And We Have Sinned
Chapter Six: Not a Matter of Luck
Author: Dizzy
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: WHOO HOO over 300 reviews! I love you guys! This chapter is a bit more
light-hearted at times, and there is a lot more
Hermione/Draco action. Again I've attempted to answer a few of your questions:
To those of you who said Desdemona resembled some kid on The Omen movies: I've never seen
any of those films, my tastes tend to run more towards cheesy romantic films and weird flicks
(Fight Club, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Amelie are among my favs). So the
resemblance is unintentional on my part.
Also I've never read any of K.A. Applegate's work. Although I did watch that show on Nick
about those kids who could change into animals or something with my little sister like twice.
Desdemona means (according to baby names.com): Demon Child. Hence the name. The reason
she's a..well girl, will be explained later on, maybe not in this fic, but definitely in the sequel
(yes there is a sequel coming). It is an important thing her being female in a male dominated
society, proud that you guys picked up on it!
This part is dedicated as always to Em, cause she's afraid of escalators.
And now on with the show.
~Apocalyptic and insane, my dreams will never change
You wanna be the one in control
You wanna be the one who's alive
You wanna be the one who's old
It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time.~ -Thirty Seconds to Mars "Edge of the Earth"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Manor was in as much a state of uproar as could be expected, given the fact that a majority
of it's occupants were either the cause, didn't care, or had been trained not too.
It had been Delora, a house-elf of considerable stature in the Manor who had discovered the old
mid-wife. She lay just beyond the new infant's pram, her necklace twisted about her neck, her
body blue and lifeless. It had been her face that left Delora shaking for hour's after, twisted and
ugly as it was, the mouth in an eternal silent scream, the eyes dead and still somehow
frightening.
Her body had been taken away to be buried in the village cemetery, there would be no funeral,
no service for she had no family, and the handful of people left in the village neither cared nor
wanted to know of her death.
Narcissa Malfoy had taken considerably longer. It had been Kylie this time who discovered her
missing. Her bedclothes tossed aside, the blood dried to a thick crust on the white sheets. Kylie
hadn't given a second thought to the open balcony doors, nor the curtains that billowed from the
night air outside. She had merely exited the room, and went to look for her mistress in another
part of the expansive Manor. Narcissa of course wasn't to be found.
It wasn't until the next morning that her body was discovered, floating face down, arms spread
out to
engulf the water's of the lake in a deathly embrace. It was Lucius who found her, and ordered
her body removed from the water. If he cared he showed only one sign, and that was to pour a
fresh glass of brandy and down it in one efficient gulp.
As for the cause of these death's she was happily ensconced in a makeshift nursery, almost the
size of a child a years past their birth. She could walk, and play, and parrot whatever was said to
her with only a few words missing from her replies. Her black hair had grown out now, falling
about a cherubic white face in soft curling tendrils, her eyes had lost none of their aged luster.
Around her neck, hanging to the floor, was the crucifix, cleaned hours earlier by Delora. It shone
in the light, looking like anything but the instrument of murder it was now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione had spent the better part of the morning aimlessly wandering the corridors of her
prison. They were twisted and woven in a pattern that would have taken a team of skilled
architects a hundred years to master. Sometimes the ceiling shot to the stars, going so high into
the air it was impossible to make it out through the dark, and sometimes it dipped so low she felt
the urge to duck despite her small stature.
It had been hours since she had seen anything familiar, which only told her the true size of the
Palace, it's name was well deserved. It truly was a Palace, from it's antique furniture covered in
layers of dust, the moth eaten velvet and holey silk drapes that hung from every barred window,
to it's all marble floors and expensive Wedgewood crystal.
Once, she was sure it had been beautiful, but something had taken all that beauty away, and
turned it into this dark place that seemed to suck the life from all who inhabited it. It was still
beautiful, in a way. Wondering about it's past, taking in the surroundings, kept her from thinking
about the events of the past few days, it made the weight in the back of her mind seem a bit
lighter. If only she could keep from thinking.
Her hands idly ran across the marble walls on either side of her, skipping over the grooves and
lines in the stone, comforted by it's coolness. She could remember doing something similar as a
child, running her hands along the bumpy concrete of her school's walls, trying to keep from
thinking
about the girl's who had more friends then her. But now, what she was trying to keep her
thoughts away from was so much more complicated then who she spent the lunch hour with,
now it was a matter of life and death.
She wasn't sure if she would ever get back to the small fraction of space the little group stuck to,
and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Here it was quite, here it wasn't so dreary. The light that
came in from the huge arched windows was better here, unobstructed by heavy drapes, for the
ones across these windows were in far worse condition. So she walked on.
She opened doors, leaning her weight against those stuck from too many years of going
unopened, peeking into the abandoned rooms. They were all basically the same. Bedrooms
beside
private parlors, private parlors beside private studies. Once in awhile there was an area for
entertaining, with heavily cushioned sofas one could get lost in, and the high-backed armchairs
that seemed to reign supreme throughout the house. But everywhere there was an attention to
detail, for not to long ago someone had loved this house. Loved it enough to buy Wedgewood
and
expensive art, both still relatively clean given the newness. Once someone had tried to breathe
life here, but someone had failed and it had fallen again into disrepair.
True to Draco's words there were no doors or unbarred window's leading to the outside, and
while there was a strange absence of magical artifacts, the feeling in it spoke of the Dark Arts.
But
she had checked for doors and windows to free them, and that was better then just assuming.
It was a good three hours before she finally reached the end, her progress would have taken only
a few minutes if she hadn't gone so slowly, or stopped to explore, but she had finally reached
what seemed to be the end. The twisting corridor had finally stopped. At it's end was the same
pair of heavy oak doors present at the entrance to every other important room in the house and
there was nothing else. Her hand pressed against the handle in the middle, turning the knob
there, and she pushed it
open.
What she saw beyond the door made her breath fly out in a whoosh of gasped surprise. Her eyes
widened and she stepped further into the room, the door falling shut behind her.
It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. A room of crystal, the domed glass ceiling
curved down to full size windows that stretched the length and height of the room. Instead of the
usual wrought iron bars of sturdy black, curving stems of steel roses wove back and forth across
the walls of glass, curling up to the peak of the dome where it swirled.
The snow had settled on the ceiling, clinging to it. The dim sunlight that peeked through
gray clouds made it twinkle, giving more light to the room then Hermione had seen in what felt
like years.
The stone was the same smooth marble as the rest of the Palace, but here it was bright, shiny,
and somehow warmer, it stretched the length of the circular room, completely bare until one
reached the walls.
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. It only got better. Along the wall of glass in large black
boxes were what had to be a thousand different types of flowers, gardenias, roses, hyacinths,
sprigs of lavender, every flower Hermione could possibly imagine lined the length of the entire
room, save for the small space directly in front of her where instead of the black boxes of
flowers there was a silver rectangular box of unknown purpose.
"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, her hand moving from her mouth to her cloak, clutching the
metal clasp in her hands.
It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, and it was situated right at the midst of hell.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco had almost allowed himself to sleep. His eyes had fluttered closed and his head had sunk
lower into his hand. The words on the page had started blurring together hours ago.
It was this moment, this wonderful moment of peace when Hermione decided to ruin everything.
The doors to the library burst open. His surprise sent his hand shooting out, his head fell down
onto the table, his chin smacking the oak. He winced, and warily opened one eye. She wasn't in
trouble, it was not the hurried gaze of someone who was frightened, but the excited bounce of
someone who has a secret to share.
"What IS IT?" He was beyond grumpy. He hadn't slept in two days, he had every reason to be a
bit cranky.
"You have to see this."
Hermione had already raced around the table, yanking his arm up, tugging on it ineffectually.
She tried again, attempting to yank him up from his seat, but Draco was not a small boy and
Hermione was not a big girl. He looked at her, his annoyance evident in every plane of his face,
and especially in the angry tick of his jaw.
"Come on, it's important," she urged. Draco remained unmovable, regarding her with annoyed,
sleep-weary eyes, and a petulant expression. Hermione sighed, the excitement over her discovery
only increasing her frustration at him.
"I was so close to getting to sleep," Draco was saying. "So close, and you ruined it."
Hermione ignored him, trying again to give a tug on his arm.
"You're not gong to believe what I've found," she said. "Come on."
Annoyed Draco shook her arm off, and stood, brushing the sleeve of his shirt off, straightening
the creases in the sleeve.
"Fine," he snapped. Hermione had already grabbed his hand and was making for the doors, her
voice rising in excitement as she babbled on about diamonds and flowers or something. Draco
closed his eyes, wondering if it was possible to sleep while being dragged along.
He had almost managed this feat, despite the abrupt twists and turns, and the determined pace at
which Hermione intended he walk, her hand clasped with his, fingers laced around him. It was
almost pleasant, strolling along the corridors, him trusting her to lead him, eyes closed, trying to
snatch back those last vestiges of sleep.
She walked so fast they were practically running, the pace much easier for him to manage at
length then her, due to his longer legs, and they walked for many minutes.
"Where are we going?" he asked after a bit. His eyes opened, and Hermione had turned her head,
still walking, to regard him for a minute, the first glimpse of a smile overtaking her
face.
"You'll see," she said mysteriously and continued to yank him along. He contented himself with
giving her hand a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze, and closing his eyes again. He trusted her
to lead him without injury, and it was a rare thing to be able to.
It was only a few minutes more before she suddenly stopped. Hands still clasped she let out a
tiny noise of excited anticipation and twisted the handle in the middle of the door, letting it
swing open. She yanked him inside.
Draco opened his eyes, and then closed them again. For surely nothing this beautiful could exist
in a place such as the Winter Palace. Hermione gave another tug on his hand, prompting him to
reopen his eyes. He did.
The splendor of the room was not something he could put into words, and he found his mouth
moving as if to make them, but lacking the ability to form them. Hermione gave a smug,
triumphant grin beside him, as if to say "Didn't I tell you it as worth it?". Draco's eyes flew
about the room, taking in it's architecture, it's beauty, it's warmth and light. They traveled over
the exotic species of flowers, over the glass walls bright with the little sunlight that peeked
through the gray clouds.
He had heard of this place, remembered it from his daydreams and the stories his mother had
told him as a boy. But never in all his wildest imaginings had it been this lovely, and never had
he allowed himself to believe it was real.
"God," he whispered. Hermione nodded, even though he wasn't paying her the least bit of
attention, she'd had much the same reaction, and could appreciate his wonder. Even after seeing
it, and taking it in for a liberal amount of time, the room still took her breath away.
"It's their room," Draco whispered, his hand clutched her's tighter. So caught up was she in the
increased pressure, and the thrill that went up her arm from it that she almost didn't register his
words.
"Whose?"
Draco looked at her, his eyes wide with wonder, sparkling with disbelief, and Hermione's breath
caught. There WAS something more beautiful then this place, and she never would have
believed
it before.
"Lancelot and Guinevere's," he murmured. Draco released her hand, and Hermione felt a flare
of disappointment. Instead she hugged her arms to her chest, watching him. He walked across
the length of the room, his hand grazing the flowers, lightly brushing their petals, running across
the black boxes they lived in. It moved upwards, to press against the cold glass of the walls,
running along the length of the steel roses that caged them inside of this beautiful prison.
"I didn't think it was real," Draco admitted. "I mean they're just character's from a story right?"
Hermione nodded, curious, and more then a bit confused, but thirsting for knowledge as always.
"My mother used to sit with me, when my father was away and tell me the story of Camelot, and
the Lady of the Lakes," he went on. "And she told me of after."
"And what does that have to do with this place?" Hermione asked. Draco gave her a smirk.
"I'm getting there," he said, a bit annoyed by her impatience. It was after all a story, and
deserved to be told as such.
"After the King discovered Lancelot and Guinevere's treachery, he ordered Guinevere burned at
the stake for treason, and Lancelot had fled in order to save his own life," Draco said. "But just
as Guinevere was about to be put to death Lancelot showed up and saved her."
Hermione sighed.
She knew this part already, but Draco was not to be deterred. Instead, he grabbed her hand,
pulling her down to the cold marble, where they sat, legs crossed as he told the tale he had heard
so many times. "Lancelot saved her, but it was only a few minutes before they were both
captured again, and brought before Arthur. Arthur loved them both very much, and he would
have rather died then hurt them, but their crime was considered treason and if he had let them go
free he would have been considered a weak ruler indeed, leaving his beautiful kingdom at risk.
