Her head spun into a dizzy daze. She could see light ahead of her, a bolt
out of the darkness surrounding her. Great casms of black space with a
flash of lightening.
She was dreaming. That same sickly sweet aroma of nights before filled her senses. That same lilting song seeped into her open ears.
She wanted to reach out and grab it, embrace it, hold it close to her. It was like a comfort blanket that was always out of reach. Always in front of her but never quite there. If only she could catch it in a vial, being able to open it at any time like a juvenile music box. But something told her that freedom was too far away to simply reach out and clasp.
Rowans heavy eyelids stirred. They flickered open wearily, shying away from the real world. Her dream was pulling her backwards into that soft amicable environment, dragging her away from the harsh reality.
It was no good.
Her eyes made a second attempt to open.
This time it worked.
Reminiscent of a newborn lamb emerging from its mother, its head cowering away from the daylight, Rowan cautiously peeled her eyes open. She expected a wave of sunlight to blind and maim her. There was nothing except a low burning orange glow to the left.
She thought it was early, far too early to even consider getting up. Her eyes drifted away, back into her head. Today's timetable trickled before her, she reminded herself that she still had another hour and a half of Transfiguration to go.
It was the most boring of lessons, mainly because there seemed no point in being able to turn mice into teacups or bats into paperweights. If you wanted a teacup or a paperweight why not just buy one? Who would want to drink tea from a mouse anyway?
She amused herself with this rather random thought until a little niggle started to grow in her brain; She did not remember getting into bed.
Her eyes were still tight shut, her head was in a confused state. She mulled over her confusion slowly. Bed, yes she was in her bed, because she saw the light from the window. It was unfamiliar because she never got up that early. That explained it. Or did it?
She knew she had to be there, where else would she be? Well, there were possibilities but she could not remember seeing Draco last night either. So if she was not in his bed then she must be in her own.
Her confidence levels grew and she decided to test her theory once more. She forced her eyes to open again, they did so feeling a bit sticky. She quickly became adjusted to the light and managed to get her bearings.
Looking up, she expected to see the heavy drapes of her four-poster, its dark wood frame and a new more pinkish glow.
However, she did not.
Instead there was a cold, smooth ceiling made of some sort of grey stone. There was no framework, just vast open space. Tilting her eyes to the left she saw the same orange glow, now joined with the aroma of decay.
She froze, feeling a chill grip her limbs.
Straining her memory to produce some reason for her circumstances, she concentrated very hard on a spot above her. There was nothing. Her ability to recall events had taken a nosedive.
Frustrated she let out a low sigh. It whistled through the dank air, making her pause to watch its effect. Eventually she let her mind wander back to the sharp profile of Draco. It settled there, luxuriating in his imaginary presence. A warm fuzzy bloom grew in her stomach, but like all good things it came to an abrupt end.
Just as she was moving into yet another prospective position, she noticed the room they were in. It was a classroom, but not just anyone. She recognised it from somewhere, even in her fantasies. She blinked down hard, Draco vanished but a scrap of inspiration struck her sharply.
Green eyes shone from the darkness and she settled on one name; Potter.
She had not been with Draco but with Potter. Now, that would explain it, she though triumphantly. Haha. She had figured it out, beaten the memory barrier blocking her view.
Yes she had met with him, in a classroom. He had fallen for her story - their story. She had told her master her plan, he had wanted to hear it and how it went. So if she had already seen Potter she must have seen him.
A twittery feeling of unease snaked its way around her. She must have seen her master. She must have met with Voldemort last night, that was the only option.
As though this answer was the key to last night's mind lock - it clicked. The dark damp room with its rhythmical raindrops, the creaking floorboards, the searing in her scalp and mark. Instinctively, her left arm clinched as the remains of master's touch were felt, biting at her veins.
Her breathing became quicker, Rowan felt her heart pound heavily in her chest, making her stomach bruise and contort in agitation. Her eyes were filled wide with the image of the Deatheater he had called.
