To Love a Death Eater 2/3

They ended up in the middle of a heavily wooded area. Blaise turned to Joyce, who was shivering in the cool night air.

"What is your name?" he asked her, softly.

"Joyce," she whispered.

"Joyce, I'm Blaise," he held out a hand for her to shake.

She stared at his outstretched hand for a long minute before shaking it.

"I'd say it was nice to meet you, but it's not," she admitted, then put her hand across her mouth as if she was surprised that she'd said such a thing.

Blaise chuckled at her action, and then turned serious.

"There is a clearing about half a mile from here. The Dark Lord is there, awaiting news of tonight's attack. I'll have to bring you before him, and when I do you must act afraid of me."

"Couldn't you just let me go?"

"I wish I could, but too many Death Eaters saw you. If I let you go, we'll both be killed."

He saw the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, I promised I'd get you through this, and I will. I just need for you to trust me, okay?"

She pulled back, and nodded.

"Okay, I need you to just act terrified."

"Of you?"

"Of everything, especially me. I'll have to convince him that I don't care what happens to you, do you understand?"

She nodded, then slowly pulled off his cloak and handed it back to him. He was about to protest, then realized that if he didn't care about her, he wouldn't have given her his cloak.

Joyce crossed her arms in front of her torn robes, and stared at her shoes.

He gently took hold of her chin, and tilted her face up so that he could see into her eyes.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

She stared into the depths of his warms brown eyes. She could see his fear, hatred, and something else she couldn't identify.

"Yes, I do."

He gave her a small smile and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

Suddenly, a change seemed to go over him, and he roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her the rest of the way to the clearing.

Joyce found that no acting was required on her part, she was truly terrified.

Her arm ached where he tightly gripped it, and her face stung from briars and thorns that whipped her as he hauled her past them.

Finally they reached the clearing and he threw her to the ground.

She gaped up at the hooded man with the glowing red eyes, and was unable to stop her gasp of horror.

"Zabini? What are you doing back so soon?" his snake-like voice hissed.

Blaise dropped to his knees in front of his master.

"My Lord, the operation was a success. Nicholas Dunnington was killed by my hand no less then twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, there was a witness," he nodded in Joyce's direction.

"I see. And why did you not kill her on sight?"

"Draco Malfoy suggested that we bring her to you, since we don't know who she is. We were hoping to avoid any unwanted attention her death might attract," he responded, being careful to keep his voice even and uninterested.

The Dark Lord nodded slowly, and turned to look at Joyce.

"Who are you, and what was your business with Dunnington?" he demanded.

"I-I'm Joyce Bishop. Nicholas is- was my fiancé," she said, her voice trembling.

"Bishop? Oh, yes. Fredrick and Anna's daughter. You're of Dumbledore's line if I'm not mistaken," those cold, red eyes narrowed at her suspiciously.

"Are you a spy?"

"N-no..."

She gasped as she felt him invade her mind. Flashes of memories assaulted her. They were mostly of delivering and caring for babies, and then her parents' funeral, and finally Nicholas Dunnington forcing her onto the sofa.

She screamed, and he withdrew.

Joyce collapsed onto the ground gasping and shaking.

"She is not a spy," Voldemort said, satisfied.

"What would you have me do with her, my lord?" Blaise asked.

He seemed to ponder the situation for a moment.

Joyce held her breath.

"Young Malfoy is engaged to Ms. Parkinson?" he asked out of the blue.

Blaise's eyes widened in surprise at the question.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Her blood is untainted, and that is a rare quality among witches and wizards your age," he commented.

"Very well. She can give you pureblooded heirs."

Joyce's jaw dropped, and Blaise's eyebrows shot up.

"My Lord?" he questioned.

"If you don't want her, give her to Nott, but don't let her go to waste. She is your reward for a job well done."

Blaise was about to protest, then thought of Theodore Nott. His eyes met Joyce's and he knew there was no way he could hand her over to him. Nott made Nicholas Dunnington look like a saint.

"Thank you, my Lord, you are most generous," Blaise said, bowing low.

"I reward those who serve me well, Zabini, and I punish those who do not. You'd do well to remember that."

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Joyce sighed in relief as she sank down into her steaming bath filled with bubbles.

Once they had been dismissed, Blaise had apparated them to her Grandpa's house. Abe was not home, and had left no note, so Joyce had offered Blaise a guestroom. Luckily, he had been just as tired as she was and had merely said goodnight before shutting himself in the room.

They both needed time alone to think. Her mundane life had taken a very drastic and frightening turn in the last couple of days.

It seemed odd that she was more comfortable being engaged to a stranger who was a Death Eater, than to a man she had known all of her life. Curiously, the Death Eater thing didn't bother her. He'd proven himself a decent man when he saved her tonight.

She wondered how soon they would have to marry, or if he'd even go through with it. She scowled down at her plump, naked form that was barely covered by bubbles. She wouldn't blame him if he changed his mind.

But something about the way he'd looked at her earlier had told her that he'd do it. There was some motive driving him to do whatever it was Voldemort wanted, and it had nothing to do with her.

