Bleary and incoherent, Ella woke, her eyes flickering open. She felt the cold stone beneath her and with startling clarity, it all came back to her: her father's old friend pulling her by the arm, dropping her book on Stoatshead Hill, screaming for her father, for anybody. After that, however, her memory blanked. She did not know how long she had been there, on the floor. She certainly didn't know where she was or who surrounded her at that very moment. Pushing herself up on her elbow, she looked around. It was a sunless room, dimly lit by lamps hung high from the rafters. There was a long table and a few broken chairs in the center. The hearth didn't house any flames and a threadbare rug lay before it. She noticed that there were indeed windows but long, heavy, red drapes were closed tight against the sun.
With a shiver, she rubbed her arms with the sweaty palms of her hands. Her dress was torn, the left strap dangling loosely by a few threads. Self-consciously, she pulled it up, holding it over her shoulder and searching the room for any sign of movement. It appeared in the form of a small, ginger cat which was weaving its way through the legs of a chair. Unable to help herself, Ella stood up, wanting to touch this only living thing. Upon standing, however, she realized something was wrong. Her right leg caved under the pressure of her weight and she fell panting to the floor. She pulled up the green skirt of her dress to examine it. A large bruise was visible around her knee and a dull rush of pain flooded her when she touched it. As she could not walk, she scooted her way across the floor, scooping the cat into her lap.
She brushed back its fur to the utter delight of the animal who purred loudly. Calmed slightly be the methodic strokes, her breathing went back to normal. "Where am I?" she asked to no one in particular, rubbing the feline behind the ears. To her utter shock and surprise, the cat leapt off her lap and transformed into a man, not much older than herself. He was thin, thinner than any man should be and his reddish brown hair fell in clumps across his cheeks which were streaked with mud and what Ella could only assume was blood. His eyes were green and held an emptiness she had not seen in one some young.
"I was waiting for you to wake up," he said, his voice hoarse and dry. "You looked so peaceful and I didn't want to. . ." he trailed off as if he had something particularly nasty to say and wanted to put it off as long as possible.
"Who are you?" Ella asked curiously.
"Andrew, Andrew Gibson," he answered, holding out his hand low enough for her to reach it from the floor.
"I'm Vela Black," she returned, gazing into his eyes. He blushed and she followed suit, looking down into her lap.
"Hi," he greeted shyly. "Hey, do you want help into a chair? I saw that your leg's gone a bit askew." Ella nodded, looking back up into his face. With a pair of clumsy hands and startling strength for someone so thin, Andrew hoisted her to her feet and led her to one of the few un-broken chairs.
"Andrew, where am I?" Ella asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He looked flustered again.
"I don't know how to tell you this but. . . well better me than someone else. Look, Vela, you're in You-Know-Who's, I don't know what you'd call it but you're a captive of You-Know-Who." Ella was stunned to say the least. Of course she shouldn't have been so surprised. Her father had told her about Peter Pettigrew, sparing no flowery language mind you. She should have put two and two together but it's not a conclusion at which most want to arrive.
Because her shock was so great, she found she could only breath a soft "oh" before slumping back down into the chair. "And you are too I suppose."
Andrew winced a little before nodding. (You thought I was going to make him a Death Eater now didn't you. Hahahahahahaha More manic laughter). "For a little over a month now."
"I'm sorry." Ella's apology seemed un fit here. The magnitude of a month of imprisonment by the darkest wizard in recent history seemed lost on two simple words.
"It's okay," Andrew said awkwardly. He sat down in a chair beside Ella. "They'll probably be coming soon; they were waiting till you woke up. Listen, they, the first time is always the hardest," Andrew seemed frazzled as he tried to articulate the words of encouragement he so desperately wanted to lend to Ella.
"What do you think they'll do?" Ella asked in a faint whisper. Andrew shrugged unhelpfully, not finding any words for her. "Are there any other prisoners?" Andrew nodded.
"During the day, they separate us, put us in different rooms. At night they take us down to the bottom floor. They're running out of room though. That's why they put you with me I think." Before he could describe the situation further, the door at the far end of the room banged open. A tall man with sleek blond hair glided in, followed by Peter Pettigrew and a freakishly tall man with long gray hair and bushy silver whiskers.
"Well, well, well, the captive has awakened and her dear little boyfriend too," the blond man sneered. Ella recognized him from the pictures in her father's office, the gray-haired giant too. They were none other than Lucius Malfoy and Alexander Morley. "I see your dear old father has not taught you any manners. You must rise to meet your guests Ms. Black." Lucius pointed his wand at her and she felt herself rise despite her body's pleas to stop. Once up, she crumpled to the floor, holding her injured knee and biting her tongue to keep from screaming. It was a thousand times worse than getting injured in a Quidditch match for, in a match, she was sure to have it healed. Here, she believed it would be a constant source of entertainment for the Death Eaters. "Oh dear, is your leg broken? How sad; don't you agree Morley?" The man nodded, a sadistic grin spreading over his face.
"Stop!" Andrew exclaimed, running to help Ella to her feet. Before he could reach her, Lucius Malfoy pushed him down, kicking him in the shin. His smirk was gone now and replaced with a look of contorted rage.
"Stupid boy, mind you never speak to me like that again," he gave Andrew another swift kick to the gut. Andrew curled around his abdomen and moaned softly. Ella didn't dare move but sent him looks of pity. It was all her fault. She didn't know what to do. She had no wand; she couldn't even stand up. The only thing she knew to do was to keep her mouth shut and wait for the whole ordeal to be over. Surely her father would find her. "Now my sweet, I think you're due for a little information session." Lucius pointed his wand at her again and lifted her to her feet. This time, he sent her sailing into a chair. She toppled over it and fell on her arm. Her dress flew up and with her spare hand she tried to cover herself again. The pain of falling and the pain of humiliation swept over her.