As she eroded the pleasantries she found the blackened bones of the true events. He had cursed her, head had felt rushed, she could not hear, like dead. He had turned her into a living corpse, still but barely breathing - the Corparius curse.
Now Rowan's mind went into overdrive, sights whizzed past her and theories built themselves into reputable fact. Voldemort had summoned Lucius because of his connections, she thought anxiously, he would take my body to my father - make some story up and that would be it. I would be dead.
I am dead.
She stiffened, trying to persuade her leaden limbs to stir, but they would not. There was only one thing for it, she thought, taking a shuddering breath she opened her eyes once more.
The stone walls, low and heavy bore down on her, the orange glow remained the same and that rotting putrid redolence still permeated the chamber. The truth smacked her swiftly - a punch from the darkness.
She was in a tomb, buried alive.
Rowan was in her family vault and that was her mother lying to the right of her. This was it, dead before her death. Her mind spiraled downwards searching for a plan, a way out, grasping, snatching, and clutching at basic human strategies. She grabbed one, opened her mouth, sucked in as much of the rancid air as possible and prepared to scream her lungs off.
An absurdly harsh blow smacked into her face. It stung and blinded Rowan, knocking her face onto the callous stone. She made out a relieved sigh through the bursts of anguish.
Fingers fastened themselves around her chin, snapping it in the opposite direction. Her eyes were wide again, staying open against her will. The stinging slipped away as her torturer became apparent, looming from the murky shadows.
Lucius Malfoy's angular face looked sternly back at her, a kind of burning glowing deep in his shaded grey eyes.
Her eyes were filled with doubt, she spluttered, spitting his name with difficulty as his fingers gripped her mouth together. His left eyebrow raised with delight, a delicious look of satisfaction forming on his face.
"Indeed, my red one." He said deliberately, looking for the reaction on his captive's face. It came with Rowan frowning slightly.
He released his grip with a sly chuckle. Rowan took more big gulps of acrid air.
"Wh.. you...but..what?" She stuttered, even more confused than she would be if her master was in front of her. "You!" She finally struck with indignation.
Lucius, now seated next to her on the stone block, bending into her face, smile conceitedly.
"Why, yes my dear." He deadened Rowan's refreshed questions by placing the tip of his right index finger onto her open mouth. Pausing to enjoy the sensation, he looked straight at her. "It had to be someone, Voldemort thought you'd appreciate it being me. After all, you are screwing my son - we have connections."
He mused the credibility of his own joke before going on languidly. "You see, Rowan, you've been a very bad girl. Not at all what we had expected of you. No, no. You have disobeyed your master."
Feeling the ripples of anger rising to the surface with his patronizing behaviour, she interrupted; "I didn't disobey anyone, and you know it." Her shout echoed throughout the chamber. Lucius' smile turned sour and another slap met with Rowan's cheek.
Using his wand to tap out his speech he threatened, "You dare to interrupt? No, Rowan, you need to be taught a lesson."
Rowan, whose limbs were stuck to the stone, could not comprehend what he was saying. She did not know where she was, why Lucius was threatening her or what was going to happen to her.
She took in the structure of Lucius' wand; 14 and a half inches, mahogany, she thought. It was focused on her, its tip tickling her breathing space. Following her heavy eyes up it, she met with him.
He was looking down it, at her, his thoughts hidden behind the steely pupils. He was smiling again, that smug vexatious smile that you just wanted to wipe off his irritating face.
"Well?" She asked a little more boldly than she felt.
"Well what?" He asked, putt off. It seemed Lucius had been knocked of his track. Distracted, but by what?
Rowan snorted indignantly. She knew derision made the Malfoys mad and she wasn't going to give him an easy ride. If he wanted to become Voldemort's lap dog, fine, but he should definitely not expect her to take his shit lying down.
"You don't have a clue what your doing, Malfoy." She taunted, her voice rising. "You're pathetic and two-faced. You don't know what you want. None of you do. You're a disgrace to our kind."
Lucius paused momentarily. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively looking at her with such an air that Rowan could have slapped him right back. He smiled, his lips and eyes creasing.
