It'd be safest if you ran; fuck, that's what they all end up doing in the end… Say something; do it soon, it's too quiet in this room. I need noise; I need the buzz of a sub, need the crack of a whip, need some blood in the cut. – k flay, Blood in the Cut
April 23, 1978
Layla shivered, tugging her green faux leather jacket a little tighter closed, nursing her glass of firewhiskey slowly in a poorly lit corner of the room. The crowded room was raucous, the lights a chaotic neon flash pumping in time with the bass of the rock and roll music that was turned up so loud one could barely hear themselves think. Lucius lingered by the bar in conversation with Rodolphus LeStrange, his black suit, shirt, and tie reflecting the rainbow of lights emanating from… some sort of magic crystal ball? Definitely not a Muggle disco ball, but not something Layla had ever seen at Hogwarts either. Scanning the room, she spotted Regulus in the small crowd of people dancing, grinding on some cute girl with a short dark bob… what was her name again? Parkinson? Greengrass? Layla looked away; she didn't care anyway. Loathe as she was to admit it to herself, she liked it here. Parties had never been her scene, and she'd always despised loud, crowded spaces, but this… Well, it vibed.
"How are you doing, Layla darling?" Layla jumped as Bellatrix purred in her ear, not having seen the older woman slip into her space.
Layla took a deep breath before forcing a smile. "I'm well, Bella," she replied as nonchalantly as she could. Her arm burned and itched deep inside, and her fingers twitched with the desire to pull her wand on the woman.
Bellatrix followed Layla's gaze back over to Regulus and his – date? friend? fuck buddy? – whoever the hell she was. She grinned and said, "You know, if you two had started dating, I would've supported it." Layla's eyes snapped to her, jaw dropping. Bellatrix laughed, leaning back against the wall. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not exactly thrilled at the idea of Regulus tainting the family line with your sullied blood, but I happen to like you. You'd have made a powerful pair."
Layla shifted her weight, definitely not comfortable with the direction of the conversation. "So, will I see you at the wedding, Bella?" she offered, hoping to redirect the boat to safer waters.
Bellatrix smiled and shrugged. "Of course, we're all family, after all. In one way or another." After a beat, she added, "Her name is Evelyn Burke, by the way, if you were curious," with a smirk, pushing herself off the wall.
Layla's cheeks heated. "I wasn't," she lied.
Bellatrix watched her for a moment, then took the glass from Layla's hand and sat it on a nearby table, and snatched Layla's hand in hers. Layla tried to protest, but she didn't think the other woman could hear her over the drums of… was that Led Zeppelin of all fucking things? Weren't they Muggles? Maybe they were secretly wizards, it would certainly explain a few things. Layla's complaints were wasted, at any rate; Bellatrix quickly and easily had lured Layla out into the dancing crowd. Before Layla could resist, Bellatrix had slipped behind her, hands gripping tightly on her hips, guiding her to dance with her. This is completely fucking insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Layla searched the room with her eyes, desperate for rescue, even though she happened to quite enjoy this song… was this seriously Kashmir? She shook her head, allowing Bellatrix to pull Layla's hips a little closer to her own. This was not what she expected when Lucius had pleaded with her to go to a "small social gathering" with him on her first night of spring break. Not at all.
She'd expected overpriced wine and tiny food portions; she'd expected bright lights and stuffy bureaucrats. She'd expected to be bored to tears and to be begging Lucius to take her home as soon as was polite. She expected to listen in silent fury to old pureblood men spouting off cruel, heartless, anti-Muggle politics, unable to say a word in protest.
She hadn't expected young people, even teenagers like herself. Fuck, she definitely hadn't expected so many people to be her classmates, and not just Slytherins either. She hadn't expected the Death Eaters to actually party. She hadn't expected good, possibly Muggle, music or "quality" junk food or the vintage hard liquors from years that she could've sworn had been destroyed by Germany in World War II. She sure as fuck hadn't expected Bellatrix LeStrange to dance with her and… Layla realized Bellatrix had slipped a small potion vial into her hand as she finally locked eyes with Lucius across the room, who leaned on a table and watched her with heated eyes and a dark smirk. Yeah, no hope of a rescue coming from him.