So he ordered that they both be put to death the next morning," Draco smiled now. "But during
the night he stole away to the prison and told them to flee the kingdom, giving them the means
to escape. He told them to go to Merlin, who would help them, and then he wished both of them
goodbye. He was killed of course later, soft-hearted fool."
Hermione winced at this, but he didn't see it and continued on.
"So they went to Merlin, and bade him to give them a sanctuary, free from the anger of those
who loved Arthur enough to kill them both for their treachery. Merlin loved Arthur as well, and
had seen what lay in his future, and while it angered him, he did as Arthur bid and helped
them." Draco motioned around him again. "This place, is located out of time and reality, in a
purely magical realm, untouched by any other's then those who have the keeping of it. " He
smiled then. "I don't know how the Malfoy's came into possession of it, and I don't much care."
Hermione nodded, understanding, but wanting him to continue with how this room proved the
tale his mother had told him.
"Merlin was angry at Lancelot and Guinevere for what they had done, but he was bound to serve
Arthur, so he led them to Ynys Wyth, or "The Dragon's Isle" and in this magical realm built for
them a palace and a prison, untouchable to all that sought them." Hermione's mouthed dropped
open.
"That's horrible," she whispered. Draco nodded.
"He was pretty pissed," he agreed. "The place was as it is now apparently, dark, forbidding and
utterly miserable, with no way out unless you have the magical means, which Lancelot and
Guinevere did not, being muggles," he said the word with a bit of the old disdain, head tilted up,
scanning the room once more. "My mother told me that because he was not an entirely cruel
man he gave them one reprieve, a place in their prison of beauty and happiness. I think that's
this place," Hermione nodded in agreement, she could see that. Just being her made her heart
and her head feel lighter.
"They died here, on the same day, within the same hour," Draco whispered, "And Merlin buried
them with Arthur, so the three could be together forever." His eyes caught Hermione's and for a
moment they were trapped in each other's gazes, the beauty of the room overtaking them.
It was several minutes before Hermione blushed, ducking her head and looking away.
"That's...that's a very nice story," she said lamely. Draco smirked at her again, pleased at having
unnerved her. He pushed himself to his feet, his attention caught by the same bright silver box
that had interested her before.
He made his way over to it. It's metal surface was covered in etched drawings, of young lovers
locked in a timeless embrace, whirling away to unheard music. He moved himself behind it, and
saw what appeared to be a bright gold lever, small and easily missed. With the curiosity that
comes from being denied nothing in life he had no reserves about pushed it down.
It was several moments before anything happened, and Draco felt that keen sense of
disappointment born of anticipating something exciting and being failed. He shrugged,
and started back to Hermione, and then the music started.
Hermione gasped, her eyes flying from Draco to the box, which sat just as it had, but despite it's
unmoved appearance something had happened, and music filled the room.
Draco looked just as surprised as she, his eyes turning to the box. The melody that seemed to
come not from the box but from the room itself, was beautiful, melancholy and sweet. And the
feel of it seemed to overtake them.
Wordlessly, as if driven by something Draco couldn't quite understand he slowly made his way
to her, lifting her hand. Hermione nodded her assent, not knowing what, in her head, she was
agreeing to, but feeling that she did. She couldn't speak, and knew he couldn't either. Silently he
drew her into his arms, hand at her waist, her hand clasped in his, feeling the warmth of him.
And then they begin to dance, controlled by something, the music perhaps, but whatever it was,
it was wonderful.
The room was made for dancing, all open space, with no furniture to stop them, and the music
filled it perfectly.
Hermione had never danced like this in her life, but somehow she knew how. It was a waltz of
sorts, not the old-fashioned kind that involved leaving the embrace of your partner, but the kind
where you were lost in each other, clutching without being very close, but still it was intimate.
Draco's silver eyes burned into her own hazel ones, confused, but pleased, and his face mirrored
her own. She couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted to, something was driving them to do
this.
He turned her expertly, every bit the leading man, and she fit in his arms perfectly. His hand
clasped her own gently, the hand at her waist burning through the fabric of her white gown. They
whirled to the music, locked in each other's gazes. Something swelled within them, and still they
danced. Draco's fingers at her waist twitched imperceptibly and for one wild fleeting moment
she
feared that the spell was broken and he was going to leave her, but he only clutched a bit tighter.
They twirled, and moved with easy grace, with no concept of time or place, only each other. She
couldn't find the voice to speak, and she hadn't the need to, for if she had the beautiful moment
of whirling in his arms would be broken. It felt so comfortable here, moving across the marble
floor to this melody, with him. Her lips curved into a smile, and while his face remained the
same impassive mask it always was, she could see the same in his eyes.
And then the music stopped, and they froze, still locked in the dance. His eyes searched her face,
running over the skin he knew so well by now, brushing by her eyes, the arch of her eyebrows,
her full cheeks, and then it rested on her lips. Hermione knew he was going to kiss her, just as he
knew, and before he could check himself he had done it. Hermione's eyes fell closed.
His lips brushed hers softly, once, then twice, and then when they came back again for a third
time they caught hers. Hermione felt his hand dropped from her own, joining it's mate on her
waist, and she responded in kind, her arms slipping up the soft fabric of his shirt, over the hard
muscles of his chest, and around his neck.
His lips moved across hers, soft but firm, memorizing their contours, and then those beautiful
full lips of her's parted, and the kiss deepened. They were clutching at each other now,
desperate. The kiss exploding from a few chaste brushing of lips to full on ardor. It sent her
reeling, her senses flush with panic, with excitement, and with something she couldn't place.
Her arms pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as he assaulted her lips.
And then it was over. Draco yanked himself away, out of her grasp out of her reach, and when
she opened her eyes she was met by his wild-eyed expression, a mix of confusion and regret. She
swallowed.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he said, voice ragged, his chest heaving. Hermione
opened her mouth to respond, but he was already gone, closed off again. He brushed by her,
making his way to the door. Hermione wanted to call him back, to tell him that it was okay, to
plead with him not to shut down again, but she couldn't find her voice, and before she could the
door had already closed and he was gone.
Hermione stared dully at the room, it's beauty not lost on her even now. Her lips still burned,
and she was still trying to catch her breath. He really shouldn't have done that, because now, she
wasn't sure she could forget it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lucius looked at the girl, and suppressed a shudder, of fear, of dread, of disgust. All of these and
none of them at the same time. She looked innocent enough, with her curls of deepest black,
playing with some old toy of Draco's on the floor as if she had not a care in the world. But she
was not innocent, and she was not a child. She was so much more then that.
She had smiled up at him, her white teeth shining in the light, and it had been a smile that sent
shiver's down his spine. She had clutched his hand and tried ineffectually to pull him down, and
when that didn't work she had fair yanked him to his position on the floor. She was too strong
for a girl her size, and as she grinned across the floor at him, Lucius knew that she was stronger
in other areas too. Her aura reeked of power, and more then once she had managed to pull
something to her without even touching it, it was slight and almost imperceptible, but the bear
she had been amusing herself with seemed to slide itself across the floor when it was too far
away. She was very special indeed.
She was growing tremendously fast, just as he had been told she would, the size of a small
toddler now, able to form short sentences and demand what she wanted in a cute 4 year old's
voice that set his teeth on edge.
She had insisted that he join her for this game, and he was trying to keep himself as far away as
was possible without evoking her ire. He had things to do, Narcissa's funeral to see too for one,
but yet he found himself playing stupid games with a child. The truth was she frightened him,
and Lucius was not a man that was easily frightened, especially not by a baby. But it was a fact
that could not be escaped.
"You hold teddy," the girl commanded, and she placed the brown fluffy object in his hands, her
eyes twinkling. He looked away, those eyes were what did it, they were what caused the fear.
They were bright and violet and too wise for a girl of her size, eyes that would have looked
better on the mistress of the devil, eyes that were as old as evil. They seemed to calculate, taking
in their surroundings, and finding them lacking but tolerable. Her eyes had taken him in, and
been pleased, he was a man who would do her bidding, a man who could serve a purpose. He
was a man who feared her, and that was the very best game of all.
"Have you, ah-" Lucius felt suddenly stupid talking to this little girl, he felt like an idiot for
fearing her. Who could be afraid of a child who wanted nothing more then for him to play with
her teddy bear. "-Have you decided on a name for this...bear?" He asked. Desdemona seemed to
give
this some serious consideration, her brow furrowing. Apparently she had not. She sat there for a
few moments, silent, her eyes roaming over the bear clutched in his hands, as if it could tell her
it's true name. Finally she spoke.
"I will name him Nija," the girl pronounced seriously. Lucius nodded, thinking it to be the
stringing together of random syllables, as children were prone to do. "Mommy say's Nija is a
very
good name."
Lucius frowned. As far as he knew Desdemona's last glimpse of her mother had
been at birth, and Narcissa had certainly not told her that.
"Your mommy didn't tell you that," he said sternly, feeling silly trying to teach a child to be
honest while holding a teddy bear. Desdemona nodded firmly.
"Yes she did, you've never met my mommy," the girl said. "You will soon though!" Her voice
was cheerful as she took Nija from him, clutching it too her.
"I want food, you will give me food now," she grabbed his hand, tugging at him. Lucius sighed,
he was not a babysitter, but despite his anger he found himself being led, hunched over, by this
slip of a girl. Voldemort had been very clear when he'd said he wanted his child taken care of,
and Lucius was positive that the girl would make sure he did just that.
His hand itched where she clutched it, it almost burned and he resisted the urge to snatch it away
and cradle it against himself. She was just a girl he told himself, she couldn't hurt him. But
Lucius wasn't so sure.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie had been sitting there for what felt like ever, in the room's only chair. She had never
ventured in here before, she wasn't sure anyone had, there was no reason to. No one important
had ever died at Malfoy Manor, until now.
Her mistress, her good, kind mistress was dead, and Kylie couldn't bring herself to cry for her.
Because it was better this way. She felt numb, cold, and somehow relieved. Narcissa would
suffer no more, and that was a comfort at least.
Kylie's mind had flashed through all her memories of the woman, trying to find something,
anything that would point to the act as wrong. But there was nothing. If anything Narcissa had
done what most people were too cowardly to do, and now she was free.
But still Kylie couldn't move. She could only sit, staring at the woman, who seemed to be
sleeping peacefully on the high stone slab, her hands laid on her stomach, her eyes closed.
Unseeing forever.
She had known something was wrong the minute she had stepped into the room and found
Narcissa gone. But she hadn't known how wrong. Kylie took a shuddering breath and tried to
force herself to move, but it was pointless, she could only sit and stare. Narcissa had been good
to her, and while she had been lost in a world all her own, she had never been cruel, giving Kylie
as much freedom as she could. And now she was gone, and Kylie was trapped her, alone, with
him.
Lucius had started his attentions years ago, when she was barely past the age of twelve and he
had never ceased. She could always tell when he would come for her, she could hear it in the
quick stride of his boots, see it in his darkened eyes. It was not an everyday occurrence, he was
not a lustful man, but it was regular and horrible.
At first she had fought him, clawing and kicking, and never had he ordered her to stop. Even
though it was in his power to do so. If anything he seemed to enjoy it when she fought. So she
had stopped, and resorted to lying dead, and lifeless as he continued his work. She wasn't sure
which he preferred, but he seemed to enjoy both.
She shuddered in fear, in revulsion. She knew the only thing that had held him back from
keeping Kylie in his own chambers had been Narcissa. Kylie believed that at one time he had
loved the woman, who lay dead now in this darkened room, and that it was his
distant love for her that held him back from forcing Kylie to be everything he wanted her to be.
It was his love for Narcissa that kept their visits sparse. And now Narcissa was gone, and there
was nothing to stand in his way.
Kylie was so absorbed in her thoughts, so intent on trying to work out a way to keep him away
that she didn't notice the door opening. She didn't notice the tiny figure enter the room.
Desdemona looked at the girl for a moment, head cocked in curiosity, clutching the bear in her
arms. A new playmate, she thought happily and put on her best, most-winning smile.
"Hello!" Kylie tore her eyes from Narcissa. She resisted the urge to shriek in surprise, and
instead turned her
gaze full force onto the girl.
