Chapter 11: Caged

After having the majority of the weekend to herself (or as close to that as was possible), Dagmar looked forward to some company from outside Malfoy Manor. She lounged in Ramstad Manor's great room with an idle gaze on the fireplace. By the time it finally lit up green, Dagmar had slouched into such a position on her stomach that getting off the couch required some work.

Hermione laughed at her. "Trying to sneak in a kip, or what?"

"Nah, just being lazy." Dagmar returned her tight hug. "I've been watching the clock all day. It's nice to get away from everyone else for a while."

"Too bad we planned on dinner." Hermione nudged her as they headed toward the foyer. The dining room doors were open for them, and the scent of freshly baked bread greeted Dagmar first. "We could've gone for a walk around the grounds or something."

"Maybe later, after we've digested a bit?"

They were halfway through dishing up when Hermione spoke again. "So did all the boys have fun last night?"

"As far as I heard." Dagmar carried some salad over to her plate. "You didn't see Harry or Ron today?"

"Nah." Hermione snickered. "Didn't you see Draco, though?"

Dagmar shook her head. "I only talked to him through messenger. They were all so slow seeing Charlie off this morning that he decided to kip at the cottage before work. He'll be back tonight."

"I imagine that's why I didn't hear from Harry or Ron. They're probably sick."

"Good, honestly." Dagmar flashed a smile. "I think they all needed something like that to make how they get on now feel more official. Draco's pretty comfortable with Harry, and he thinks a lot of Charlie. The twins are easy to get along with, but I'll admit I personally find Ron a little unapproachable. That's even with the luxury of never having teased him or anything, which Draco certainly has."

"I like to think Ron came around about him." Hermione shrugged. "Since neither of us heard about a scrap last night, I'd say that's a pretty good sign. Ron is very stubborn, but I don't think he has much choice but to respect the fact Harry's still here because of Malfoy. They have that in common, really. Do you remember learning about the concept of blood brothers? Maybe it was in History of Magic. They've all seen war together, is the gist. That's a very strong bonding experience. Muggles call that sort of relationship brothers in arms."

"It could've been History of Magic." Dagmar squinted one eye. "Definitely from a long time ago, if it was. Before OWLs."

"It's a good thing, anyway," Hermione said. "I saw it coming a while ago that they might all wind up friendly, since Harry and Malfoy were going that way. But then—well, you know. Harry really was relentless in trying to make up to Malfoy for you and Azkaban."

"And some." Dagmar held her hand in front of her mouth while she chewed. "He's still making it out like it's his responsibility to get Voldemort out of me, but at this point that's just what his job is."

"I think he's actually doing a really good job of stepping back a bit," Hermione replied. "He's seemed a lot happier—a lot more relaxed—since bringing Peter Pettigrew in. It was a very good thing for him."

"That's good."

Dagmar hadn't seen Harry since the morning that happened, but she could tell even in the way he wrote via messenger that he was at the very least in a good mood. She was jealous in a way, the same way she was of everyone else that had successfully moved into the next segment of their lives. Dagmar hated having nothing to contribute to the type of conversation hers with Hermione gravitated toward next. Hermione had a lot to say about how her work life had changed following the Death Eaters' capture. Dagmar had to placate herself for now with reminder that she currently had nothing to do, whether or not Voldemort was still inside of her. The summer term of her Healer programme didn't start until May thirty-first. All she could do in the meantime was bury herself in the winter term texts and hope there wouldn't be too many gaps in her knowledge.

Getting carried away talking about Hermione's work translated into getting carried away eating. Dagmar ended up suggesting they take some wine up to her bedroom instead of thinking about a walk.

Hermione looked around after taking a seat on the couch. "You know, I always tried to imagine what your house was like when we were still in school. When I heard the rumour that your parents might be Death Eaters, things made more sense why I never came over. Or why you never visited me."

"We tried, didn't we?" Dagmar asked. "The summer you went to France."

"Oh—right." Hermione hid a small smile behind her glass. "I forgot about that."

"Mum, Dad, and I were always gone most summers anyway." Dagmar swung one of her legs over the chair's armrest. "Looking for Luca, I guess. I can't believe they never thought to check Durmstrang sooner, although I'm glad for his sake they didn't."