Layla glanced down at the vial in her hand. A thick, viscous fluid floated inside, silver or white maybe? It shimmered and sparkled in the lights from the weird not-disco-ball, not-laser flashing colored lights. She looked back up at Lucius, her eyes wide. She saw his shoulders shake with laughter she couldn't hear as he mimicked the motion of tipping something back to drink. She stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, even stopping dancing long enough for Bellatrix to get annoyed. The older woman's nails dug into her hips through her high-waisted wool mini skirt enough to make Layla hiss and begin to sway her hips again. When Lucius nodded at her again, she uncorked the vial and tossed it back like a shot. Lucius had never gotten her into any real trouble before; if he thought it was safe to take, it probably was.
The liquid went down like sour candy, but after, it tasted as if she had witch hazel stuck in the back of her throat. Layla gagged a little, and she felt more than heard Bellatrix's cackling laugh behind her. She spun Layla around to face her and licked up the side of her face. Layla grimaced and flinched away, not the least bit interested in being that close to Bellatrix's face ever again. A wild giggle slipped past Layla's lips as she was pulled back in to dance closer, and was surprised that she no longer minded the nearness. She met Regulus's eyes over Bellatrix's shoulder. He looked a little concerned, but Layla just smiled and shrugged; somehow his cousin didn't frighten her anymore. Regulus raised an eyebrow at her, but then Evelyn Burke shoved her face into his and drew his attention back to her. Layla's eyes narrowed at that but her face turned to confusion when she felt another body press up against her back, taller, harder than Bellatrix in front of her. She dropped her head back against the chest behind her to look at the face of the person who had trapped her there; Rabastan pushed a lock of dark hair out of her face with a flirty smile. Somewhere inside Layla absently thought that she should probably be miffed and walk away; instead, she smiled back and ground her ass back into his hips with the rhythm shift between songs.
Time flew; the room shimmered and glowed in a rainbow of colors. Layla felt good; was pain even a real thing? She couldn't remember if she had ever felt pain before. Maybe pain was just a myth. Who was she dancing with again? Did it even matter? The pressure of hands sliding over her body, the heat of being surrounded by people, the thump of the music… Had she ever been safer? This was nothing like the happiness and feeling of belonging she had felt when hanging out with Dumbledore's Army; this was euphoria and love and darkness that hid all secrets. Layla almost didn't even notice when Bellatrix kissed her until she realized that she liked it. A lot. She felt a hand on the back of her neck, cool and steadying, and then she was pulled away from the crowd and wrapped in Lucius's strong, calm, steady arms. He chuckled in her ear, handing her a firewhiskey and brushing a kiss on her cheek. She took a sip and then gagged. Not firewhiskey. Water. Unexpected, like the rest of the evening had been.
"Having fun, my dear?" Lucius murmured in Layla's ear as she felt her left arm begin to spasm across her scars again. Not like before, deep and painful; more surface-level and pleasant.
"Uh-huh," she answered lazily, leaning back against his chest and letting him support her weight. Was Regulus even still at the party? She didn't care anymore. Lucius's fingers trailed the length of her stomach under the hemline of her sweater, her skin buzzing with excitement. Layla hummed softly, then tossed out, "Hey, you know, the Order is, like, super incompetent, you know?"
"Really, love?" Lucius muttered, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as he nuzzled her neck.
"I mean, yeah, they're pretty powerful witches and wizards and stuff," Layla rambled. "But they're idiots, too, right? You guys are actually pretty awesome; why doesn't everyone like you?"
"Jealousy," Lucius teased, his amusement at her intoxication lighting up his voice as his fingertips strayed from her stomach, across her hip. "They'll never be as powerful, beautiful, wealthy, pure. They'll never be as magical as we are right now."