"Oh Rowan," He hummed. "Rowan, Rowan, Rowan. How little you know." He tapped her shoulder patronizingly, allowing his eyes to travel down her body, still clad in its Hogwarts' uniform. "I know you too well, my red one."
"Don't." She whispered, almost inaudibly, trying to shift away from him. But this only made Lucius more conceited.
"Don't what?" He asked acidly. "Remind you of the truth? Or is it that name you dislike?" She flinched. "Ahh yes, my red one." He repeated. "I'm sorry Rowan, did I scare you?" He let out another low laugh. "Honestly girl, you should be over that by now, you're far too sensitive." He lengthened the last words, brushing his left hand over her.
Rowan realized she had stopped breathing. She gulped, noticing the way her chest was rising and falling much quicker than before.
Lucius watched her carefully, absorbing each little squirm under his experienced hand. He smirked lavishly, preparing his next attack.
"You see, my dear, your master decided to put me in charge of you for a while. He has far more important things to do than keep naughty schoolgirls in check." His hand had reached the edge of her skirt, it was circling tantalizingly making Rowan feel both desire and annoyance.
She lifted her head slightly, her limbs still frozen, she spoke. "No Lucius, this has nothing to do with Voldemort."
He stopped abruptly, taking his hand away from her leg and whipping it around her neck. He drew his head into the space created, making it stick out from his body in an odd fashion. "Really?" He asked silkily. "What is it to do with then?"
She could feel his hot breath meeting with her face. The answer was twirling around her mind, but she dare not emit it. Why? Because Lucius Malfoy was getting too close for her liking. He was running his hand through her hair, peering at her, her stomach twisted into a knot.
"Stop it." She said firmly, tensing. Lucius frowned sarcastically. "Oh come now, I know what you're thinking Miss Lennox." He did not stop. "You are wondering why I'm not ravishing you right now, aren't you? You're just waiting for me to slip my hand here, right here." She felt him placing his hand onto her leg again, moving it up towards the hem of her already short skirt.
"Come now Rowan, don't be a bad sport. After all, you are in my control now, my red one."
She was dreaming. That same sickly sweet aroma of nights before filled her senses. That same lilting song seeped into her open ears.
She wanted to reach out and grab it, embrace it, hold it close to her. It was like a comfort blanket that was always out of reach. Always in front of her but never quite there. If only she could catch it in a vial, being able to open it at any time like a juvenile music box. But something told her that freedom was too far away to simply reach out and clasp.
Rowans heavy eyelids stirred. They flickered open wearily, shying away from the real world. Her dream was pulling her backwards into that soft amicable environment, dragging her away from the harsh reality.
It was no good.
Her eyes made a second attempt to open.
This time it worked.
Reminiscent of a newborn lamb emerging from its mother, its head cowering away from the daylight, Rowan cautiously peeled her eyes open. She expected a wave of sunlight to blind and maim her. There was nothing except a low burning orange glow to the left.
She thought it was early, far too early to even consider getting up. Her eyes drifted away, back into her head. Today's timetable trickled before her, she reminded herself that she still had another hour and a half of Transfiguration to go.
It was the most boring of lessons, mainly because there seemed no point in being able to turn mice into teacups or bats into paperweights. If you wanted a teacup or a paperweight why not just buy one? Who would want to drink tea from a mouse anyway?
She amused herself with this rather random thought until a little niggle started to grow in her brain; She did not remember getting into bed.
Her eyes were still tight shut, her head was in a confused state. She mulled over her confusion slowly. Bed, yes she was in her bed, because she saw the light from the window. It was unfamiliar because she never got up that early. That explained it. Or did it?
She knew she had to be there, where else would she be? Well, there were possibilities but she could not remember seeing Draco last night either. So if she was not in his bed then she must be in her own.
Her confidence levels grew and she decided to test her theory once more. She forced her eyes to open again, they did so feeling a bit sticky. She quickly became adjusted to the light and managed to get her bearings.
Looking up, she expected to see the heavy drapes of her four-poster, its dark wood frame and a new more pinkish glow.