"To be fair, it's pretty far away," Hermione replied. "Viktor showed me where it is on a map. It's seven time zones ahead of here. It's also really far north. There's a peninsula of land between the Kara and Laptev Seas. It's on a lake there."

Dagmar couldn't visualize it, since she wasn't familiar with anywhere beyond the Ural mountains. "Does Viktor tell you a lot about what going there was like?"

"We talk about it." Hermione nodded. "Just like anything else, really."

"I haven't really ever been curious about it, except for lately." Dagmar swirled her wine. "Harry told me that Luca's open to exploring some sort of relationship between us once everything with Voldemort gets settled. I've heard some things about Luca's life before he came to Hogwarts just from us being friends, but now it's like. . .I'm really curious. I just want to know everything. It's still a little weird to think about him in context of a brother, but I already sort of saw him that way."

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Hermione said. "You're lucky that you get that both ways with him. I've always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. Harry and Ron are the closest things I have to that."

"I always wondered too." Dagmar sipped her wine. "Knowing that I have one. . .it's hard not to look back at everything with new perspective. I never thought anyone was missing from my life. I didn't remember him, other than the sound of his crying from that old nightmare. I wish I could remember what Magnus told me when Bellatrix took me to talk to him in Paris."

"Do you really?" Hermione's brow wrinkled. "I mean. . .you witnessed Bellatrix murder him."

Dagmar chewed briefly on her bottom lip. "I suppose. I can't imagine how scared Magnus was when we showed up. Knowing Bellatrix, he probably died in pain too."

"Harry mentioned she used the Cruciatus Curse on him."

"My mum told me I used to call him Pappa." Saying that came with a mild stabbing sensation in the centre of Dagmar's chest. "I was really attached to him. When she tried to leave him because she could see their lives were incompatible, she went back because I wouldn't stop crying."

"You were just a toddler," Hermione said. "You couldn't have possibly known better. Even if you did, you couldn't know what would happen."

"I know." Dagmar's eyes grew slightly heavy. This apparently was the latest thing to catch up with her. Whenever these things occurred to Dagmar, they came swiftly with a heavy blanket of guilt. "It's almost ironic in a way. Not only do I not have a biological father, I can't have a father figure either. Even Voldemort, I mean. . .he was there when I was born. Then he vanished. Magnus, dead. My dad, dead. What is it about—maybe not me necessarily, but us? My mum? Why did these things have to happen?"

"What I gather is that it all stemmed from Voldemort." Hermione crossed her legs. "He was the first one of the three men. The way your mum tells it, what relationship they had was a good one. She loved him, they got on well, all that. Obviously it's up in the air what Voldemort's intentions were, since I doubt he could ever truly reciprocate her feelings. He gained knowledge from her. He eventually gained a doppelgänger. If he didn't try to kill Harry in '81, he would've stuck around and become the closest thing to a father you would've known. He disappeared because he didn't think far enough ahead with the Potters. Because of who he is and what he had done, he put a target on you, your mum, and Luca.

"Magnus must have understood your situation," Hermione continued. "He tried to take you and Luca away from your mum. He probably meant to hide both of you the way he hid Luca. You can't say he didn't do a good job of it. The only reason anyone found Luca was because Professor Parasca happened to bring him right to us."

Dagmar tried to picture a life where she too had been raised in Romania. Or would Magnus have separated her from Luca? Dagmar suppressed a shudder. While things had worked out for Luca, Dagmar wasn't much keen to wonder about some hypothetical family she never had.

"Point is, Magnus ended up dead because he crossed Voldemort." Hermione swirled her wine before sipping it. "As for your dad, well. He would've been fine—you all would've been fine—if Voldemort hadn't returned. The good life you had before that wasn't imaginary. You would still have it today. I'm curious what would have happened if your mum and dad had accompanied you to the train platform the day Luca boarded."

"I've wondered that." Dagmar ran her thumb idly over her glass stem. "I can't imagine Luca not approaching us the same way he did me on the train. We recognized each other. He would've just thought we were all somehow acquainted."