"Hello," Kylie whispered. She felt it again, that wave of evil, washing over her, dulling her
senses with fear. It was impossible. She had been just a baby yesterday and now...but Kylie knew
it was true. The girl looked innocent enough, clutching a teddy bear and smiling at her.
"Wanna see a trick?" The girl asked eagerly. Kylie wanted nothing of the sort, she wanted to
leave, but she felt herself nodding anyway. It felt as if her head were being pulled by strings and
her eyes widened. The girl just smiled and held up a hand.
Desdemona snapped her fingers, and Kylie shrieked.
Where a girl had stood moments before there was nothing but a faint wisp of curling black
smoke, that twisted and writhed it's way to the ceiling before it disappeared.
"Over here silly," the girl said and Kylie shot out of her chair, whirling around. The girl
continued to grin, pleased. She raised her hand again and snapped.
"Over here," Kylie whirled again, her heart pounding. The girl was to the right now, on the other
side of Narcissa. Kylie swallowed, teeth clenched together to keep from screaming, that was
what she wanted to do. The wave continued to wash over her, with every flash of the child's
eyes, with every snap of her fingers. She wanted to run.
"Want to play a game?" The girl asked, she did not snap her fingers again, but instead clutched
the bear tighter, walking around the stone block, her head cocked to one side again. Kylie shook
her
head, continuing to walk slowly backwards towards the door. Kylie never took her eyes off the
child, it would have been a mistake.
Desdemona pouted for a moment.
"Well *I* do," she said. "What should we play?" Kylie knew she shouldn't be afraid of this
child, with her high little girl voice, and her curl's, and her teddy bear. But Kylie was certain she
had never been more afraid of anyone in her life. She took another step backwards to the door.
"I-" she sputtered. "I have work to do. I can't play with you."
The girl shook her head, resting her chin on the top of the bear's head.
"I don't think you do," Desdemona's eyes flashed. "You WILL play with me." Kylie took
another step backwards, almost tripping over her feet. Her hand was outstretched, reaching back
for the handle of the door. The little girl was eyeing her, in an almost predatory manner and her
feet itched to run, her heart beat against her ribs and she was certain the little girl could hear it. It
thundered in Kylie's ears at least, blocking out all rationale.
"It'll be a fun game," Desdemona promised. "All you have to do is run." Those horrible violet
eyes flashed. Her voice, with it's high-pitched quality was suddenly menacing. "Now."
And Kylie did just that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was coming back, the dark was rushing in, and the pain of it made her legs go out. Hermione
crumbled to the floor of the beautiful room. She had been so certain they couldn't touch her
here, but here they were.
Her fingers clutched at smooth marble, and her body shuddered as the piercing hit her again.
Violet, she was seeing violet. Purple and swirling, flashing in the light, the black in the middle
of it growing, shrinking, only to grow again.
And then the picture changed, her body spasming. There was blood. There was always blood, it
covered her hands
and dripped onto the floor, slick and hot it ran in rivulets down the black of her dress.
The blood flashed and now it was something else. It was a puppy, cute and black, curled into a
ball on the same marble floor. But there was something wrong. Hermione bit back a scream as
she realized what. Dead, the puppy was dead, split open lying in a pool of blood.
Her eyes closed and the picture changed again. A table, she was lying on a table, one made of
steel, cool and hard against her skin, and then there was pain, exploding from her hand.
Hermione turned her head, and she had just made out the hilt of a dagger before the picture
changed again.
She was floating, supported by a cloud of green mist. Like a crucifixion. Her body shuddered
again, and the picture changed.
Black hair, long legs, flashing violet eyes, and evil, pure evil.
Hermione screamed, and then there was black.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco had wanted to go apologize again, to explain WHY he was sorry. He was certain she
would get the wrong idea, so he had turned around. He was not a courageous boy, courage was
for people like the Gryffindor's, but he was not nice either, and look how much he had stuck to
that principle lately.
He had just wanted to explain it to her. They were different and he couldn't do that to her. She
was all goodness and purity, always doing the right thing. And he was a child of a Death Eater,
destined to take over the Malfoy Family reigns and steer his family to the pinnacle of the Dark
Lord's power. It was his destiny, it's what he had been trained from birth to do. No matter how
much he didn't want to. He couldn't let her taint herself like that. Her stupid Gryffindor pals
would never forgive her, and if he ever saw them again he could be sure they'd kill him.
Then there was his father. He didn't even want to think about what his father would do to her.
Especially now that he had the means to do whatever he liked. Draco shuddered.
He had just started back, walking slowly, knowing that she was still there, and if she wasn't he
would meet her in the hallway. And then he heard her scream.
So he did what he seemed to be doing a lot lately. He ran to her.
Hermione looked dead when he entered the room, and for a moment he couldn't move. A
thousand horrible feelings ran through him, one after another, circling and coming back full
force. She couldn't be dead.
His heart
pounded and he was frozen. But she was still thankfully breathing, and it was that first
shuddering breath that
set him to action.
He gathered the unconscious girl in his arms, clutching her to him. The visions, it had to be the
visions. There was nothing else here that he could see, and she was basically okay. He breathed
in the
scent of her hair. She was okay. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't been. It
was too much to think about.
"Hermione," he whispered. She didn't respond, but he really hadn't expected her too. He had
seen his mother like this more then once. He rose to his feet, carrying her with him, cradled in
the safety of his arms. He wouldn't need to apologize, she would understand. She had too. And
truthfully he didn't really think she cared overmuch at the moment, she had far more important
things to worry about.
So he walked, fully intent on putting her in her bed, and he hoped that she wouldn't dream. She
had enough nightmares when she was awake.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie's feet were burning, and more then once she had fallen, tripping over the long hem of her
skirt. She had bashed her knees on the floor, skidded into furniture, and cried out each and every
time she heard the giggle, and the snapping of fingers. But no one had come. No one would help
her.
Kylie had been scared many times in her life, she had lived in fear for most of it, but never had it
been like this. Pure, unadulterated emotion, with no comfort to be sought anywhere.
She had started crying in the middle of it, her chest heaved with the sobs and the great gasps of
air, her sides ached with the exertion. But still she ran, sometimes she crawled if her legs gave
way, and still no one had come. Kylie's face was sticky with the tears she hadn't been able to
wipe away, her hands raw from smacking them against the stone when she fell, and still the girl
chased her.
Like an invisible ghostly specter she had followed Kylie from room to room, down the dark
twisting corridors, never to be seen, only heard. The faint giggle, a gasp of delight, and the snap
of her fingers. She was always there, and Kylie couldn't get away, she couldn't find peace.
Each room was empty, the furniture undisturbed, but she had sensed the little girl's presence and
so she ran on. Slipping and sliding across smooth stone, tripping and falling to whack it dully,
and then getting back up again.
Kylie rounded a corner, barely dodging the full suit of armor in the new corridor. She was
burning, and she was so tired, her throat aching from her gasping. But still the girl wouldn't stop.
"Don't slow down silly," a cheerful voice intoned. "Our game isn't over yet." Kylie felt another
sob tear
out of her chest, but she was too consumed with the burning in her legs, and the sharp stabs of
pain in her sides to worry too much about it. Tears, hot and wet ran down her face, and she had
ripped her skirt somewhere along the way. And no one would help her.
She'd screamed and pleaded, till her throat was raw but it did no good. No one came, the house-
elves had ducked away, the other servants were in hiding. And she was alone.
Kylie felt the fabric of her dress tangle again, and she closed her eyes as her body pitched
forward. It didn't matter now, she was too tired to care. She smacked the stone with a dull
thump, banging her knee against it. She just wanted peace.
"You lose," Desdemona cried happily, she could see that Kylie had no intention of getting up.
Kylie
rested her cheek against the cool stone, shaking from exertion, her breath hitching from the sobs,
shuddering from the great heaving gasps she took. Her head was swimming, and little dots of red
flashed in front of her eyes, blurry with tears. She wanted to vomit, but it was just too much
effort to get up.
"Desdemona," somebody snapped, and Kylie knew she had never been glad to hear that voice
until now. Her eyes fell closed in gratitude, and if she could of picked herself up she would
have kissed his robes. Lucius glared at the little girl, who was doing her best to look sorry but
failing miserably, her lips kept twisting into a smile. "Come with me." Lucius held out his hand,
and the girl skipped over obediently, clutching her teddy in her hands. Lucius cast a look over to
Kylie, who lay sprawled on the floor, her hair stuck to the sticky lines of tears on her face, her
elbow bruised and bloodied. He swallowed and resisted the urge to smack the little child.
It was better that he refrained, for he had no urge to die today.
"Where are we going?" Desdemona held up her arms, and Lucius obediently bent to pick her up.
"We're going to see my son," Lucius said, taking a giant step over the prone form of Kylie on the
floor. "Draco."
"Draco," the girl whispered. Desdemona was quite certain it was the most beautiful name she
had ever heard. She had been told by the whisper in her ear that it was important. She cast one
look at the Kylie over Lucius's shoulder and smiled. It had been a
fun game, she decided. Very fun.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco could feel it when they entered. It was like every hair on his neck stood proudly to
attention, and a cold unlike any that he had ever known swept over him. His skin rose into little
goose bumps and he shivered.
Hermione felt it too. She had been silent since he had found her, peaceful in her bed. Then she
started moaning, violent shudders wracking her body, jerking her about the bed. And no matter
how many times he replaced the heap of blankets she just threw them off again.
Draco stood, turning towards the door. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. Lucius Malfoy
was here, and he had brought someone with him. Draco had seen Voldemort before, he had
bowed and scraped to him, and he knew his aura. This was not Voldemort. This was a different
evil.
So Draco waited, standing before the door, placing his body between it and Hermione. She was
too weak now, Lucius couldn't take her now. And Draco would try to keep him from doing that.
He didn't have to wait long, it was just a few minutes before he heard the heavy boots outside
of the room, the bang of the door flying open across the hall. Probably Lucius throwing it open,
looking for him.
And then his own door flew open.
Lucius took a step back, as if surprised that he had actually found the boy. Then Lucius regained
composure, shifting the girl in his arms a bit, she was squirming, turning her head to look at his
son.
"Father," Draco gave him a nod, his eyes flying from his father's cold face to that of the girl.
Draco swallowed. She was looking at him as if he was a very tasty bit of meat, her small mouth
twisted into a smile of such complete ruthless joy that it almost floored him. He knew the cause
of his fear.
Lucius wasted no times with pleasantries, there would be no point. He simply set Desdemona on
the ground, and turned to his son, his expression grim. Draco forced himself to tear his eyes from
the child, who clutched her bear, her eyes raking his body, taking him in, her eyes flashing.
Something was wrong. Draco turned his eyes on his father, who was trying to look remorseful,
and failing miserably.
"Your mother," Lucius bit out. "Is dead."
Draco's heart stopped. His mind went blank. His first thought was that Lucius was lying, that
perhaps this was some kind of sick test. His second was that it was true, and if it was he was as
good as dead. With Narcissa out of the picture he had no one left to protect him, and that left
Lucius
free to seek a new wife, free to seek a new heir. His third thought was that he knew the cause.
His eyes flew to the little girl. His new sister it seemed. Draco suppressed a bitter laugh. It
looked
as if Lucius hadn't gotten his new heir after all. A female inheriting was impossible. It also
looked as if his mother had been having a little dalliance behind his father's back. No one in the
Malfoy line had hair that dark, or eyes that horrible. The girl just smiled up at him, and took a
step forward.
"How," Draco had thought he was under control. But his voice broke, it sounded high and
desperate even to his own ears, laced with unshed tears. Tears that would never be shed if he
could help it.
"She took her own life," Lucius said coldly. "I knew there was a weakness for that in her
family."
Draco felt his legs quiver, threatening to give out, but he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction of
seeing him be weak as well. He would be weak in private thank you very much. So he did the
only thing he could, he squared his shoulders, threw his head back and returned his father's gaze.
It was typical that Lucius didn't care.
"It's inconvenient," Lucius was saying. "I would have liked for her ashes to be placed in the
family
tomb, but that is impossible of course."
