - it made Clarissa's tender head dizzy with what-ifs. Even the birds had stopped singing. Silence meant cruelty at the Black house. Silence in France meant resentment. Clarissa had neither the energy nor the ability to weasel her way out of any, not today of all days.
'What was today?' Clarissa thought absentmindedly, and then immediately shot up out of bed, instantly regretting it as a wave of nausea took hold of her. It was the 1st of September. Today she went to Hogwarts.
"Fuck." Clarissa said, to no one in particular.
She checked the time, panicking she had missed everything, that Draco had left in spite and her aunt and uncle hadn't bothered to awaken her. She released a breath. 5:45am. An age before she had to leave. She stretched and arose. May as well get one last swim in before the most nerve-wracking journey of her life, she thought to herself.
She jumped out of bed and immediately cursed Merlin for the pain that shot through her foot.
"Putain de merde?!" Clarissa cried, stumbling over the broken bits of china strewn across her floor. Cursing Merlin for whoever had played that cruel trick, she hobbled towards her mirror. Her featherdown skin, so pure and porcelain the previous evening, now served to make Clarissa look sickly and gaunt - much more like her mother. Her thick hair, so curly and voluminous last night, was now unruly and disobedient. She sighed, the casual jumper and jeans she threw on that promised to hug her curves now hung off her, exacerbating the gaunt look. She grasped her new wand, the oak with a raven centre conforming to the curves of her palm, and cast a few celebratory spells in her unbridled excitement. No sooner had Clarissa done this than she had to dodge one of the spells that ricocheted off the grand, golden mirror in front of her. She shook herself off and began to adjust her uncooperative clothes into those more resembling a pure blood woman. She tightened her jumper and jeans, so much so they accentuated her breasts, stomach, hips and bum just the right amount. She smoothed her wild hair into thick, glossy curls that framed her face angelically and added a spattering of healthy makeup to her freckled, fair complexion. Her lips glistened, her green eyes gleamed, and her teeth sparkled.
'Perfect!' Clarissa thought, swallowing her dread at the thought of Malfoy breakfast.
Cautiously, Clarissa descended the large staircase to the entrance hall, and felt three pairs of eyes on her, all full of scorn. It seemed an age before she reached the bottom - Clarissa had a foreboding sense of unease, almost as though she was walking straight into a carefully laid trap.
Narcissa raised her eyebrows in acknowledgment of Clarissa's presence and sniffed reproachfully. Lucius averted his disapproving eyes and studied his copy of the Daily Prophet more intently. Draco avoided her eyes and slouched sullenly, arms folded. Clarissa let out a breath that threatened to explode inside of her, and tried to seat herself as silently as possible. She let out a small, tentative 'good morning'. No response. She reached for the toast closest to Narcissa. Her aunt smacked her hand away, anger radiating around the soundless room. Clarissa tried again.
"Uncle, could you pass the-"
Lucius's thunderous look stopped Clarissa in her tracks. She sighed, lowering her gaze, and folded her scorned hands in her lap. Her melancholia threatened to overpower her - she must not let it, Clarissa thought to herself. This was a joyous day, a new beginning. Perhaps a way out of her trap.
A strong, clear voice broke her daydream.
"I don't know how you have the gall to show your whore face." Clarissa raised her bowed head, startled, darting her eyes to each filled seat.
"Draco!" Lucius hissed.
"No Lucius, he is correct. This bastard child disgraced us all last night. How… unbecoming of a pure-blood woman you are. They were correct about you."
"Aunt! I-" Clarissa began to protest, but was interrupted by the fury and contempt of Narcissa.
"If it were up to me I'd withdraw your allowance, you ungrateful wretch." Clarissa shrank back into herself. "I have half a mind to call off this betrothal…"
Clarissa stopped shrinking. Narcissa continued her derision, but Clarissa suddenly had a clearer head. Perhaps this was her way out. Perhaps she'd never spend another summer here again…
"Well Aunt, if you think it prudent, perhaps it is the best thing for everyone."