"At least I'm not marrying Nicholas Dunnington," she said to Merlin, who was batting at the bubbles again.

Joyce picked up her latest novel as she climbed into bed, but quickly put it away. This was the first time she could remember her own life being more interesting than a book.

She tossed and turned for quite some time before settling into a restless slumber.

Joyce suddenly found herself back in the woods again, but this time she was alone. She could hear Blaise calling out in the distance, and began running toward the sound of his voice.

She saw him in the distance. He was kneeling on the ground trying to fight off a big, black, shadow. It had no definite form, and her blood ran cold at the sight of it. He cried out again, and she reached for him.

She was suddenly falling, and landed with a painful thump on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. Her eyes darted all around her darkened room, as her mind struggled to catch up to the fact that she'd only been dreaming.

Joyce slowly got to her feet, rubbing a tender hip. She'd probably be bruised tomorrow.

She had settled herself in bed, determined to go back to sleep, when she heard Blaise cry out again.

She threw a dressing gown over her thin nightgown and hurried to his room. She hesitated outside the closed door.

Would he be mad at her for barging into his room?

Blaise let out another yell, and she rushed into the room expecting him to be under attack.

However, he was alone in the room, thrashing on the bed in his sleep.

Joyce hurried to his side, and grabbed one of his flailing arms.

"Blaise? Blaise wake-up," she said, as loud as she dared.

He suddenly grabbed her arms and flipped them both over so that she was lying trapped beneath him.

She had to bite back her terror at being trapped beneath a man again.

Blaise blinked down at her in confusion.

"Joyce?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded, unable to speak.

He suddenly realized that he was holding her down, and quickly moved away.

Joyce slowly sat up; rubbing her arms where he'd gripped her.

He rubbed his eyes, and then turned to look at her in concern.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No," she lied.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Did you need something?" he asked, finally.

She raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Then why are you in here?" he asked, a little annoyed.

"I heard you yelling. It sounded like you were being attacked," she said, sounding a lot calmer than she felt.

He seemed to deflate a little.

"Sorry about that. I've been having pretty violent nightmares since my parents died a few months ago."

She just nodding, knowing all to well the pain of losing your parents.

"Well, if you're alright now, I'll just go back to my room," she said, getting to her feet.

"Wait!"

She turned to look at him, surprised at his outburst.

"Could you stay? I mean, we should probably get to know each other if we're going to be married right?" he asked.

She hesitated.

"It's two AM."

"Oh, are you tired?"

"No."

He grinned and patted the bed next to him.

She sat back down beside him, warily.

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"So, how old are you?" he asked.

"That's not a very polite question to ask a woman," she reprimanded, playfully.

He just gave her a look.

"Oh, alright, I'm twenty-two."

"Wow, you're old."

She glared at him.

"Twenty-two is not old! How old are you?"

"I just turned nineteen a few weeks ago."

"I'm a cradle-robber," she said looking away from him.

He laughed, but she just glared at him.

"I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

Her expression softened.

"Don't be. I'd be dead if you hadn't intervened."

Slowly, he reached out and grabbed her hand.

She watched as his long finger stroked her skin, and she shivered.

He smirked at her, and then raised the hand to his mouth placing soft kisses all over it.

Joyce sighed in pleasure, and had to resist the urge to pinch herself. If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.

She gave a little yelp when he bit down hard on her pinky, but not hard enough to draw blood.

Nope, not dreaming.

She gave a half-hearted tug on her hand, and he released it.

"I wasn't aware that this is what you meant by 'getting to know each other'," she commented, staring at her red pinky.

He leaned closer and trailed a hand down the side of her face.

"Joyce?"

"Hmm?" she asked, mesmerized by the desire in his eyes.

"Can I kiss you?"

She didn't answer, but leaned forward closing her eyes.

She was expecting a gentle, chaste kiss like the ones he'd placed on her hand, but he surprise her by slipping his arms around her waist, and pulling her flush against him. His lips met hers with a passion she'd only read about.

He pulled back to whisper, "Open you mouth for me."

Then his tongue was sweeping inside her mouth, and she moaned in ecstasy.

The reality of what was going on hit Joyce like a ton of bricks when Blaise slid his hand beneath her nightgown to cup a breast.

She suddenly froze, and pulled away.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just... You know, I'm pretty tired, I should really get to bed," she jumped up and hurried toward the door, crying out when he grabbed her arm and forced her to stop.

He was shocked to see the tears falling down her cheeks.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Not you," she said solemnly.

And suddenly he realized what was wrong. He felt really stupid. The woman had nearly been raped a few hours ago, and here he was taking all kinds of liberties that she clearly wasn't ready for.

He let go of her arm, and gave her a sheepish look.

"I'm sorry, Joyce."

"Its okay, Blaise. I'll be fine; I just need a little time, okay?"

"Sure."

She pecked him on the cheek, and hurried back to her own room, resisting the urge to lock the door.

It would be better in the morning. It always was.

End part 2/3