"Of course," Draco bit out. Suicide was no joke in the Malfoy family, many of it's ancestors had
taken their lives, and as such, they had been cut out of the history books completely, leaving
huge
gaps in time and unresolved endings to many of the stories. They were buried in unmarked
graves, in unconsecrated ground. Draco resisted the urge to laugh again. Suicide was a sin,
unforgivable in a family of sinners. The hilarity didn't escape him.
"I will come for you tomorrow, I assume you'd like to be present at her cremation," Lucius said.
Draco didn't nod, he just stared at his father an unspoken yes passing between them. Lucius
cleared his throat and gave a little nod. "Right then. I'll bring Kylie back after she
has...recovered... to watch over the girl." Draco swallowed. After Kylie had recovered, the words
rang in his head, weaving with Your mother is dead like some kind of horrible song.
Desdemona, oblivious to the conversation had crossed the room in tiny toddler's steps, clutching
her bear. She hadn't taken her eyes off of Draco, he was beautiful. Just as her mother had said.
Beautiful and hers.
Wordlessly she held up her bear to him. Draco tore his eyes from his father's and looked at the
girl, solemnly holding up her teddy bear, he recognized it as one of his. He wanted to step back
from her, revulsion and anger making his stomach churn as he looked at her. He didn't take the
bear and after a few moments the girl gave up, and let the bear fall forgotten to the floor.
"This is Desdemona," Lucius motioned to the girl.
"Your daughter," Draco bit out, and was atakenback by the dry laugh his father emitted at his
words.
"Yes, MY daughter," Lucius shook his head. "You're not that stupid Draco." Draco didn't
respond, for the girl had taken ahold of his cloak, running small pale fingers across it's fabric,
clutching at him.
"I want him." Desdemona turned back to look at the man who had played with her before. She
still couldn't pronounce his name so she had taken to calling him Lu-Lu. He didn't seem pleased
with this, so she had decided to call him nothing at all. That is, after all, what he was. Nothing.
"We take him with us," she commanded.
Lucius shook his head. "You can't have him." That was a mistake. The little girl dropped her
hand from Draco's robes, and turned slowly. Lucius swallowed. Her feet were an elbow's width
apart, her body squared and ready for something, and her eyes flashed, dangerous and angry.
"I WILL have him," her cheerful little girl's voice had deepened, and it grated on his nerves even
more now,
sending a shiver down his spine. Lucius felt suddenly very small, and could only nod.
"We'll...talk to your father," Lucius forced the words out, absently rubbing his hands, sweaty
now, against his cloak. But this seemed to appease the girl, for she nodded and visibly relaxed,
all the anger fading from her slight form. She turned to look at Draco.
"Soon we can play together," she promised. Draco swallowed, and flinched as her hand reached
up to grasp his own for a second before she dashed back to Lucius. His fingers burned where she
had
touched them, a slight itching between the digits.
"We'll come for you tomorrow," Lucius pulled the little girl into his arms, and she gave Draco a
parting glance, full of promise before they swept from the room. He waited a few minutes, until
he was quite sure they had gone.
And then Draco lost his control.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Voldemort had returned sooner then expected, but it was necessary. His mistress had told him to
return and see to his daughter. Desdemona was everything he had expected, he could feel her
power, he knew her strength and relished in it. She was apart of him, and she would aid his rise
to glory.
He could feel her, he knew where she was, and his feet unconsciously made their way towards
Lucius Malfoy's study, desperately seeking her. Yes, she was apart of him, the missing part. And
he would give her everything he could. His Dark Little Princess.
He wasted no time opening the door, and his eyes sought her out, ignoring his servant, who stood
and bowed respectfully.
She was beautiful, her hair the same silky black his had been in his youth, and she knew him the
moment he walked in the room. Desdemona's tiny head peeked around Lucius's large form,
eagerly seeking his eyes out. Yellow met violet, and father and daughter were reunited.
"She's glorious," Voldemort said, it was not the breathy sentimental voice of a father, it was the
hardened voice of a master, and Lucius nodded.
"Indeed she is, my lord," Lucius said, even though he couldn't disagree more. This child was not
glorious, she was frightening, she was destructive. Lucius's thoughts went to Kylie, who was
now safely ensconced in his room, hidden away from the horrible girl, recovering for her duties
the next day. She hadn't said a word to him when he had found her, still sprawled, weeping, on
the same corridor floor he had left her at. She hadn't struggled when he had lifted her up into his
arms and carried her swiftly down the hallway, the child nipping at his heels, looking pleased
with herself. Kylie had whimpered at the sight of Desdemona, but that had been all, and when
he shooed the child away Kylie had calmed, and fallen into a fitful sleep on the silk sheets of his
bed. He eyed the girl for a minute and then ripped his eyes away, looking at his master with all
the respect he could and stepped
aside, letting the man get a good look at his devil spawn.
Voldemort had never looked more pleased, even when the Muggles's had run away in terror and
fallen dead to the ground at his boots, even when the mention of his name had struck terror in
the hearts of
the millions of foolish "good". It had taken a child, a simple, dark little child to get that look
from him, and Lucius felt a swell of pride. He had given up his wife for this girl, he had given up
his hold on his son for this child, and all for his master.
Voldemort crossed the room in two strides, practically pushing Lucius aside to stand before the
girl, who just looked up at him with those wide predatory eyes. Desdemona looked at him
without fear or respect, in fact, as Lucius studied her, she looked superior, as if she had control
over HIM. Which, Lucius decided, she probably could have. She reeked of power, and the air
surrounding her fair cackled with the dark
Voldemort took her in, she had grown considerably, much faster then he had anticipated. He had
never known he could produce something beautiful, everything he had touched in his life had
become twisted, gnarled and ugly. Desdemona was not ugly, not on the surface anyway, she was
one of the most beautiful children he had ever seen. And he had killed many beautiful children.
"Do you know who I am?" Voldemort asked, his voice hard, and booming. It echoed off the
walls. Desdemona nodded eagerly, the black pencil she had been drawing with fell from her
hands.
"Father," she said matter-of-factly and Voldemort nodded please.
"Yes." If Voldemort had been completely honest with himself he would have recognized the
feeling of unease creeping up his spine, and if he had the power to feel he would have known it
was fear that twisted his stomach. Instead he attributed it to a darker emotion, that of pride, that
of greed and he smiled that toothy grin of his. He looked to Lucius, his yellow eyes shining.
"Did you give her the ring?" Lucius shook his head, reaching into the folds of his robe to remove
the tiny box.
"I thought it too soon master," Lucius apologized. He handed the box to Voldemort. Voldemort
waved his hand, disgusted and turned his attention back to his child.
Desdemona regarded him with the earnestness of a girl who know's she is about to receive a
present, and she swung her legs in anticipation.
Voldemort kneeled, as if proposing, and held out the tiny back box to her, opening it with one
deft movement of his hand, to reveal the ring inside. Desdemona let out a tiny squeal of excited
surprise.
"For me?" she breathed in her tiny voice and Voldemort nodded, his stomach twisting again.
Eager little hands reached out and plucked the ring from the box, examining it in the light.
"Pretty." She whispered and slipped it onto her fingers. It was far to big, a ring for an adult, but
she didn't seem to care as held her hand up admiring it's beauty.
"It's more then pretty," Voldemort said. "It's deadly." Desdemona's eyes flashed with
excitement again, as if the thought of deadly gifts gave her more pleasure then all the dolls and
bears in the world. Lucius shuddered at the look in her eyes as she studied the ring, trying to
figure out it's secret, it's power.
"We'll begin her training tomorrow," Voldemort lifted himself off his knee and turned to regard
Lucius, whose mouth was opened in protest. "What?" He snapped and Lucius ducked his head.
"It's just, tomorrow is my wife's burning master," Lucius swallowed. Voldemort nodded, not
understanding, or even caring, but conceding nonetheless.
"Then we will attend to that in the morning, and begin her training in the afternoon," he looked
to the girl, his eyes becoming as soft as they could when he regarded her. "Would you like that?"
The girl nodded eagerly, the thought of more presents foremost in her mind. Presents that could
kill, presents that could be of some use.
Voldemort held out his hand. "Come with me child." Desdemona did not hesitate when she
placed her much smaller child's hand into his long-fingered one. She leaped from the chair,
flashing Lucius a smile he couldn't place.
Lucius watched them walk away, Father Evil and Child Evil, hand in hand. In his house, ruining
his life. It was a hard life, that of a servant. He closed his eyes, wondering when he would finally
be rid of them, left to his own power, his own ambitions.
The door clicked closed behind them, a little girl's high-pitched squeal of delight floating
through. Lucius sighed, perhaps it would be never.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione awoke to the sound of dry, choked sobs. They were so full of sadness and melancholy
it felt as if her heart were breaking, especially when she realized who was causing them.
Draco was on his knees just before her bed, his head bowed, facing the door. And his shoulder's
were shaking in the unmistakable motion of sobbing. Concern flooded her and she almost flew
from the bed.
"Draco, what's happened," her hand reached out, touching his shoulder but he jerked away.
"Draco please." Hermione whispered. Her hand reached out again,
touching his chin, and gently forcing his face to her own. His face was dry, there were no tears,
she doubted Draco had any, but there was anguish, enough to bring tears to her own eyes.
"What happened?" She whispered again, her fingers went from his chin up to his cheeks,
caressing the skin there. He was still shaking, his chest hitching and he shook his head.
"Go away," he bit out. Hermione glared at him through her tears, but didn't respond, just
lowered herself to the stone ground beside him, her hand still on his face.
"Draco," Hermione whispered, her voice cracked, and he could see her fighting back tears, her
eyes glassy with them. She was hurting for him he thought in wonder. No one had ever cared
what he was feeling, no one. So he let her stroke his cheek, slowly and carefully, he forced
himself to not jerk away from her touch. But he still couldn't bring himself to speak. He couldn't
find the words, not any that sounded right anyway. So he said the only thing he could force out
of him.
"My mother," he said and closed his eyes. His mother, his beautiful lovely mother. His mother
who told him stories, his mother who'd loved him and done her best to protect him. His mother
who had suffered for him. His mother who had given him children's toys at the age of seventeen,
and he had never appreciated them. Hermione seemed to understand then. She seemed to know,
even without his saying, what had happened. She couldn't know the particular's, but she knew in
general.
"Oh god Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered, not able to think of anything else. There was nothing
she could say to help him, no words of comfort would be enough. That was the problem with
losing someone you loved, no one else could understand, and no one else could help. But
Hermione would try. "Come here," she ordered softly, and before he could pull away she had
done her best to gather his much larger form into her arms.
"Don't-" he managed to get out between hiccups, but Hermione ignored him, and he was too
weak with grief to pull away. Besides he felt better here, her arms around his shoulders, one
hand stroking the back of his head. He felt safe here, comforted by this simple little action.
"It's okay," Hermione was whispering. "I'm here." She was saying and Draco closed his eyes. It
wasn't okay, but she was there. She had it half right, and he let Hermione pull his head down to
her shoulder, resting his cheek in the crook between her neck and shoulders. He breathed her in,
the smell of her, citrus and strawberries. Her hair tickled his face, silky and soft, and her voice
soothed him, whispering into his ear as her hands stroked his head.
It was more comfort then he had gotten in his entire life. More feeling directed towards him then
ever before. And he savored it, closing his eyes he breathed it in, and burned it into his memory.
He filed the feeling away with the stories his mother had told him, slipped it back into his
consciousness with all his memories of her, safe and protected from the outside world. And
Draco, despite his sadness, despite his lack of control, and his grief, was happy, in the arms of
Hermione.
TBC...
More Authors Notes:
I had originally planned for this to be a little longer, not much longer but longer, but this seemed
like a good place to stop. If you haven't noticed the chapters are from here on out going to be
considerably longer then the chapters of the beginning, and will perhaps be sent out with less
frequency. But I think I was pretty fast with this chapter, don't you? ::grin::
The story of Lancelot and Guinevere is by no means true, my knowledge of them is based on the
musical "Camelot" and that Richard Gere movie, "First Knight" I think it was, so I just made up
my own ending. It's not completely insignficant, the stories of Arthuer and Druidic lore will play
heavily into this story, along with some other elements.
Please review! And for those of you who haven't: JOIN MY MAILING LIST. Get updates and
discuss the story with other fans. Simply send a blank email to the following address:
AndWeHaveSinned-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Hope you enjoyed it. Review review review.