Narcissa reeled incredulously. "You agree that sending you to be with your father in Romania is the best thing to do?"
Clarissa panicked. "What? No! No, I meant calling off the engagement is the best thing to do!"
Draco glowered. "We are not calling off the engagement." He uttered conclusively. She reeled, like she had been slapped.
"But- but-"
"We are not calling off the engagement. You are to be my wife, and you are to be SILENT!" Draco got up suddenly, grasping Clarissa's arm, knocking away the breakfast things. Narcissa raised her eyebrows. Lucius buried his head in the Prophet.
"Come, now. There are things to be done before we depart for school."
Clarissa sank inside herself, helpless once more.
Clarissa finished packing what little possessions she had, most borrowed, some bought, her wand no longer stolen. Checking her watch, she saw it read barely 8am. She gave her new speckled tawny owl a tentative stroke, but was met by an uneasy peck of the beast's beak. She hadn't yet named it, for fear of it being taken, like everything else, but now was as good a time as ever. Florence? No, too twee, Clarissa thought to herself. Iris? Too aged. Perhaps… no, it would be blasphemy, Clarissa thought dismissively. Could she name her animal Circe? As if in response, her pet hooted. Circe it was. Clarissa ran a soft hand over Circe's head, and the owl responded contentedly.
Clarissa trailed over to the mirror, her mind quiet, her melancholia non-existent. She looked at herself, sighing peacefully. Her hair had lost a little of the voluminous, bouncy curl she had when happy, and her skin looked a little more pallid, but overall she felt presentable enough for her first day at Hogwarts. Worry began to settle in her stomach, and a pain shot up the foot she had broken the china with. She grumbled, bending over her four-poster to clean the broken mug.
"My my, how I love to see you bent over, Black." Draco lent against her now-open doorway, a sickening smirk plastering his lips.
Clarissa sprang to her feet. An obvious blush rose up her neck, resting on her cheeks - a suppressed shiver ran up her spine.
"You are vile, Draco. I cannot believe I am to be married to you."
He moved ever-so-slightly closer, leering. "Oh, you are Black. And don't forget it at school. You'll come back to me. They all do."
Clarissa forgot herself, and her mouth gaped open, unable to form words, unable to think. She didn't like this.
"Close your mouth woman. You and I both know it's only good for one thing." He rubbed his arm irritably, and stepped closer to Clarissa, the air electric. He reached one hand to stroke her face, and she froze, this situation all-too-familiar to the dreaded manor visits with Mummy dearest. He pressed himself against her obscenely, his hands caressing her hips. She daren't move, she couldn't fight. His hands found her bum, squeezing it in a vulgar, teenage manner. She turned her head, closed her eyes. He led her to the four-poster, discarding her slender body on the engulfing bed, and climbed on top of her, trapping her long, slim limbs with his hard, strong ones. She could feel every inch of him crassly threatening her, and he began to kiss her neck, working downwards. She let out a tear as he reached her jeans, unbuckling them swiftly, his fingers fondling places she didn't want them to. She gasped as they drew in, the first and only noise she'd made. More tears joined the solitary inaugural one, and he mumbled among them into her hair.
"You're mine, you're mine - ah, fuck -" Clarissa gasped, she wanted to retch, her body seizing and heaving as he filled her, vigorously and repeatedly. "Stop, stop fighting for fuck's sake, you're to be my wife -"
Clarissa lay her head back on the pillow, her hands searching for an out. Her palm clasped onto something, her brain not knowing what it was, and she reached over and brought it up to his head, at the exact moment he finished, and there was a crash, and then he was up, over her, and she couldn't hear what he was saying, but she felt herself being turned over and pushed down, her breath evading her lungs and her tears adorning her face.