Dagmar could see her mum's thunderstruck expression in her mind's eye. It was funny enough to eke out a smile, imagining Luca asking again 'And how do we know each other?'

"What a mess of possibility, huh?" Hermione asked.

"I can't really help but get stuck in it sometimes, now that I know more about the whole situation," Dagmar said with a sigh. "I can't see much of an alternative to me being stuck like I am right now. Not in a way that doesn't put Luca in my position, or doesn't have Voldemort running around free. It's more than a little upsetting that I. . .I. . ."

Heat bloomed in Dagmar's cheeks in reaction to a blossoming sensation in her chest. It hadn't been so long since she felt it that she didn't recognize it immediately—recognized him, more accurately.

"Hermione," Dagmar breathed, trying to unfreeze herself before she potentially lost control of her entire body. "He's here."

Dagmar's current shadow-Auror already had his wand drawn. "You should go, Ms Granger."

"But—"

Whatever else was said between them became secondary to a voice in Dagmar's ear. An Auror, and Potter's little mudblood friend. This doesn't look like it turned out very well for me at all.

Dagmar knew better than to believe Voldemort actually despaired. The tint of humour in his tone mirrored his emotions, with a thin slice of residual fury to go with it. Sorry, I guess?

Is this Ramstad Manor?

Ja, we're in my room. We were just visiting.

What day is it?

Sunday. Er, the fourteenth of March.

Where's everyone else? What happened to them all?

Dagmar took a deep breath. She felt a little unsettled by the wand pointing at her as the Auror remained prepared for some sort of sudden action. Hermione was gone. My mum, Lucius, Narcissa, and Mr Nott are all at Malfoy Manor. Everyone else is in Azkaban, including those last few spies you had at the Ministry. Harry found Peter somewhere by our cottage in Bergen.

There was a delay. I see.

It's over. They're all going on trial starting at the end of the month. We all are, I should say.

Even me? The humour was back.

That, I'm not sure about. I think they'd all love that more than anything, but there isn't really a way to punish you. They won't put you in Azkaban because then that means I have to go.

So we're stuck here then, or what?

We're under house arrest. There are ward charms attached to these runes— Dagmar looked down at her right arm, —keeping us here. We can jump back and forth between here and Malfoy Manor, but that's it. Neither of us can leave.

This is hardly ideal.

Tell me about it.

It's perhaps safe to assume you're waiting for me to leave so that you can get on with your own life?

Very safe to assume. Although hesitant to give Voldemort anything resembling leverage, a full view of the situation couldn't hurt anymore than it helped. Everyone knows that you're possessing me. The Ministry didn't explicitly state it, but there were witnesses at Hogwarts. My obituary had to be retracted. I've already talked to my dean, and he said I can return to my programme as soon as I'm not stuck here anymore. I got my engagement ring back from Draco.

Where's he?

Back to work in Norway. He started tonight.

Voldemort fell quiet. Dagmar waited with bated breath for where his thoughts took him, then sighed internally since she no longer could as her own action. Voldemort stood from the chair, idly swirling the wine Dagmar had been working on as he studied the Aurors—now plural—in the room with them. Dagmar sensed no anxiety to have three wands pointed at them.

"Dagmar informs me we're free to move between Ramstad and Malfoy Manor?" Voldemort addressed them.

The woman among them nodded. Dagmar felt somewhere between bad and awkward that she'd forgotten her name, but she was too shy to ask for a reminder. "You are unable to floo anywhere else. You have been stymied, and your wand was confiscated. At all times, you have an Auror with eyes on you."

Voldemort studied her over the rim of the glass. "You're Swiss, aren't you?"

She blinked. "Yes?"

"Incredible." Voldemort was amused. "Even Switzerland deigned to pick a side in all this."

"Your war is over," she replied. "We have no qualms helping Britain rebuild."

Voldemort's smile faded away along with his humour. Annoyance replaced it. "I'd like to go to Malfoy Manor."

"By all means."

The Aurors lowered their wands and stepped aside to give Voldemort a straight shot at the agape double doors of Dagmar's bedroom. He hesitated to follow the path made for him, hiding it behind a leisurely sip of wine.