Layla turned in Lucius's arms to face him, staring up at him with wide, wonder-filled eyes. She sat the water down on the bar beside them, nearly missing the surface for lack of care. "Maybe I get it now," Layla said softly, then she reached up and kissed him. As they snogged, her body vibrated with the urge to get closer, closer, closer…
A shriek startled Layla so badly that she jumped hard enough to hit her forehead on Lucius's chin as she pulled away. Her hand instantly found her wand in her jacket pocket, but Lucius's hand covered hers and kept her from drawing. Fear filled her eyes as she looked up at him, unwilling to turn around and face the screaming, even as the music kept playing. She heard Bellatrix shout at someone, "How dare you, you filthy little mudblood! Do you think you're good enough to put your hands on my husband?"
Lucius pushed Layla a little, urging her to face it, but she didn't want to. She couldn't. "I'm sorry," a female voice whispered from the room behind her. "I didn't know who he was."
"Lying little bitch," Bellatrix hissed, and the room flashed red. Layla finally followed Lucius's prompting to turn around and look; she didn't know the woman on the floor, but her body knew, remembered, what that curse from that Death Eater felt like. Her stomach roiled, and it was all she could do not to puke on her shoes right there. Lucius put the glass of water back in her hand and forced her to drink it. It helped a little.
Regulus was the only one with the nerve to intervene. "Bella, maybe it was an accident," he pleaded with his cousin as he stepped up behind her. "She's paid for it now; can't we leave it at that?"
Bellatrix broke off her curse and rounded on her younger cousin, vicious and cruel. There it was, the face that haunted Layla's worst nightmares for months. Bellatrix LeStrange, the Dark Lord's most trusted Lieutenant, was in a rage, staring down Layla's best friend in the world, and to Regulus's credit, he didn't show her an ounce of fear. Bellatrix sneered at him, "Nonsense, baby cousin; mudbloods like this one have to be reminded of their place in proper Wizarding society. I don't know why anyone even invited this one, but she needs to be shown just how out of place she is here amongst us purebloods."
Layla thought she saw his spine straighten for just a brief moment, but then Regulus nodded his head in deference. "Of course, Bella," he said, taking a step back from her fury.
Bellatrix's face lit up with an evil grin. "Good. Now, let's have some fun with this one, shall we?"
Lucius whispered in Layla's ear, "Stay here. Try not to look away, but stay here, no matter what."
Layla stumbled a little as Lucius moved from behind her, joining the circle of Death Eaters as many others quickly began to leave the room as inconspicuously and quickly as possible. Regulus slipped out of the crowd to stand next to Layla, casually tossing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing. "Don't look away," Regulus whispered, his voice tight, and Layla could feel him shaking with anger.
"I know," Layla muttered back, her hands trembling as she took another sip of water to settle her stomach. As the Muggleborn woman's intestines were ripped from her body, the water didn't help Layla's nausea anymore. But she held it together. She turned her face to stone, and she didn't look away. She refused to flinch or cry or scream. She simply watched and retreated inward, thanking whatever gods were out there that it wasn't her this time, Regulus standing stalwart with her through it.
When it was over, Lucius swept over the pair, and Layla forced herself not to look at the blood spatter on his suit jacket and tie. Regulus took a step away, his hand lingering as he pulled his arm free of her shoulders. Lucius swept his thumb across her cheek, and she looked up at him, her eyes burning with the effort to not cry. He took a solid hold of her waist, and the pair disapparated to the gates of Malfoy manor.
Lucius led her into the house, up to her bedroom, and stripped her of her jacket. Layla said nothing, too sober, too horrified, too sick. He pulled her through the left door, into the bathroom, and waved his wand at the bathtub, where the water began running for a bath. Layla ignored him and the tub, enraptured by the image in the mirror instead. Her face and neck were flushed, and the blue color of her eyes seemed brightened by the contrasting redness of holding in her tears, and the deep burgundy stain of blood where Lucius's chest had rubbed against her mustard sweater. The black marble tiles and counters reflected the candle flames like little shimmering stars. It might have been beautiful if Layla could get the image of that Muggleborn woman being ripped apart out of her mind. Lucius caught her eye in the mirror. "Shall I leave you alone, my dear?"
Layla's brain short-circuited. Was he subtly asking her permission to stay? Did she want him to? Was it even appropriate after… after…?