"Fucking bitch - you'll get what's coming to you." He grunted, inside her once again, and this time it was worse - she could feel his rage, it overwhelmed her forcibly, hurting her, pushing her down into the bed she felt was sure to break from his thrusts. She couldn't see, her voice disappeared, had he hexed her? Her mind raced, and when she felt she was sure to suffocate, he relented. She could breathe. She scrabbled upwards, her body sore, her limbs weak. She looked at him, her eyes wild and piercing. Black blood streamed down his face, commencing at his eye and culminating at his lips. She allowed herself a small smirk, and realised the object was a china teapot.
His eyes blazed as he made himself presentable again. "Fucking bitch. You've ruined my face."
"You've ruined me." She let out a small squeak.
He laughed callously. "Oh, don't worry. I'll still have the disgraced Black whore."
He turned.
"Oh, and don't forget to repair the teapot I brought up for you. Mother will be most displeased if it is broken - after all, it'll be ours one day." Smirking, he left her alone, humiliated, degraded and in disbelief in her only sanctuary.
Clarissa rested her heavy head on the cool window. Staring out into the dreary landscape, she barely noticed her cousin's admirers standing goggle-eyed at the train compartment door. Her eyes felt sore, and she closed them, trying to quieten her worried thoughts - those of her mama were most pervasive, but her dread of British schooling was up there, too. Unwanted memories fought amongst worries to consume her. She took a breath, and stood up unsteadily, and at the same moment Draco spoke.
"Would you- where are you going?" Draco rose sharply, blocking her exit, and shooing his persistent fans away.
"The bathroom. Is that okay with you?" Sarcastically, she pushed past her cousin, leaving him incredulous without waiting for an answer. Her mama's fire was slowly inching back.
She strolled down unfamiliar corridors hesitantly, and peered wide-eyed into each. In one, a pair hexed each other playfully, swirls of blue and orange smoke filling the compartment. Another, a girl buried her head in a book whilst two boys talked, ignoring her. Another, shockingly to Clarissa, a boy and girl entangled themselves in each other. Such debauchery would never have been welcomed at Beauxbatons. Although she no longer had any right to gauge debauchery, she thought to herself. Clarissa was far too busy staring wide-mouthed to notice the auburn boy that crashed into her, sending her toppling to the floor. An uneasy familiarity flooded her body when she realised he had landed atop of her, and a comfortable warmth speckled her cheeks.
"My, this is intimate." Clarissa spoke drily.
"Allow me to help you up, mademoiselle." He raised a hand, and in her mass of black curls she couldn't yet make out his face.
"Oh!" She cried as she stepped to her feet, her small hand still clasped in his cool, steady one.
"It's you." He said, and instinctively pulled her a touch closer.
"Usually one would let go of another's' hands after helping them up." She locked her forest green eyes with his warm hazel ones, silently daring him to move first.
"Usually they would." He muttered softly, and made no intention to let go of her hand. "But… I don't want to."
They moved ever-so-slightly closer.
"It's you - from Diagon Alley."
"Est tu - from France."
A blush crept up Clarissa's cheeks, and a smirk met her lips. His hand reached up, brushing her cheek, almost brushing her lips, until-
A small figure barrelled past them, breaking their spell.
His cheeks matched his hair as he looked away bashfully, stepping away from her.
"Er - yeah. Sorry about that." A shy hand ruffled his hair, and he could no longer match her piercing stare.
"You should be more careful in future. Who knows who you might end up on top of next time?" Clarissa turned away and began to saunter off.
"Mademoiselle? Miss?"
Her gaze found his again. He shifted, unnerved.
"Yes?"
"Would you - I mean, you probably won't - why would you -"
"Out with it boy."
"Yes. Right. Would you like to join me in my compartment? I can't imagine you know very many people here, and I wouldn't want you alone."
Clarissa paused, her steely gaze faltering. Together with him sounded a whole lot better than alone with Draco.
"Yes, I would." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Please, monsieur, lead the way."