They won't hurt you, Dagmar said. They're only here to make sure you don't hurt someone else.

I'm not afraid, Voldemort snapped back at her.

As if intent to prove that, he passed through them all with his gaze set forward. His eyes darted a little when they closed ranks behind him to follow. Dagmar hadn't thought, after seeing Voldemort's world through his eyes on the island, how unaccustomed he was to dealing with people that didn't submit to one withering look from him. Dagmar's heart beat a little harder than usual as Voldemort walked them down the stairs to the foyer. Maybe he hadn't actually believed what she said about his current situation. After thirty years of evading the authorities, it was possible he saw himself as untouchable. The reality to the contrary was crowding in on him from all sides now, as two more Aurors waited for them down in the great room. Rather mindlessly, Voldemort ran his right thumb over the stymy in his left forearm.

"Voldemort wishes to go to Malfoy Manor," one of the Aurors behind them called ahead.

One of them nodded. "I'll give the others a heads up to expect him."

He apparated away.

Voldemort glanced around in attempt to read the room's occupants before taking a handful of floo powder off the mantle. He stepped in with his free hand held over the wine glass, and looked around again at the team of Aurors that greeted him in Malfoy Manor's great room.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked. "Asleep already?"

"Who are you looking for?" one of the Aurors replied.

Voldemort shrugged. "Nobody specifically. I'm more curious which of them will look me in the eyes. Otherwise, would you have newspapers on hand from the last ten days?"

The Aurors all exchanged glances before the one closest to the drawing room took a step in that direction. He stopped when Voldemort made to follow. "Off-bounds for you."

"I'll wait outside."

Dagmar could tell just as well as Voldemort that they all braced for a more hostile interaction. True to his word, Voldemort merely leaned against the wall between the drawing room and powder room. He sipped his wine with folded arms, eyeing the second Auror that had come up behind him.

The first Auror exited the drawing room with a stack of Daily Prophet copies folded in one hand. "Here."

"Thank you."

Voldemort passed the Auror by for the library. His pace turned leisurely as he looked around at the shelves, a tug of nostalgia pulling at his and Dagmar's chest. He let out a little sigh that Dagmar figured only she noticed.

I miss the island already, he told her.

Was there something that library had this one doesn't?

Solitude, for one. Voldemort glanced back over his shoulder at the Auror that stood guard by the door they entered through. Better company. Magical texts that no soul other than you, your mother, and I have read. A sense of invincibility, as though anything was possible if we put ourselves to it.

I mean, it nearly was. As part of being honest with Voldemort about his situation, Dagmar took no issue with stroking his ego where necessary. Until the Death Eaters lost it, you had Hogwarts. Nobody's ever done that, you know.

I know. A little smile pulled on their lips as Voldemort made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. I only wish I had more to show for it than Dumbledore.

Dagmar didn't respond to that. She didn't like to think about how very close Draco had come to being next.

Voldemort flipped through the papers, reading the headlines. Shame. Classes are already back in session. We didn't have much of a lingering effect on the place.

No, Dagmar confirmed.

Voldemort reached the back of his pile, which had the Friday copy of the Daily Prophet. His gaze was steady on the picture of Luca, with his quill dashing along but otherwise practically still. Voldemort pulled it out for a better look.

He even sits like I used to, Voldemort commented with a sip of his wine. His hand in his hair like that.

Everyone's become quite interested in him, Dagmar replied.

What does he think of that? Voldemort asked as he turned to the page directed for the full article.

Hates it. It's been very overwhelming.

I didn't much care for this sort of attention at his age either, Voldemort said. There are much more interesting things about a person than where they came from. I prefer to be known for what I've done, instead.

If Dagmar had control of their eyes, she would've rolled them.

Oh, you're any different? Voldemort teased her. Would you rather be known because of who your mother is, or because of something like your proficiency as a Healer?

If you expect me to empathize with you, you ought to return the favour, Dagmar replied. I'm not going to be able to accomplish anything while you're here. It might be arrangeable for me to go home, but I'll always have someone watching over me as long as you're around. Draco and I could get married, but children would be off the table. I'll never be a proper Healer because I wouldn't be able to interact with patients.