However, she did not.
Instead there was a cold, smooth ceiling made of some sort of grey stone. There was no framework, just vast open space. Tilting her eyes to the left she saw the same orange glow, now joined with the aroma of decay.
She froze, feeling a chill grip her limbs.
Straining her memory to produce some reason for her circumstances, she concentrated very hard on a spot above her. There was nothing. Her ability to recall events had taken a nosedive.
Frustrated she let out a low sigh. It whistled through the dank air, making her pause to watch its effect. Eventually she let her mind wander back to the sharp profile of Draco. It settled there, luxuriating in his imaginary presence. A warm fuzzy bloom grew in her stomach, but like all good things it came to an abrupt end.
Just as she was moving into yet another prospective position, she noticed the room they were in. It was a classroom, but not just anyone. She recognised it from somewhere, even in her fantasies. She blinked down hard, Draco vanished but a scrap of inspiration struck her sharply.
Green eyes shone from the darkness and she settled on one name; Potter.
She had not been with Draco but with Potter. Now, that would explain it, she though triumphantly. Haha. She had figured it out, beaten the memory barrier blocking her view.
Yes she had met with him, in a classroom. He had fallen for her story - their story. She had told her master her plan, he had wanted to hear it and how it went. So if she had already seen Potter she must have seen him.
A twittery feeling of unease snaked its way around her. She must have seen her master. She must have met with Voldemort last night, that was the only option.
As though this answer was the key to last night's mind lock - it clicked. The dark damp room with its rhythmical raindrops, the creaking floorboards, the searing in her scalp and mark. Instinctively, her left arm clinched as the remains of master's touch were felt, biting at her veins.
Her breathing became quicker, Rowan felt her heart pound heavily in her chest, making her stomach bruise and contort in agitation. Her eyes were filled wide with the image of the Deatheater he had called.
As she eroded the pleasantries she found the blackened bones of the true events. He had cursed her, head had felt rushed, she could not hear, like dead. He had turned her into a living corpse, still but barely breathing - the Corparius curse.
Now Rowan's mind went into overdrive, sights whizzed past her and theories built themselves into reputable fact. Voldemort had summoned Lucius because of his connections, she thought anxiously, he would take my body to my father - make some story up and that would be it. I would be dead.
I am dead.
She stiffened, trying to persuade her leaden limbs to stir, but they would not. There was only one thing for it, she thought, taking a shuddering breath she opened her eyes once more.
The stone walls, low and heavy bore down on her, the orange glow remained the same and that rotting putrid redolence still permeated the chamber. The truth smacked her swiftly - a punch from the darkness.
She was in a tomb, buried alive.
Rowan was in her family vault and that was her mother lying to the right of her. This was it, dead before her death. Her mind spiraled downwards searching for a plan, a way out, grasping, snatching, and clutching at basic human strategies. She grabbed one, opened her mouth, sucked in as much of the rancid air as possible and prepared to scream her lungs off.
An absurdly harsh blow smacked into her face. It stung and blinded Rowan, knocking her face onto the callous stone. She made out a relieved sigh through the bursts of anguish.
Fingers fastened themselves around her chin, snapping it in the opposite direction. Her eyes were wide again, staying open against her will. The stinging slipped away as her torturer became apparent, looming from the murky shadows.
Lucius Malfoy's angular face looked sternly back at her, a kind of burning glowing deep in his shaded grey eyes.
Her eyes were filled with doubt, she spluttered, spitting his name with difficulty as his fingers gripped her mouth together. His left eyebrow raised with delight, a delicious look of satisfaction forming on his face.
"Indeed, my red one." He said deliberately, looking for the reaction on his captive's face. It came with Rowan frowning slightly.
He released his grip with a sly chuckle. Rowan took more big gulps of acrid air.
"Wh.. you...but..what?" She stuttered, even more confused than she would be if her master was in front of her. "You!" She finally struck with indignation.
Lucius, now seated next to her on the stone block, bending into her face, smile conceitedly.