.
Chapter Six: Not a Matter of Luck
Author: Dizzy
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: WHOO HOO over 300 reviews! I love you guys! This chapter is a bit more
light-hearted at times, and there is a lot more
Hermione/Draco action. Again I've attempted to answer a few of your questions:
To those of you who said Desdemona resembled some kid on The Omen movies: I've never seen
any of those films, my tastes tend to run more towards cheesy romantic films and weird flicks
(Fight Club, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Amelie are among my favs). So the
resemblance is unintentional on my part.
Also I've never read any of K.A. Applegate's work. Although I did watch that show on Nick
about those kids who could change into animals or something with my little sister like twice.
Desdemona means (according to baby names.com): Demon Child. Hence the name. The reason
she's a..well girl, will be explained later on, maybe not in this fic, but definitely in the sequel
(yes there is a sequel coming). It is an important thing her being female in a male dominated
society, proud that you guys picked up on it!
This part is dedicated as always to Em, cause she's afraid of escalators.
And now on with the show.
~Apocalyptic and insane, my dreams will never change
You wanna be the one in control
You wanna be the one who's alive
You wanna be the one who's old
It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time.~ -Thirty Seconds to Mars "Edge of the Earth"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Manor was in as much a state of uproar as could be expected, given the fact that a majority
of it's occupants were either the cause, didn't care, or had been trained not too.
It had been Delora, a house-elf of considerable stature in the Manor who had discovered the old
mid-wife. She lay just beyond the new infant's pram, her necklace twisted about her neck, her
body blue and lifeless. It had been her face that left Delora shaking for hour's after, twisted and
ugly as it was, the mouth in an eternal silent scream, the eyes dead and still somehow
frightening.
Her body had been taken away to be buried in the village cemetery, there would be no funeral,
no service for she had no family, and the handful of people left in the village neither cared nor
wanted to know of her death.
Narcissa Malfoy had taken considerably longer. It had been Kylie this time who discovered her
missing. Her bedclothes tossed aside, the blood dried to a thick crust on the white sheets. Kylie
hadn't given a second thought to the open balcony doors, nor the curtains that billowed from the
night air outside. She had merely exited the room, and went to look for her mistress in another
part of the expansive Manor. Narcissa of course wasn't to be found.
It wasn't until the next morning that her body was discovered, floating face down, arms spread
out to
engulf the water's of the lake in a deathly embrace. It was Lucius who found her, and ordered
her body removed from the water. If he cared he showed only one sign, and that was to pour a
fresh glass of brandy and down it in one efficient gulp.
As for the cause of these death's she was happily ensconced in a makeshift nursery, almost the
size of a child a years past their birth. She could walk, and play, and parrot whatever was said to
her with only a few words missing from her replies. Her black hair had grown out now, falling
about a cherubic white face in soft curling tendrils, her eyes had lost none of their aged luster.
Around her neck, hanging to the floor, was the crucifix, cleaned hours earlier by Delora. It shone
in the light, looking like anything but the instrument of murder it was now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione had spent the better part of the morning aimlessly wandering the corridors of her
prison. They were twisted and woven in a pattern that would have taken a team of skilled
architects a hundred years to master. Sometimes the ceiling shot to the stars, going so high into
the air it was impossible to make it out through the dark, and sometimes it dipped so low she felt
the urge to duck despite her small stature.
It had been hours since she had seen anything familiar, which only told her the true size of the
Palace, it's name was well deserved. It truly was a Palace, from it's antique furniture covered in
layers of dust, the moth eaten velvet and holey silk drapes that hung from every barred window,
to it's all marble floors and expensive Wedgewood crystal.
Once, she was sure it had been beautiful, but something had taken all that beauty away, and
turned it into this dark place that seemed to suck the life from all who inhabited it. It was still
beautiful, in a way. Wondering about it's past, taking in the surroundings, kept her from thinking
about the events of the past few days, it made the weight in the back of her mind seem a bit
lighter. If only she could keep from thinking.
Her hands idly ran across the marble walls on either side of her, skipping over the grooves and
lines in the stone, comforted by it's coolness. She could remember doing something similar as a
child, running her hands along the bumpy concrete of her school's walls, trying to keep from
thinking
about the girl's who had more friends then her. But now, what she was trying to keep her
thoughts away from was so much more complicated then who she spent the lunch hour with,
now it was a matter of life and death.
She wasn't sure if she would ever get back to the small fraction of space the little group stuck to,
and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Here it was quite, here it wasn't so dreary. The light that
came in from the huge arched windows was better here, unobstructed by heavy drapes, for the
ones across these windows were in far worse condition. So she walked on.
She opened doors, leaning her weight against those stuck from too many years of going
unopened, peeking into the abandoned rooms. They were all basically the same. Bedrooms
beside
private parlors, private parlors beside private studies. Once in awhile there was an area for
entertaining, with heavily cushioned sofas one could get lost in, and the high-backed armchairs
that seemed to reign supreme throughout the house. But everywhere there was an attention to
detail, for not to long ago someone had loved this house. Loved it enough to buy Wedgewood
and
expensive art, both still relatively clean given the newness. Once someone had tried to breathe
life here, but someone had failed and it had fallen again into disrepair.
True to Draco's words there were no doors or unbarred window's leading to the outside, and
while there was a strange absence of magical artifacts, the feeling in it spoke of the Dark Arts.
But
she had checked for doors and windows to free them, and that was better then just assuming.
It was a good three hours before she finally reached the end, her progress would have taken only
a few minutes if she hadn't gone so slowly, or stopped to explore, but she had finally reached
what seemed to be the end. The twisting corridor had finally stopped. At it's end was the same
pair of heavy oak doors present at the entrance to every other important room in the house and
there was nothing else. Her hand pressed against the handle in the middle, turning the knob
there, and she pushed it
open.
What she saw beyond the door made her breath fly out in a whoosh of gasped surprise. Her eyes
widened and she stepped further into the room, the door falling shut behind her.
It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. A room of crystal, the domed glass ceiling
curved down to full size windows that stretched the length and height of the room. Instead of the
usual wrought iron bars of sturdy black, curving stems of steel roses wove back and forth across
the walls of glass, curling up to the peak of the dome where it swirled.
The snow had settled on the ceiling, clinging to it. The dim sunlight that peeked through
gray clouds made it twinkle, giving more light to the room then Hermione had seen in what felt
like years.
The stone was the same smooth marble as the rest of the Palace, but here it was bright, shiny,
and somehow warmer, it stretched the length of the circular room, completely bare until one
reached the walls.
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. It only got better. Along the wall of glass in large black
boxes were what had to be a thousand different types of flowers, gardenias, roses, hyacinths,
sprigs of lavender, every flower Hermione could possibly imagine lined the length of the entire
room, save for the small space directly in front of her where instead of the black boxes of
flowers there was a silver rectangular box of unknown purpose.
"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, her hand moving from her mouth to her cloak, clutching the
metal clasp in her hands.
It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, and it was situated right at the midst of hell.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco had almost allowed himself to sleep. His eyes had fluttered closed and his head had sunk
lower into his hand. The words on the page had started blurring together hours ago.
It was this moment, this wonderful moment of peace when Hermione decided to ruin everything.
The doors to the library burst open. His surprise sent his hand shooting out, his head fell down
onto the table, his chin smacking the oak. He winced, and warily opened one eye. She wasn't in
trouble, it was not the hurried gaze of someone who was frightened, but the excited bounce of
someone who has a secret to share.
"What IS IT?" He was beyond grumpy. He hadn't slept in two days, he had every reason to be a
bit cranky.
"You have to see this."
Hermione had already raced around the table, yanking his arm up, tugging on it ineffectually.
She tried again, attempting to yank him up from his seat, but Draco was not a small boy and
Hermione was not a big girl. He looked at her, his annoyance evident in every plane of his face,
and especially in the angry tick of his jaw.
"Come on, it's important," she urged. Draco remained unmovable, regarding her with annoyed,
sleep-weary eyes, and a petulant expression. Hermione sighed, the excitement over her discovery
only increasing her frustration at him.
"I was so close to getting to sleep," Draco was saying. "So close, and you ruined it."
Hermione ignored him, trying again to give a tug on his arm.
"You're not gong to believe what I've found," she said. "Come on."
Annoyed Draco shook her arm off, and stood, brushing the sleeve of his shirt off, straightening
the creases in the sleeve.
"Fine," he snapped. Hermione had already grabbed his hand and was making for the doors, her
voice rising in excitement as she babbled on about diamonds and flowers or something. Draco
closed his eyes, wondering if it was possible to sleep while being dragged along.
He had almost managed this feat, despite the abrupt twists and turns, and the determined pace at
which Hermione intended he walk, her hand clasped with his, fingers laced around him. It was
almost pleasant, strolling along the corridors, him trusting her to lead him, eyes closed, trying to
snatch back those last vestiges of sleep.
She walked so fast they were practically running, the pace much easier for him to manage at
length then her, due to his longer legs, and they walked for many minutes.
"Where are we going?" he asked after a bit. His eyes opened, and Hermione had turned her head,
still walking, to regard him for a minute, the first glimpse of a smile overtaking her
face.
"You'll see," she said mysteriously and continued to yank him along. He contented himself with
giving her hand a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze, and closing his eyes again. He trusted her
to lead him without injury, and it was a rare thing to be able to.
It was only a few minutes more before she suddenly stopped. Hands still clasped she let out a
tiny noise of excited anticipation and twisted the handle in the middle of the door, letting it
swing open. She yanked him inside.
Draco opened his eyes, and then closed them again. For surely nothing this beautiful could exist
in a place such as the Winter Palace. Hermione gave another tug on his hand, prompting him to
reopen his eyes. He did.
The splendor of the room was not something he could put into words, and he found his mouth
moving as if to make them, but lacking the ability to form them. Hermione gave a smug,
triumphant grin beside him, as if to say "Didn't I tell you it as worth it?". Draco's eyes flew
about the room, taking in it's architecture, it's beauty, it's warmth and light. They traveled over
the exotic species of flowers, over the glass walls bright with the little sunlight that peeked
through the gray clouds.
He had heard of this place, remembered it from his daydreams and the stories his mother had
told him as a boy. But never in all his wildest imaginings had it been this lovely, and never had
he allowed himself to believe it was real.
"God," he whispered. Hermione nodded, even though he wasn't paying her the least bit of
attention, she'd had much the same reaction, and could appreciate his wonder. Even after seeing
it, and taking it in for a liberal amount of time, the room still took her breath away.
"It's their room," Draco whispered, his hand clutched her's tighter. So caught up was she in the
increased pressure, and the thrill that went up her arm from it that she almost didn't register his
words.
"Whose?"
Draco looked at her, his eyes wide with wonder, sparkling with disbelief, and Hermione's breath
caught. There WAS something more beautiful then this place, and she never would have
believed
it before.
"Lancelot and Guinevere's," he murmured. Draco released her hand, and Hermione felt a flare
of disappointment. Instead she hugged her arms to her chest, watching him. He walked across
the length of the room, his hand grazing the flowers, lightly brushing their petals, running across
the black boxes they lived in. It moved upwards, to press against the cold glass of the walls,
running along the length of the steel roses that caged them inside of this beautiful prison.
"I didn't think it was real," Draco admitted. "I mean they're just character's from a story right?"
Hermione nodded, curious, and more then a bit confused, but thirsting for knowledge as always.
"My mother used to sit with me, when my father was away and tell me the story of Camelot, and
the Lady of the Lakes," he went on. "And she told me of after."
"And what does that have to do with this place?" Hermione asked. Draco gave her a smirk.
"I'm getting there," he said, a bit annoyed by her impatience. It was after all a story, and
deserved to be told as such.
"After the King discovered Lancelot and Guinevere's treachery, he ordered Guinevere burned at
the stake for treason, and Lancelot had fled in order to save his own life," Draco said. "But just
as Guinevere was about to be put to death Lancelot showed up and saved her."
Hermione sighed.
She knew this part already, but Draco was not to be deterred. Instead, he grabbed her hand,
pulling her down to the cold marble, where they sat, legs crossed as he told the tale he had heard
so many times. "Lancelot saved her, but it was only a few minutes before they were both
captured again, and brought before Arthur. Arthur loved them both very much, and he would
have rather died then hurt them, but their crime was considered treason and if he had let them go
free he would have been considered a weak ruler indeed, leaving his beautiful kingdom at risk.