And what do I get if I go? I have nothing waiting for me. I wouldn't trust any promises made to me at this point that if I give my consent to be removed, I'll be placed somewhere else. Even if that was an honest offer, I don't much care to be incarcerated until that body or vessel eventually degrades.

Is death such a bad option, then? For those weeks between when Potter tried to kill you and I woke up, it really wasn't all terrible. If I didn't have the occasional thought about how I'd let Draco down, I wouldn't have felt anything at all.

Dagmar continued when Voldemort didn't respond. Don't you have a satisfying legacy? Your name isn't going to be forgotten anytime soon, if ever. You killed Albus Dumbledore. You took Hogwarts. An exact copy of you is walking around free. Do you really want to stick around here with me and watch the world try to bury you and move on?

Voldemort still had nothing to say. Between the unsettled feeling around their stomach and a slight twitch in the left thumb, Dagmar liked to believe that he was at least thinking about what she said. He didn't seem dead-set on haunting the people who betrayed him by holding Dagmar's life hostage.

Nausea accompanied a hefty drop of their stomach, followed by Dagmar's heart ramping up to a pound. Voldemort's gaze was stuck to a small article stating 'You-Know-Who's Deadly Pet Euthanized'.

They killed Nagini, Voldemort said.

Dagmar mentally shifted, uncomfortable with how Voldemort's combined shock and—sadness?—clogged them. She was dangerous.

To who? Voldemort demanded. Breathing hard, he threw the paper aside and stood up. He paid no attention to the Auror that straightened at attention. She never hurt anybody unless under my instruction.

She ate a child while we were up by Tromsø, apparently.

And how does anyone know that? Voldemort practically spat. Did they have proof?

A missing child whose sibling had seen her. Narcissa remembered Yaxley mentioning that she'd eaten something large around the same time.

So she was hungry! She would've been just fine to release back where I found her in Albania!

Too late, was all Dagmar could say. Sorry.

Voldemort grew aimless as he paced the library like a caged manticore. Nerves edged in on Dagmar when their eyes grew heavy. She divorced herself from the hot anger that sent her hands into a tremble, turned her lungs raw, and cramped her stomach. Another wave passed Voldemort over when he glared at the Auror. His tongue curled upward, intent to snap off a leave me alone, but it would have no power here. Frustration drove him over to the larger of the two windows. He tucked himself in close to the heavy, dark green drapes in attempt for a reprieve. Their face was close enough to the window that each exhale spread a cone of fog down the glass.

Coming up from behind it was the bitter bite of anxiety. Reality started to sink in, was Dagmar's best guess. Nagini wasn't here. Neither was Bellatrix, or any of the other Death Eaters. Only Aurors and traitors surrounded Voldemort. Had Voldemort not been stymied, Dagmar imagined some flourish of raw magic would've resulted from his anger. He was no more powerful in that regard than a Muggle or Squib. His magic was gone. His network was gone. He had no allies here. He had no hope, nor means to escape.

"Taken to hiding in the window coverings, have we?"

A breeze ruffled Dagmar's hair from how quickly Voldemort batted the drape out of his way. His anger returned, settling into a hot seethe as he glared at Lucius. Lucius leaned against the door frame leading out into the foyer, bored in affect.

"How dare you even speak to me?" Voldemort's voice trembled, low and dangerous. "I thought I had my fill of cowards around me, with the likes of Wormtail. Everything you and I have done for each other, and this is what you do, Lucius? You can't be so naïve as to believe they're going to let you slip away twice."

"Probably not."

If that reminder bothered Lucius, he didn't let it show. His folded arms remained loose, even as Voldemort strode across the room toward him. The Auror in the room with them waved his wand. Voldemort was cognizant enough to turn cautious. He seemed familiar with the spell, given that he raised a hand to feel the air in front of him. Sure enough, it came up against something solid and invisible. He ran his fingers over it until, due to an amused smirk from Lucius, Voldemort's hand curled into a fist.

"Aren't you so brave," Voldemort said, "hiding behind the Aurors."