"Please," she murmured.
"Please," Lucius mocked, grinning again. "Now Ms. Black, lets get a few things straight. You're father will not find you; there is no one here who can help you. You are mine," he traced his finger over her jaw line, looking straight into her eyes. She let out a pitiful whimper, begging the powers that be that she would not be harmed.
"Sirius, you have to get up," Remus begged, standing in Sirius' doorway. His friend had barricaded himself in his room for the passed two days, only leaving his bedroom to file a report on Ella and to visit Leo at Hogwarts. St. Mungo's was deemed unsafe. "Sirius, Dumbledore's here," Remus received at least a little reaction. Sirius grunted and grudgingly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked horrible, wiry whiskers poking out about his chin, his black hair oily and unkempt. His eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders were slumped foreword. "Come on Sirius, buck up," Remus implored half-heartedly. Sirius sent him a withering look and the two walked downstairs to the sitting room where Dumbledore was pacing the hearth.
"What's the news?" Sirius asked, throwing himself into a chair and looking at Dumbledore expectantly.
"I came here for two reasons Sirius. First, I've brought Leo back," Dumbledore gestured to a vacant figure in an armchair beside him. "He's fine. . . physically. He's a bit shaken up but, well, you, anyway," for the first time in Sirius' life, Dumbledore was at a loss for words. "The other is Ella. We need to get a move on things if we want her to stay al-, if we want her back." Sirius nodded, wanting the aging professor to get to the part he didn't already know. His eyes darted to his son who was slumped against the back of the chair, his eyes downcast.
"Do you have any idea where she could be Sir?" Remus asked. Dumbledore shook his head sadly.
"Not concretely no. She's probably at his headquarters where all the other prisoners are." Leo let out a soft hiss, twitching a little. Casting the boy a side-long look, Dumbledore continued. "Do you have any way of tracking her Sirius?"
"I did but it doesn't work," Sirius answered sadly.
"Have you activated it?"
"No but it would have notified me immediately where she was going. It always does if she apparates with someone other than me, Remus, James, or Lilly. It did nothing."
"Yes but it might be a way Voldemort's using to get a hold of you."
"But why would I cater to Voldemort's wishes?" Sirius asked, not trying to keep the venom from his tone.
"Because Sirius," Dumbledore began almost impatiently, almost. "This was not planned well. From what you've told me, it just so happened that Pettigrew was walking through Diagon Alley. It is my belief that Voldemort gave this mission to him as one final chance before ending his pitiful existence. As such, Voldemort didn't really plan on Pettigrew succeeding. The boy has been making a lot of mistakes as of late," Dumbledore's voice, for once, was filled with something other than wisdom and tranquility. For the first time in a long time, Sirius believed Dumbledore capable of true emotion. He was angry and sad, confused and frustrated, just like Sirius.
Sirius had forgotten, of course, how close Dumbledore and Ella had been. He hadn't, of course, been like a real grandfather; he was far too. . . intangible for that. But he had religiously attended Ella's Birthday Parties, buying her a perfect gift each year. He had talked to her, explaining all of the mysteries Ella had so wanted to work out.
Their first conversation had been when she was six. He had come to brief Remus and Sirius on an upcoming mission and got invited to dinner. He had been placed at the head of the table where Remus usually sat, right next to Ella who began rambling on about ancient Egyptian sorcery. Unlike her father and godfather, however, Dumbledore had actually kept up, adding in some new aspects to flesh out her knowledge. From then on, Dumbledore was all Ella talked about. Her allegiance and loyalty to him nearly matched Hagrid's, a fact that frightened Sirius slightly.
"I'll try but, well, I don't think it'll do anything," Sirius replied softly. He pulled his wand from the holder he kept strapped to his leg. From his pocket, he drew a tiny picture and frame. It was a photo of a fat, red baby girl. She was sleeping at the moment, wrapped in a big pink blanket. Sirius touched his wand to the picture and murmured something inaudibly. Immediately, a ghost-like replica of the dark lord slithered from the picture, fully materializing a couple feet off the floor. Three gasps masked the frightened moan from a certain seventeen-year-old.
"Why Mr. Black," Voldemort's voice was cold and high and his eyes glowed red. "It is a pleasure," his nostrils flared as he tossed his head back in a cruel laugh. "Isn't this a switch of the tables. First, you have something I want and now I have something of yours," he stepped aside to reveal another figure behind him. Sirius' breath caught in his throat. It was Ella. Her face was streaked with blood and she was holding her leg. Tears streaked down her face as she tried desperately to reach out to him.
"Dad," she moaned, sniffing heavily. It was all Sirius could do to stay still. It wasn't as if she was right there for the taking.
"Listen Black, if you want to see your daughter alive again you must do several things for me." Voldemort had taken on a business-like tone. "First and foremost, you must join me, second, I want that locket. Get it to me and I will not end your dear little star-shine's life." The picture began to fade and Sirius almost looked away. As the smoky wisps all-but disappeared, a faint voice echoed through.
"Don't Dad, don't." And then it was over and the living room went back to normal. The picture frame dropped from Sirius' limp hands as he sank back down into the chair.
"Sirius, what locket is he talking about?" Remus asked. Sirius sighed heavily; this would take some explaining.
A/N: I know its been a long time but this chapter was hard to get out. I've also had a gazillion things to do. Anywho, please, please, please, please Review! Cheers! and Happy Christmas!