So he ordered that they both be put to death the next morning," Draco smiled now. "But during
the night he stole away to the prison and told them to flee the kingdom, giving them the means
to escape. He told them to go to Merlin, who would help them, and then he wished both of them
goodbye. He was killed of course later, soft-hearted fool."
Hermione winced at this, but he didn't see it and continued on.
"So they went to Merlin, and bade him to give them a sanctuary, free from the anger of those
who loved Arthur enough to kill them both for their treachery. Merlin loved Arthur as well, and
had seen what lay in his future, and while it angered him, he did as Arthur bid and helped
them." Draco motioned around him again. "This place, is located out of time and reality, in a
purely magical realm, untouched by any other's then those who have the keeping of it. " He
smiled then. "I don't know how the Malfoy's came into possession of it, and I don't much care."
Hermione nodded, understanding, but wanting him to continue with how this room proved the
tale his mother had told him.
"Merlin was angry at Lancelot and Guinevere for what they had done, but he was bound to serve
Arthur, so he led them to Ynys Wyth, or "The Dragon's Isle" and in this magical realm built for
them a palace and a prison, untouchable to all that sought them." Hermione's mouthed dropped
open.
"That's horrible," she whispered. Draco nodded.
"He was pretty pissed," he agreed. "The place was as it is now apparently, dark, forbidding and
utterly miserable, with no way out unless you have the magical means, which Lancelot and
Guinevere did not, being muggles," he said the word with a bit of the old disdain, head tilted up,
scanning the room once more. "My mother told me that because he was not an entirely cruel
man he gave them one reprieve, a place in their prison of beauty and happiness. I think that's
this place," Hermione nodded in agreement, she could see that. Just being her made her heart
and her head feel lighter.
"They died here, on the same day, within the same hour," Draco whispered, "And Merlin buried
them with Arthur, so the three could be together forever." His eyes caught Hermione's and for a
moment they were trapped in each other's gazes, the beauty of the room overtaking them.
It was several minutes before Hermione blushed, ducking her head and looking away.
"That's...that's a very nice story," she said lamely. Draco smirked at her again, pleased at having
unnerved her. He pushed himself to his feet, his attention caught by the same bright silver box
that had interested her before.
He made his way over to it. It's metal surface was covered in etched drawings, of young lovers
locked in a timeless embrace, whirling away to unheard music. He moved himself behind it, and
saw what appeared to be a bright gold lever, small and easily missed. With the curiosity that
comes from being denied nothing in life he had no reserves about pushed it down.
It was several moments before anything happened, and Draco felt that keen sense of
disappointment born of anticipating something exciting and being failed. He shrugged,
and started back to Hermione, and then the music started.
Hermione gasped, her eyes flying from Draco to the box, which sat just as it had, but despite it's
unmoved appearance something had happened, and music filled the room.
Draco looked just as surprised as she, his eyes turning to the box. The melody that seemed to
come not from the box but from the room itself, was beautiful, melancholy and sweet. And the
feel of it seemed to overtake them.
Wordlessly, as if driven by something Draco couldn't quite understand he slowly made his way
to her, lifting her hand. Hermione nodded her assent, not knowing what, in her head, she was
agreeing to, but feeling that she did. She couldn't speak, and knew he couldn't either. Silently he
drew her into his arms, hand at her waist, her hand clasped in his, feeling the warmth of him.
And then they begin to dance, controlled by something, the music perhaps, but whatever it was,
it was wonderful.
The room was made for dancing, all open space, with no furniture to stop them, and the music
filled it perfectly.
Hermione had never danced like this in her life, but somehow she knew how. It was a waltz of
sorts, not the old-fashioned kind that involved leaving the embrace of your partner, but the kind
where you were lost in each other, clutching without being very close, but still it was intimate.
Draco's silver eyes burned into her own hazel ones, confused, but pleased, and his face mirrored
her own. She couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted to, something was driving them to do
this.
He turned her expertly, every bit the leading man, and she fit in his arms perfectly. His hand
clasped her own gently, the hand at her waist burning through the fabric of her white gown. They
whirled to the music, locked in each other's gazes. Something swelled within them, and still they
danced. Draco's fingers at her waist twitched imperceptibly and for one wild fleeting moment
she
feared that the spell was broken and he was going to leave her, but he only clutched a bit tighter.
They twirled, and moved with easy grace, with no concept of time or place, only each other. She
couldn't find the voice to speak, and she hadn't the need to, for if she had the beautiful moment
of whirling in his arms would be broken. It felt so comfortable here, moving across the marble
floor to this melody, with him. Her lips curved into a smile, and while his face remained the
same impassive mask it always was, she could see the same in his eyes.
And then the music stopped, and they froze, still locked in the dance. His eyes searched her face,
running over the skin he knew so well by now, brushing by her eyes, the arch of her eyebrows,
her full cheeks, and then it rested on her lips. Hermione knew he was going to kiss her, just as he
knew, and before he could check himself he had done it. Hermione's eyes fell closed.
His lips brushed hers softly, once, then twice, and then when they came back again for a third
time they caught hers. Hermione felt his hand dropped from her own, joining it's mate on her
waist, and she responded in kind, her arms slipping up the soft fabric of his shirt, over the hard
muscles of his chest, and around his neck.
His lips moved across hers, soft but firm, memorizing their contours, and then those beautiful
full lips of her's parted, and the kiss deepened. They were clutching at each other now,
desperate. The kiss exploding from a few chaste brushing of lips to full on ardor. It sent her
reeling, her senses flush with panic, with excitement, and with something she couldn't place.
Her arms pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as he assaulted her lips.
And then it was over. Draco yanked himself away, out of her grasp out of her reach, and when
she opened her eyes she was met by his wild-eyed expression, a mix of confusion and regret. She
swallowed.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he said, voice ragged, his chest heaving. Hermione
opened her mouth to respond, but he was already gone, closed off again. He brushed by her,
making his way to the door. Hermione wanted to call him back, to tell him that it was okay, to
plead with him not to shut down again, but she couldn't find her voice, and before she could the
door had already closed and he was gone.
Hermione stared dully at the room, it's beauty not lost on her even now. Her lips still burned,
and she was still trying to catch her breath. He really shouldn't have done that, because now, she
wasn't sure she could forget it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lucius looked at the girl, and suppressed a shudder, of fear, of dread, of disgust. All of these and
none of them at the same time. She looked innocent enough, with her curls of deepest black,
playing with some old toy of Draco's on the floor as if she had not a care in the world. But she
was not innocent, and she was not a child. She was so much more then that.
She had smiled up at him, her white teeth shining in the light, and it had been a smile that sent
shiver's down his spine. She had clutched his hand and tried ineffectually to pull him down, and
when that didn't work she had fair yanked him to his position on the floor. She was too strong
for a girl her size, and as she grinned across the floor at him, Lucius knew that she was stronger
in other areas too. Her aura reeked of power, and more then once she had managed to pull
something to her without even touching it, it was slight and almost imperceptible, but the bear
she had been amusing herself with seemed to slide itself across the floor when it was too far
away. She was very special indeed.
She was growing tremendously fast, just as he had been told she would, the size of a small
toddler now, able to form short sentences and demand what she wanted in a cute 4 year old's
voice that set his teeth on edge.
She had insisted that he join her for this game, and he was trying to keep himself as far away as
was possible without evoking her ire. He had things to do, Narcissa's funeral to see too for one,
but yet he found himself playing stupid games with a child. The truth was she frightened him,
and Lucius was not a man that was easily frightened, especially not by a baby. But it was a fact
that could not be escaped.
"You hold teddy," the girl commanded, and she placed the brown fluffy object in his hands, her
eyes twinkling. He looked away, those eyes were what did it, they were what caused the fear.
They were bright and violet and too wise for a girl of her size, eyes that would have looked
better on the mistress of the devil, eyes that were as old as evil. They seemed to calculate, taking
in their surroundings, and finding them lacking but tolerable. Her eyes had taken him in, and
been pleased, he was a man who would do her bidding, a man who could serve a purpose. He
was a man who feared her, and that was the very best game of all.
"Have you, ah-" Lucius felt suddenly stupid talking to this little girl, he felt like an idiot for
fearing her. Who could be afraid of a child who wanted nothing more then for him to play with
her teddy bear. "-Have you decided on a name for this...bear?" He asked. Desdemona seemed to
give
this some serious consideration, her brow furrowing. Apparently she had not. She sat there for a
few moments, silent, her eyes roaming over the bear clutched in his hands, as if it could tell her
it's true name. Finally she spoke.
"I will name him Nija," the girl pronounced seriously. Lucius nodded, thinking it to be the
stringing together of random syllables, as children were prone to do. "Mommy say's Nija is a
very
good name."
Lucius frowned. As far as he knew Desdemona's last glimpse of her mother had
been at birth, and Narcissa had certainly not told her that.
"Your mommy didn't tell you that," he said sternly, feeling silly trying to teach a child to be
honest while holding a teddy bear. Desdemona nodded firmly.
"Yes she did, you've never met my mommy," the girl said. "You will soon though!" Her voice
was cheerful as she took Nija from him, clutching it too her.
"I want food, you will give me food now," she grabbed his hand, tugging at him. Lucius sighed,
he was not a babysitter, but despite his anger he found himself being led, hunched over, by this
slip of a girl. Voldemort had been very clear when he'd said he wanted his child taken care of,
and Lucius was positive that the girl would make sure he did just that.
His hand itched where she clutched it, it almost burned and he resisted the urge to snatch it away
and cradle it against himself. She was just a girl he told himself, she couldn't hurt him. But
Lucius wasn't so sure.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie had been sitting there for what felt like ever, in the room's only chair. She had never
ventured in here before, she wasn't sure anyone had, there was no reason to. No one important
had ever died at Malfoy Manor, until now.
Her mistress, her good, kind mistress was dead, and Kylie couldn't bring herself to cry for her.
Because it was better this way. She felt numb, cold, and somehow relieved. Narcissa would
suffer no more, and that was a comfort at least.
Kylie's mind had flashed through all her memories of the woman, trying to find something,
anything that would point to the act as wrong. But there was nothing. If anything Narcissa had
done what most people were too cowardly to do, and now she was free.
But still Kylie couldn't move. She could only sit, staring at the woman, who seemed to be
sleeping peacefully on the high stone slab, her hands laid on her stomach, her eyes closed.
Unseeing forever.
She had known something was wrong the minute she had stepped into the room and found
Narcissa gone. But she hadn't known how wrong. Kylie took a shuddering breath and tried to
force herself to move, but it was pointless, she could only sit and stare. Narcissa had been good
to her, and while she had been lost in a world all her own, she had never been cruel, giving Kylie
as much freedom as she could. And now she was gone, and Kylie was trapped her, alone, with
him.
Lucius had started his attentions years ago, when she was barely past the age of twelve and he
had never ceased. She could always tell when he would come for her, she could hear it in the
quick stride of his boots, see it in his darkened eyes. It was not an everyday occurrence, he was
not a lustful man, but it was regular and horrible.
At first she had fought him, clawing and kicking, and never had he ordered her to stop. Even
though it was in his power to do so. If anything he seemed to enjoy it when she fought. So she
had stopped, and resorted to lying dead, and lifeless as he continued his work. She wasn't sure
which he preferred, but he seemed to enjoy both.
She shuddered in fear, in revulsion. She knew the only thing that had held him back from
keeping Kylie in his own chambers had been Narcissa. Kylie believed that at one time he had
loved the woman, who lay dead now in this darkened room, and that it was his
distant love for her that held him back from forcing Kylie to be everything he wanted her to be.
It was his love for Narcissa that kept their visits sparse. And now Narcissa was gone, and there
was nothing to stand in his way.
Kylie was so absorbed in her thoughts, so intent on trying to work out a way to keep him away
that she didn't notice the door opening. She didn't notice the tiny figure enter the room.
Desdemona looked at the girl for a moment, head cocked in curiosity, clutching the bear in her
arms. A new playmate, she thought happily and put on her best, most-winning smile.
"Hello!" Kylie tore her eyes from Narcissa. She resisted the urge to shriek in surprise, and
instead turned her
gaze full force onto the girl.