"I don't need to be brave." Lucius shrugged. "I don't suspect you'd be able to do much to me anyway. Aren't coming to blows beneath us? Just because we no longer have access to our magic doesn't mean we need to lower ourselves to Muggle means to solve our disputes."

"There's no dispute here to solve, nor would I have any interest in doing so."

"Nor I. You realize it's over, don't you?"

"So everyone keeps telling me." Voldemort resumed running his fingers over the invisible barrier separating them, pacing toward the left to see where it might end. "Considering that you've finally turned your back on me, I have to acknowledge there might be some merit to the idea. You would never defect for anything less than a sure thing."

One side of Lucius' nose twitched, tugging upward on his lip toward a sneer. "There's the small matter of you attempting to kill my son."

"Oh, yes," Voldemort's voice went silky as smug pleasure rippled through him. "I assure you with my full being that I am very disappointed it didn't take."

Lucius' folded arms tightened, and his throat bobbed with a swallow. Between a set jaw and withering gaze, it wasn't an expression Dagmar would ever want to personally receive.

"What will you do about that?" Voldemort grinned. "I don't suppose that even if you decided you weren't above Muggle fist-fighting, you could do anything at all. You wouldn't want to hurt Dagmar, would you? Your precious son's precious fiancée?"

From how intensely they were being studied, Lucius might be considering a way around that to the same end. Footsteps coming from under the foyer stairs behind Lucius distracted him enough for his head to turn toward them. Voldemort's expression fell flat and annoyance eclipsed all when Harry appeared.

"Your saviour arrives, Lucius," Voldemort said.

Dagmar stumbled a little to realize it was up to her to hold her body upright. She blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath.

"He left," she told them.

Harry approached, maintaining a slight berth around where Lucius stood. He looked between the two of them. "Hermione came and found me. What happened?"

"Not a whole lot," Dagmar answered. The Auror that had placed a barrier between her and Lucius approached. Just in case Voldemort lured them into a false sense of security, Dagmar didn't take anymore than a few steps forward. "He just wanted to know how many days it had been, and what his situation was. He was reading the papers."

She gestured back at the chair, where her unfinished wine sat beside it. The paper Voldemort had thrown was strewn across the floor.

"He's angry, then?" Harry asked.

"Very," Dagmar confirmed, while Lucius nodded. "He doesn't see a way out of this. He's not taking to being captured, either. Nobody here is afraid of him. He doesn't have his magic. He was really pissed off about Nagini. He thinks it was unfair she got put down."

Harry shifted his weight and shrugged. "No undoing it at this point."

"That's what I said."

"He took it out on me." Lucius drifted closer to Dagmar. "He regrets that his Killing Curse didn't land on Draco, but who knows if he meant that or he just said it to be contrarian."

"He meant it," Dagmar quietly replied.

"What bollocks," came a voice from behind Harry and Lucius.

They both turned around to regard Abraxas' portrait. He'd moved so close to the frame that the strokes of whatever paintbrush had sealed him in oil were visible.

"The Dark Lord would never murder a Malfoy, and certainly not my heir." Abraxas touched a hand to his chest. "He would be nothing without my help. Ideas go nowhere without gold to propel them. It matters little how virtuous they are. He was merely trying to get a rise out of you, Lucius."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to bother trying to change the mind of a portrait, nor do I expect it to see anything other than what it only wishes were true. If you should keep on, I'll ask someone to cast a Silencing Charm on you."

"You will do no such thing," Abraxas snapped back.

"Try and stop me, Father." Lucius looked back at Dagmar. "When Draco gets home later, you may want to speak with the Aurors about whether or not you two ought to share a bed right now."

Dagmar hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Her shoulders drooped, and she could already imagine what Draco's reaction to that would be. "Ja, we'll probably talk about it."

"You'll be all right?"

"Ja."

"If you need any of us, the house elves can summon us in an instant," Lucius said to her, then nodded at Harry before taking to the foyer stairs. "Good night."

Harry folded his arms. As he came up closer to Dagmar, she caught the tail end of a sigh. "Fancy a cup of tea? You could tell me everything Voldemort had to say while it's still fresh in your mind."