She found herself shaking her head, and she wondered for a brief moment if she had lost her mind. "Stay." The word came out dry and hoarse like her vocal cords had forgotten how to function from the effort of staying silent in the face of such evil. Lucius nodded, shedding his suit jacket and hanging it from a hook on the back of the door. As he loosened his tie, Layla asked quietly, her voice exhausted and emotionless, "What was that stuff? The potion Bellatrix gave me."
Lucius glanced over his shoulder at her as he slipped the tie from his neck. Layla hadn't moved. "Willow's Thorne," he answered as he unbuttoned his shirt. "It's a recreational potion, distilled from the sap of a Whomping Willow… and illegal. I wouldn't mention having any to anyone at Hogwarts if I were you. It's an enjoyable experience though, isn't it?"
Layla shifted her weight, feeling a little silly for asking. "Do you… I mean…"
Understanding lit his eyes, and he fished a small vial from his jacket pocket and handed it to her gently. It sparkled, a little bottle of temptation, as she gingerly accepted it. "Here, take that." He kissed the top of her head and turned away, shedding his shirt and hanging it over his jacket. He glanced back at her as she downed the Willow's Thorne potion. A shiver ran down her spine as he asked, "Do you need help?"
Layla breathed out a heavy sigh, visibly relaxing as the potion took effect. "Yeah," she mumbled, too tired to care anymore. The knots in her shoulders came loose, and she briefly wondered to herself why on earth a brilliant potion like this had ever been outlawed by the Ministry of Magic.
She didn't notice when Lucius stepped out of his pants, but she met his gaze when he came up behind her in the mirror, and gently, delicately, pulled her sweater over her head, revealing the lacy black bra she'd worn beneath. He didn't smile, and he didn't take his eyes off her, but the lust in his eyes as he took in her breasts burned brighter. "Beautiful witch," he murmured against her skin, pressing his lips to her neck.
Layla watched him in the mirror as he trailed kisses across her shoulder, setting her skin on fire. "Enticing devil," she nearly accused.
He smirked in response. "Divine goddess," he replied easily, with a tinge of amusement to his voice.
Layla breathed deeply, allowing the potion to push her back to euphoria from the edge of a nightmare. "What happened tonight was absolutely evil," she said boldly, though there was no real passion behind it.
"It was a display of power, nothing more," Lucius said dismissively.
"Evil," Layla repeated as he unzipped the side of her skirt and dropped it to the floor.
"No such thing, my dear," Lucius offered. "Just power, and those too weak to seek it."
Layla mulled that over as he helped her out of her boots and black tights. She unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, and he eased her out of her matching panties. Turning around, she wondered for a moment when he'd gotten out of his boxers, but then she noticed how aroused he was, and it no longer mattered. She blushed furiously and turned away, stepping into the massive bathtub instead. He followed her, slipping into the water behind her with a small splash. He wrapped her snugly in his arms, pulling her into his lap and making her gasp when his erection pressed against her back. "Don't you desire to know what it truly means to be a witch? A divinely magical, enchanted creature of immense power that Muggles could never even dream of?" he murmured temptingly in her ear.
She shivered as his breath chilled her skin, despite the heat of the water. "No," she lied. "There's nothing wrong with being a Muggle; power doesn't matter. We're all still human."
His hands found her breasts, kneading them and teasing her nipples until she arched her back into him. "I think you're lying," he said.
Layla wanted to be angry with him, for saying such horrible things, for doing such cruel things to that woman at the party, for catching her in her lie and forcing her to face the lure of the perspective he offered her. But she was too high to be angry. All she felt was this damnable fire he had stoked within her. She was going to burn in hell for this man one day; she just knew it. "You don't know me," she tried to glare at him over her shoulder, but her conviction deflated at the fire in his gaze.
"I want desperately to know you in every way," Lucius said. He lazily trailed his fingers over her collarbone. "I want to know the way your breath hitches when I touch you… yes, just like that. I want to know how your skin flushes when you think about me. And I already know that something deep and powerful lurks beneath your pretty little sweet facade." His fingers dipped lower, caressing down her sternum. His words followed, adding a chill to the path of heat he left behind his touch. He kissed her shoulder. "You are rage. You are passion. You are darkness." He paused, dragging his tongue up her neck, making her squeak in surprise. Infernal amusement filled his laugh, and she ached for more of the sound. "Let me taste it, my dear."