"Hello," Kylie whispered. She felt it again, that wave of evil, washing over her, dulling her
senses with fear. It was impossible. She had been just a baby yesterday and now...but Kylie knew
it was true. The girl looked innocent enough, clutching a teddy bear and smiling at her.
"Wanna see a trick?" The girl asked eagerly. Kylie wanted nothing of the sort, she wanted to
leave, but she felt herself nodding anyway. It felt as if her head were being pulled by strings and
her eyes widened. The girl just smiled and held up a hand.
Desdemona snapped her fingers, and Kylie shrieked.
Where a girl had stood moments before there was nothing but a faint wisp of curling black
smoke, that twisted and writhed it's way to the ceiling before it disappeared.
"Over here silly," the girl said and Kylie shot out of her chair, whirling around. The girl
continued to grin, pleased. She raised her hand again and snapped.
"Over here," Kylie whirled again, her heart pounding. The girl was to the right now, on the other
side of Narcissa. Kylie swallowed, teeth clenched together to keep from screaming, that was
what she wanted to do. The wave continued to wash over her, with every flash of the child's
eyes, with every snap of her fingers. She wanted to run.
"Want to play a game?" The girl asked, she did not snap her fingers again, but instead clutched
the bear tighter, walking around the stone block, her head cocked to one side again. Kylie shook
her
head, continuing to walk slowly backwards towards the door. Kylie never took her eyes off the
child, it would have been a mistake.
Desdemona pouted for a moment.
"Well *I* do," she said. "What should we play?" Kylie knew she shouldn't be afraid of this
child, with her high little girl voice, and her curl's, and her teddy bear. But Kylie was certain she
had never been more afraid of anyone in her life. She took another step backwards to the door.
"I-" she sputtered. "I have work to do. I can't play with you."
The girl shook her head, resting her chin on the top of the bear's head.
"I don't think you do," Desdemona's eyes flashed. "You WILL play with me." Kylie took
another step backwards, almost tripping over her feet. Her hand was outstretched, reaching back
for the handle of the door. The little girl was eyeing her, in an almost predatory manner and her
feet itched to run, her heart beat against her ribs and she was certain the little girl could hear it. It
thundered in Kylie's ears at least, blocking out all rationale.
"It'll be a fun game," Desdemona promised. "All you have to do is run." Those horrible violet
eyes flashed. Her voice, with it's high-pitched quality was suddenly menacing. "Now."
And Kylie did just that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was coming back, the dark was rushing in, and the pain of it made her legs go out. Hermione
crumbled to the floor of the beautiful room. She had been so certain they couldn't touch her
here, but here they were.
Her fingers clutched at smooth marble, and her body shuddered as the piercing hit her again.
Violet, she was seeing violet. Purple and swirling, flashing in the light, the black in the middle
of it growing, shrinking, only to grow again.
And then the picture changed, her body spasming. There was blood. There was always blood, it
covered her hands
and dripped onto the floor, slick and hot it ran in rivulets down the black of her dress.
The blood flashed and now it was something else. It was a puppy, cute and black, curled into a
ball on the same marble floor. But there was something wrong. Hermione bit back a scream as
she realized what. Dead, the puppy was dead, split open lying in a pool of blood.
Her eyes closed and the picture changed again. A table, she was lying on a table, one made of
steel, cool and hard against her skin, and then there was pain, exploding from her hand.
Hermione turned her head, and she had just made out the hilt of a dagger before the picture
changed again.
She was floating, supported by a cloud of green mist. Like a crucifixion. Her body shuddered
again, and the picture changed.
Black hair, long legs, flashing violet eyes, and evil, pure evil.
Hermione screamed, and then there was black.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco had wanted to go apologize again, to explain WHY he was sorry. He was certain she
would get the wrong idea, so he had turned around. He was not a courageous boy, courage was
for people like the Gryffindor's, but he was not nice either, and look how much he had stuck to
that principle lately.
He had just wanted to explain it to her. They were different and he couldn't do that to her. She
was all goodness and purity, always doing the right thing. And he was a child of a Death Eater,
destined to take over the Malfoy Family reigns and steer his family to the pinnacle of the Dark
Lord's power. It was his destiny, it's what he had been trained from birth to do. No matter how
much he didn't want to. He couldn't let her taint herself like that. Her stupid Gryffindor pals
would never forgive her, and if he ever saw them again he could be sure they'd kill him.
Then there was his father. He didn't even want to think about what his father would do to her.
Especially now that he had the means to do whatever he liked. Draco shuddered.
He had just started back, walking slowly, knowing that she was still there, and if she wasn't he
would meet her in the hallway. And then he heard her scream.
So he did what he seemed to be doing a lot lately. He ran to her.
Hermione looked dead when he entered the room, and for a moment he couldn't move. A
thousand horrible feelings ran through him, one after another, circling and coming back full
force. She couldn't be dead.
His heart
pounded and he was frozen. But she was still thankfully breathing, and it was that first
shuddering breath that
set him to action.
He gathered the unconscious girl in his arms, clutching her to him. The visions, it had to be the
visions. There was nothing else here that he could see, and she was basically okay. He breathed
in the
scent of her hair. She was okay. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't been. It
was too much to think about.
"Hermione," he whispered. She didn't respond, but he really hadn't expected her too. He had
seen his mother like this more then once. He rose to his feet, carrying her with him, cradled in
the safety of his arms. He wouldn't need to apologize, she would understand. She had too. And
truthfully he didn't really think she cared overmuch at the moment, she had far more important
things to worry about.
So he walked, fully intent on putting her in her bed, and he hoped that she wouldn't dream. She
had enough nightmares when she was awake.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kylie's feet were burning, and more then once she had fallen, tripping over the long hem of her
skirt. She had bashed her knees on the floor, skidded into furniture, and cried out each and every
time she heard the giggle, and the snapping of fingers. But no one had come. No one would help
her.
Kylie had been scared many times in her life, she had lived in fear for most of it, but never had it
been like this. Pure, unadulterated emotion, with no comfort to be sought anywhere.
She had started crying in the middle of it, her chest heaved with the sobs and the great gasps of
air, her sides ached with the exertion. But still she ran, sometimes she crawled if her legs gave
way, and still no one had come. Kylie's face was sticky with the tears she hadn't been able to
wipe away, her hands raw from smacking them against the stone when she fell, and still the girl
chased her.
Like an invisible ghostly specter she had followed Kylie from room to room, down the dark
twisting corridors, never to be seen, only heard. The faint giggle, a gasp of delight, and the snap
of her fingers. She was always there, and Kylie couldn't get away, she couldn't find peace.
Each room was empty, the furniture undisturbed, but she had sensed the little girl's presence and
so she ran on. Slipping and sliding across smooth stone, tripping and falling to whack it dully,
and then getting back up again.
Kylie rounded a corner, barely dodging the full suit of armor in the new corridor. She was
burning, and she was so tired, her throat aching from her gasping. But still the girl wouldn't stop.
"Don't slow down silly," a cheerful voice intoned. "Our game isn't over yet." Kylie felt another
sob tear
out of her chest, but she was too consumed with the burning in her legs, and the sharp stabs of
pain in her sides to worry too much about it. Tears, hot and wet ran down her face, and she had
ripped her skirt somewhere along the way. And no one would help her.
She'd screamed and pleaded, till her throat was raw but it did no good. No one came, the house-
elves had ducked away, the other servants were in hiding. And she was alone.
Kylie felt the fabric of her dress tangle again, and she closed her eyes as her body pitched
forward. It didn't matter now, she was too tired to care. She smacked the stone with a dull
thump, banging her knee against it. She just wanted peace.
"You lose," Desdemona cried happily, she could see that Kylie had no intention of getting up.
Kylie
rested her cheek against the cool stone, shaking from exertion, her breath hitching from the sobs,
shuddering from the great heaving gasps she took. Her head was swimming, and little dots of red
flashed in front of her eyes, blurry with tears. She wanted to vomit, but it was just too much
effort to get up.
"Desdemona," somebody snapped, and Kylie knew she had never been glad to hear that voice
until now. Her eyes fell closed in gratitude, and if she could of picked herself up she would
have kissed his robes. Lucius glared at the little girl, who was doing her best to look sorry but
failing miserably, her lips kept twisting into a smile. "Come with me." Lucius held out his hand,
and the girl skipped over obediently, clutching her teddy in her hands. Lucius cast a look over to
Kylie, who lay sprawled on the floor, her hair stuck to the sticky lines of tears on her face, her
elbow bruised and bloodied. He swallowed and resisted the urge to smack the little child.
It was better that he refrained, for he had no urge to die today.
"Where are we going?" Desdemona held up her arms, and Lucius obediently bent to pick her up.
"We're going to see my son," Lucius said, taking a giant step over the prone form of Kylie on the
floor. "Draco."
"Draco," the girl whispered. Desdemona was quite certain it was the most beautiful name she
had ever heard. She had been told by the whisper in her ear that it was important. She cast one
look at the Kylie over Lucius's shoulder and smiled. It had been a
fun game, she decided. Very fun.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco could feel it when they entered. It was like every hair on his neck stood proudly to
attention, and a cold unlike any that he had ever known swept over him. His skin rose into little
goose bumps and he shivered.
Hermione felt it too. She had been silent since he had found her, peaceful in her bed. Then she
started moaning, violent shudders wracking her body, jerking her about the bed. And no matter
how many times he replaced the heap of blankets she just threw them off again.
Draco stood, turning towards the door. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. Lucius Malfoy
was here, and he had brought someone with him. Draco had seen Voldemort before, he had
bowed and scraped to him, and he knew his aura. This was not Voldemort. This was a different
evil.
So Draco waited, standing before the door, placing his body between it and Hermione. She was
too weak now, Lucius couldn't take her now. And Draco would try to keep him from doing that.
He didn't have to wait long, it was just a few minutes before he heard the heavy boots outside
of the room, the bang of the door flying open across the hall. Probably Lucius throwing it open,
looking for him.
And then his own door flew open.
Lucius took a step back, as if surprised that he had actually found the boy. Then Lucius regained
composure, shifting the girl in his arms a bit, she was squirming, turning her head to look at his
son.
"Father," Draco gave him a nod, his eyes flying from his father's cold face to that of the girl.
Draco swallowed. She was looking at him as if he was a very tasty bit of meat, her small mouth
twisted into a smile of such complete ruthless joy that it almost floored him. He knew the cause
of his fear.
Lucius wasted no times with pleasantries, there would be no point. He simply set Desdemona on
the ground, and turned to his son, his expression grim. Draco forced himself to tear his eyes from
the child, who clutched her bear, her eyes raking his body, taking him in, her eyes flashing.
Something was wrong. Draco turned his eyes on his father, who was trying to look remorseful,
and failing miserably.
"Your mother," Lucius bit out. "Is dead."
Draco's heart stopped. His mind went blank. His first thought was that Lucius was lying, that
perhaps this was some kind of sick test. His second was that it was true, and if it was he was as
good as dead. With Narcissa out of the picture he had no one left to protect him, and that left
Lucius
free to seek a new wife, free to seek a new heir. His third thought was that he knew the cause.
His eyes flew to the little girl. His new sister it seemed. Draco suppressed a bitter laugh. It
looked
as if Lucius hadn't gotten his new heir after all. A female inheriting was impossible. It also
looked as if his mother had been having a little dalliance behind his father's back. No one in the
Malfoy line had hair that dark, or eyes that horrible. The girl just smiled up at him, and took a
step forward.
"How," Draco had thought he was under control. But his voice broke, it sounded high and
desperate even to his own ears, laced with unshed tears. Tears that would never be shed if he
could help it.
"She took her own life," Lucius said coldly. "I knew there was a weakness for that in her
family."
Draco felt his legs quiver, threatening to give out, but he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction of
seeing him be weak as well. He would be weak in private thank you very much. So he did the
only thing he could, he squared his shoulders, threw his head back and returned his father's gaze.
It was typical that Lucius didn't care.
"It's inconvenient," Lucius was saying. "I would have liked for her ashes to be placed in the
family
tomb, but that is impossible of course."