She followed him to his compartment, squeezing amongst the chaos and accidentally-on-purpose brushing against him far too many times for a decent woman. He was so close she could feel his heavy breath on her neck, and it gave her not-unwanted goosebumps. He steered her to a compartment, and opened the door. She stopped dead, and turned back to face him. Where her compartment was cold and bleak, theirs seemed warm and inviting in comparison, despite only being a few carriages apart.
"There's two of you!" She exclaimed, turning from one to the other. He let out an uproarious laugh, and his twin joined him in a smirk.
"That's not usually what people say when they first meet us, love! But you're correct nonetheless." His twin chuckled.
"This is my brother, Fred." He sat opposite his twin, and slightly too close to Clarissa.
"And I'm George."
"Clarissa."
"Enchantee."
His twin shifted uncomfortably, a ghost of a smirk still on his lips.
He cleared his throat. "So, Clarissa, where have you been hiding?"
"I came back to this country at the beginning of summer." She replied, her eyes not leaving George's.
"Back? Where were you before?" Fred attempted to diffuse the electric air, to no avail.
"I was in France, at Beauxbatons."
"But you lived here before. In Devon, along the river." George piped up.
"How did you know that?" Clarissa stared, wide-eyed.
Silence stretched around the compartment, engulfing the trio and threatening to swallow them whole. Fred looked uneasily from his twin to the last Black woman.
He cleared his throat again, unable to break George and Clarissa's long, fixed stare.
"Well, I know where I'm not wanted." Fred muttered irritably. "Off to find Jordan!"
Clarissa barely registered his departure, nor his pointed slam of the compartment door.
"How did you know where I grew up?" Clarissa repeated, voice barely above a whisper and hands barely an inch from his.
"Don't you remember?" His brow furrowed, and his eyes were wide, innocent, and expectant. Clarissa couldn't look away from his lips, which began to turn down. Oh, how she longed to be on them.
"It's me. Don't you remember, Cissy?" George repeated, and his nickname hit her like a gut punch. Warmth flooded her body, and images of the first time she had ever felt content came rushing back. Merged with those horrid memories of that godforsaken ballroom, were happy ones, ones she had suppressed for what felt like millennia. Unsupervised and unwanted as a child, she had enjoyed the freedom familial estrangement afforded her with the next family, downriver. It was mere miles, but felt worlds away for Clarissa. She saw lush green hills, heard laughter, the gentle rushes of the river, smelled the fresh morning dew on the grass, the hearty roast dinners, all punctuated by flashes of red hair.
Clarissa moved closer.
"It can't be… how can it be?" She searched his eyes for any sign of a tell, for the betrayal she was used to.
"It is, Cissy - it's me. Your amour-"
The compartment door brutally swung open. Clarissa jumped up to face a seething Draco.
"So, this is where the whore has been! Merlin knows I almost hexed half of the compartments on my way here -"
"What do you want, Malfoy?!" George leapt to his feet, putting himself between the two.
"You'll do well to move out of my way, Weasley. Don't forget who my father works for." Malfoy spat, pure venom lacing his words.
George stood tall, easily surpassing Malfoy's 6'4. "You'll do well not to barge into my compartment and talk to women like that, Malfoy." He rested a hand on his wand pocket, readied.
Draco laughed cruelly. "You're pathetic, Weasley. What's this whore been feeding you?"
"I warned you, Malfoy. Don't call her that."
"Or what?" Draco grasped Clarissa's arm so hard she thought it might break. "I suppose she conveniently forgot to mention she's my cousin."
George stopped, turning to Clarissa, betrayal masking his face and mouth agog. Clarissa tried to shrink.
"I thought so." Draco broke the sanctuary between Clarissa and George and pulled her closer. "And just for reference Weasley, I can call her what I like - she's my fiancee." Draco pulled his grip on Clarissa's porcelain arm and marched her away from the cosy Weasley compartment, and Clarissa turned for one last look at George, who sat slumped and defeated, avoiding her eyes.