"Why, yes my dear." He deadened Rowan's refreshed questions by placing the tip of his right index finger onto her open mouth. Pausing to enjoy the sensation, he looked straight at her. "It had to be someone, Voldemort thought you'd appreciate it being me. After all, you are screwing my son - we have connections."
He mused the credibility of his own joke before going on languidly. "You see, Rowan, you've been a very bad girl. Not at all what we had expected of you. No, no. You have disobeyed your master."
Feeling the ripples of anger rising to the surface with his patronizing behaviour, she interrupted; "I didn't disobey anyone, and you know it." Her shout echoed throughout the chamber. Lucius' smile turned sour and another slap met with Rowan's cheek.
Using his wand to tap out his speech he threatened, "You dare to interrupt? No, Rowan, you need to be taught a lesson."
Rowan, whose limbs were stuck to the stone, could not comprehend what he was saying. She did not know where she was, why Lucius was threatening her or what was going to happen to her.
She took in the structure of Lucius' wand; 14 and a half inches, mahogany, she thought. It was focused on her, its tip tickling her breathing space. Following her heavy eyes up it, she met with him.
He was looking down it, at her, his thoughts hidden behind the steely pupils. He was smiling again, that smug vexatious smile that you just wanted to wipe off his irritating face.
"Well?" She asked a little more boldly than she felt.
"Well what?" He asked, putt off. It seemed Lucius had been knocked of his track. Distracted, but by what?
Rowan snorted indignantly. She knew derision made the Malfoys mad and she wasn't going to give him an easy ride. If he wanted to become Voldemort's lap dog, fine, but he should definitely not expect her to take his shit lying down.
"You don't have a clue what your doing, Malfoy." She taunted, her voice rising. "You're pathetic and two-faced. You don't know what you want. None of you do. You're a disgrace to our kind."
Lucius paused momentarily. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively looking at her with such an air that Rowan could have slapped him right back. He smiled, his lips and eyes creasing.
"Oh Rowan," He hummed. "Rowan, Rowan, Rowan. How little you know." He tapped her shoulder patronizingly, allowing his eyes to travel down her body, still clad in its Hogwarts' uniform. "I know you too well, my red one."
"Don't." She whispered, almost inaudibly, trying to shift away from him. But this only made Lucius more conceited.
"Don't what?" He asked acidly. "Remind you of the truth? Or is it that name you dislike?" She flinched. "Ahh yes, my red one." He repeated. "I'm sorry Rowan, did I scare you?" He let out another low laugh. "Honestly girl, you should be over that by now, you're far too sensitive." He lengthened the last words, brushing his left hand over her.
Rowan realized she had stopped breathing. She gulped, noticing the way her chest was rising and falling much quicker than before.
Lucius watched her carefully, absorbing each little squirm under his experienced hand. He smirked lavishly, preparing his next attack.
"You see, my dear, your master decided to put me in charge of you for a while. He has far more important things to do than keep naughty schoolgirls in check." His hand had reached the edge of her skirt, it was circling tantalizingly making Rowan feel both desire and annoyance.
She lifted her head slightly, her limbs still frozen, she spoke. "No Lucius, this has nothing to do with Voldemort."
He stopped abruptly, taking his hand away from her leg and whipping it around her neck. He drew his head into the space created, making it stick out from his body in an odd fashion. "Really?" He asked silkily. "What is it to do with then?"
She could feel his hot breath meeting with her face. The answer was twirling around her mind, but she dare not emit it. Why? Because Lucius Malfoy was getting too close for her liking. He was running his hand through her hair, peering at her, her stomach twisted into a knot.
"Stop it." She said firmly, tensing. Lucius frowned sarcastically. "Oh come now, I know what you're thinking Miss Lennox." He did not stop. "You are wondering why I'm not ravishing you right now, aren't you? You're just waiting for me to slip my hand here, right here." She felt him placing his hand onto her leg again, moving it up towards the hem of her already short skirt.
"Come now Rowan, don't be a bad sport. After all, you are in my control now, my red one."