"Of course," Draco bit out. Suicide was no joke in the Malfoy family, many of it's ancestors had
taken their lives, and as such, they had been cut out of the history books completely, leaving
huge
gaps in time and unresolved endings to many of the stories. They were buried in unmarked
graves, in unconsecrated ground. Draco resisted the urge to laugh again. Suicide was a sin,
unforgivable in a family of sinners. The hilarity didn't escape him.
"I will come for you tomorrow, I assume you'd like to be present at her cremation," Lucius said.
Draco didn't nod, he just stared at his father an unspoken yes passing between them. Lucius
cleared his throat and gave a little nod. "Right then. I'll bring Kylie back after she
has...recovered... to watch over the girl." Draco swallowed. After Kylie had recovered, the words
rang in his head, weaving with Your mother is dead like some kind of horrible song.
Desdemona, oblivious to the conversation had crossed the room in tiny toddler's steps, clutching
her bear. She hadn't taken her eyes off of Draco, he was beautiful. Just as her mother had said.
Beautiful and hers.
Wordlessly she held up her bear to him. Draco tore his eyes from his father's and looked at the
girl, solemnly holding up her teddy bear, he recognized it as one of his. He wanted to step back
from her, revulsion and anger making his stomach churn as he looked at her. He didn't take the
bear and after a few moments the girl gave up, and let the bear fall forgotten to the floor.
"This is Desdemona," Lucius motioned to the girl.
"Your daughter," Draco bit out, and was atakenback by the dry laugh his father emitted at his
words.
"Yes, MY daughter," Lucius shook his head. "You're not that stupid Draco." Draco didn't
respond, for the girl had taken ahold of his cloak, running small pale fingers across it's fabric,
clutching at him.
"I want him." Desdemona turned back to look at the man who had played with her before. She
still couldn't pronounce his name so she had taken to calling him Lu-Lu. He didn't seem pleased
with this, so she had decided to call him nothing at all. That is, after all, what he was. Nothing.
"We take him with us," she commanded.
Lucius shook his head. "You can't have him." That was a mistake. The little girl dropped her
hand from Draco's robes, and turned slowly. Lucius swallowed. Her feet were an elbow's width
apart, her body squared and ready for something, and her eyes flashed, dangerous and angry.
"I WILL have him," her cheerful little girl's voice had deepened, and it grated on his nerves even
more now,
sending a shiver down his spine. Lucius felt suddenly very small, and could only nod.
"We'll...talk to your father," Lucius forced the words out, absently rubbing his hands, sweaty
now, against his cloak. But this seemed to appease the girl, for she nodded and visibly relaxed,
all the anger fading from her slight form. She turned to look at Draco.
"Soon we can play together," she promised. Draco swallowed, and flinched as her hand reached
up to grasp his own for a second before she dashed back to Lucius. His fingers burned where she
had
touched them, a slight itching between the digits.
"We'll come for you tomorrow," Lucius pulled the little girl into his arms, and she gave Draco a
parting glance, full of promise before they swept from the room. He waited a few minutes, until
he was quite sure they had gone.
And then Draco lost his control.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Voldemort had returned sooner then expected, but it was necessary. His mistress had told him to
return and see to his daughter. Desdemona was everything he had expected, he could feel her
power, he knew her strength and relished in it. She was apart of him, and she would aid his rise
to glory.
He could feel her, he knew where she was, and his feet unconsciously made their way towards
Lucius Malfoy's study, desperately seeking her. Yes, she was apart of him, the missing part. And
he would give her everything he could. His Dark Little Princess.
He wasted no time opening the door, and his eyes sought her out, ignoring his servant, who stood
and bowed respectfully.
She was beautiful, her hair the same silky black his had been in his youth, and she knew him the
moment he walked in the room. Desdemona's tiny head peeked around Lucius's large form,
eagerly seeking his eyes out. Yellow met violet, and father and daughter were reunited.
"She's glorious," Voldemort said, it was not the breathy sentimental voice of a father, it was the
hardened voice of a master, and Lucius nodded.
"Indeed she is, my lord," Lucius said, even though he couldn't disagree more. This child was not
glorious, she was frightening, she was destructive. Lucius's thoughts went to Kylie, who was
now safely ensconced in his room, hidden away from the horrible girl, recovering for her duties
the next day. She hadn't said a word to him when he had found her, still sprawled, weeping, on
the same corridor floor he had left her at. She hadn't struggled when he had lifted her up into his
arms and carried her swiftly down the hallway, the child nipping at his heels, looking pleased
with herself. Kylie had whimpered at the sight of Desdemona, but that had been all, and when
he shooed the child away Kylie had calmed, and fallen into a fitful sleep on the silk sheets of his
bed. He eyed the girl for a minute and then ripped his eyes away, looking at his master with all
the respect he could and stepped
aside, letting the man get a good look at his devil spawn.
Voldemort had never looked more pleased, even when the Muggles's had run away in terror and
fallen dead to the ground at his boots, even when the mention of his name had struck terror in
the hearts of
the millions of foolish "good". It had taken a child, a simple, dark little child to get that look
from him, and Lucius felt a swell of pride. He had given up his wife for this girl, he had given up
his hold on his son for this child, and all for his master.
Voldemort crossed the room in two strides, practically pushing Lucius aside to stand before the
girl, who just looked up at him with those wide predatory eyes. Desdemona looked at him
without fear or respect, in fact, as Lucius studied her, she looked superior, as if she had control
over HIM. Which, Lucius decided, she probably could have. She reeked of power, and the air
surrounding her fair cackled with the dark
Voldemort took her in, she had grown considerably, much faster then he had anticipated. He had
never known he could produce something beautiful, everything he had touched in his life had
become twisted, gnarled and ugly. Desdemona was not ugly, not on the surface anyway, she was
one of the most beautiful children he had ever seen. And he had killed many beautiful children.
"Do you know who I am?" Voldemort asked, his voice hard, and booming. It echoed off the
walls. Desdemona nodded eagerly, the black pencil she had been drawing with fell from her
hands.
"Father," she said matter-of-factly and Voldemort nodded please.
"Yes." If Voldemort had been completely honest with himself he would have recognized the
feeling of unease creeping up his spine, and if he had the power to feel he would have known it
was fear that twisted his stomach. Instead he attributed it to a darker emotion, that of pride, that
of greed and he smiled that toothy grin of his. He looked to Lucius, his yellow eyes shining.
"Did you give her the ring?" Lucius shook his head, reaching into the folds of his robe to remove
the tiny box.
"I thought it too soon master," Lucius apologized. He handed the box to Voldemort. Voldemort
waved his hand, disgusted and turned his attention back to his child.
Desdemona regarded him with the earnestness of a girl who know's she is about to receive a
present, and she swung her legs in anticipation.
Voldemort kneeled, as if proposing, and held out the tiny back box to her, opening it with one
deft movement of his hand, to reveal the ring inside. Desdemona let out a tiny squeal of excited
surprise.
"For me?" she breathed in her tiny voice and Voldemort nodded, his stomach twisting again.
Eager little hands reached out and plucked the ring from the box, examining it in the light.
"Pretty." She whispered and slipped it onto her fingers. It was far to big, a ring for an adult, but
she didn't seem to care as held her hand up admiring it's beauty.
"It's more then pretty," Voldemort said. "It's deadly." Desdemona's eyes flashed with
excitement again, as if the thought of deadly gifts gave her more pleasure then all the dolls and
bears in the world. Lucius shuddered at the look in her eyes as she studied the ring, trying to
figure out it's secret, it's power.
"We'll begin her training tomorrow," Voldemort lifted himself off his knee and turned to regard
Lucius, whose mouth was opened in protest. "What?" He snapped and Lucius ducked his head.
"It's just, tomorrow is my wife's burning master," Lucius swallowed. Voldemort nodded, not
understanding, or even caring, but conceding nonetheless.
"Then we will attend to that in the morning, and begin her training in the afternoon," he looked
to the girl, his eyes becoming as soft as they could when he regarded her. "Would you like that?"
The girl nodded eagerly, the thought of more presents foremost in her mind. Presents that could
kill, presents that could be of some use.
Voldemort held out his hand. "Come with me child." Desdemona did not hesitate when she
placed her much smaller child's hand into his long-fingered one. She leaped from the chair,
flashing Lucius a smile he couldn't place.
Lucius watched them walk away, Father Evil and Child Evil, hand in hand. In his house, ruining
his life. It was a hard life, that of a servant. He closed his eyes, wondering when he would finally
be rid of them, left to his own power, his own ambitions.
The door clicked closed behind them, a little girl's high-pitched squeal of delight floating
through. Lucius sighed, perhaps it would be never.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione awoke to the sound of dry, choked sobs. They were so full of sadness and melancholy
it felt as if her heart were breaking, especially when she realized who was causing them.
Draco was on his knees just before her bed, his head bowed, facing the door. And his shoulder's
were shaking in the unmistakable motion of sobbing. Concern flooded her and she almost flew
from the bed.
"Draco, what's happened," her hand reached out, touching his shoulder but he jerked away.
"Draco please." Hermione whispered. Her hand reached out again,
touching his chin, and gently forcing his face to her own. His face was dry, there were no tears,
she doubted Draco had any, but there was anguish, enough to bring tears to her own eyes.
"What happened?" She whispered again, her fingers went from his chin up to his cheeks,
caressing the skin there. He was still shaking, his chest hitching and he shook his head.
"Go away," he bit out. Hermione glared at him through her tears, but didn't respond, just
lowered herself to the stone ground beside him, her hand still on his face.
"Draco," Hermione whispered, her voice cracked, and he could see her fighting back tears, her
eyes glassy with them. She was hurting for him he thought in wonder. No one had ever cared
what he was feeling, no one. So he let her stroke his cheek, slowly and carefully, he forced
himself to not jerk away from her touch. But he still couldn't bring himself to speak. He couldn't
find the words, not any that sounded right anyway. So he said the only thing he could force out
of him.
"My mother," he said and closed his eyes. His mother, his beautiful lovely mother. His mother
who told him stories, his mother who'd loved him and done her best to protect him. His mother
who had suffered for him. His mother who had given him children's toys at the age of seventeen,
and he had never appreciated them. Hermione seemed to understand then. She seemed to know,
even without his saying, what had happened. She couldn't know the particular's, but she knew in
general.
"Oh god Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered, not able to think of anything else. There was nothing
she could say to help him, no words of comfort would be enough. That was the problem with
losing someone you loved, no one else could understand, and no one else could help. But
Hermione would try. "Come here," she ordered softly, and before he could pull away she had
done her best to gather his much larger form into her arms.
"Don't-" he managed to get out between hiccups, but Hermione ignored him, and he was too
weak with grief to pull away. Besides he felt better here, her arms around his shoulders, one
hand stroking the back of his head. He felt safe here, comforted by this simple little action.
"It's okay," Hermione was whispering. "I'm here." She was saying and Draco closed his eyes. It
wasn't okay, but she was there. She had it half right, and he let Hermione pull his head down to
her shoulder, resting his cheek in the crook between her neck and shoulders. He breathed her in,
the smell of her, citrus and strawberries. Her hair tickled his face, silky and soft, and her voice
soothed him, whispering into his ear as her hands stroked his head.
It was more comfort then he had gotten in his entire life. More feeling directed towards him then
ever before. And he savored it, closing his eyes he breathed it in, and burned it into his memory.
He filed the feeling away with the stories his mother had told him, slipped it back into his
consciousness with all his memories of her, safe and protected from the outside world. And
Draco, despite his sadness, despite his lack of control, and his grief, was happy, in the arms of
Hermione.
TBC...
More Authors Notes:
I had originally planned for this to be a little longer, not much longer but longer, but this seemed
like a good place to stop. If you haven't noticed the chapters are from here on out going to be
considerably longer then the chapters of the beginning, and will perhaps be sent out with less
frequency. But I think I was pretty fast with this chapter, don't you? ::grin::
The story of Lancelot and Guinevere is by no means true, my knowledge of them is based on the
musical "Camelot" and that Richard Gere movie, "First Knight" I think it was, so I just made up
my own ending. It's not completely insignficant, the stories of Arthuer and Druidic lore will play
heavily into this story, along with some other elements.
Please review! And for those of you who haven't: JOIN MY MAILING LIST. Get updates and
discuss the story with other fans. Simply send a blank email to the following address:
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Hope you enjoyed it. Review review review.
.