"Lucius," she breathed.
He grabbed hold of her waist and flipped her around to face him, forcing her to straddle his lap. His arousal pressed deliciously against her, and for a moment she wondered if it would feel the same as having Sirius inside her or if Lucius would feel different, unique, special, better. Then his voice, deep and husky, pulled her back to the moment. "Let me show you power, my dear. Teach you to hold it in your hands, to own it. Let me coax the darkness from you, help you to shape it into something truly magical." Layla's breath caught in her throat as she met Lucius's intense blue gaze. Needing more, she wiggled her hips against him, and his chest rumbled in approval. He buried his hands in her hair, desperately searching her face for permission. "Please," he said – begged.
Layla's hands danced across the planes of his chest and stomach, familiarizing herself with every line and curve of hard muscle there. She nodded. "Yes."
Instantly, his fingers dove below the water and found her clit, and she tilted her head back with a moan of relief. Yes. No matter what other mistakes she'd made to be here, wrongs she'd done, sins she'd committed, this was right. This was good. As he played her like a violin, leaving her gasping and breathless, she knew at that moment that being with Lucius Malfoy could never be wrong. His fingers plunged inside her, and she reached down between them to take his cock in her hand, stroking him as he stroked her. He groaned, looking up at her, that damn infernal amusement and lust dancing in his eyes. Layla decided she loved that look.
When she was just on the edge of ecstasy, Lucius withdrew from her. Making a noise of frustration, she tightened her grip, one hand on his cock and the other holding her balance on his shoulder. He laughed darkly, pulling her tightly against him as he stood up. "Bedroom," he breathed in her ear. "Now."
A shiver danced down Layla's spine as the air chilled her wet skin. He ran a warm, fluffy black towel across her skin for the briefest of moments before nodding at the door to her bedroom. An order. "Malfoy," she whined softly as she stepped out of the tub, moving no further.
Lucius stepped out as well, dripping on the rug as he ran the same towel across his chest. "Now," he repeated, his voice harder. Layla's eyes narrowed at the command. She didn't want to go to the bedroom. She wanted him, here, now, this minute, this second, desperately, passionately, achingly… He raised an eyebrow at her, a dark smirk appearing on his lips. "Oh, do you prefer to play games with me, my dear? Are you certain that you know what you're asking for?"
That comment hit Layla's confidence, and she wavered, hesitating, and glanced over at the closed door. Did she? She knew that being with Lucius was right, but what did that mean, to be with him? It was more than just good sex, wasn't it? Lucius laughed darkly. "Very well, if you insist. We can play this game."
Before Layla had time to process what that meant, Lucius had grabbed her by the wrists and shoved her roughly, face down, on the bathroom counter. Even as he forced her legs apart and pinned her to the marble, her eyes met his in the mirror, and she squeaked as he pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand. While this was a definite change of tone from the previous moment, she was surprised to see care in his eyes underneath the sparkle of mischief. "I generally prefer to be a generous lover, my dear," he said, then he dove and licked his way up her spine until his lips found her ear. "But if you prefer to be disobedient, I don't have to be a kind one."
Never releasing his grip on her hands, he knelt behind her, dropping a kiss on her rear before running his tongue over her folds. Layla cried out and squirmed, desperate for more. He obliged, using his free hand to spread her further, his tongue testing, tasting her before deepening his exploration. She wanted to arch her back, but the counter dug uncomfortably into her stomach, and every move she made increased that discomfort. His blonde hair brushed her fingers for a brief moment, and she stretched toward him, whining when she couldn't catch him. His grip on her wrists only tightened as he laughed softly against her skin.
She writhed against him as much as he would let her, pressing her hips back against his face just to feel him a little deeper, and he delivered, using his free hand to press inside her again as his tongue continued to lap at her clit. As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop the moans that he pulled from her as he drove her back toward the edge, and she begged, pleaded with him, crying out his name. It only encouraged him to tease her all the more wickedly, stopping and starting, slowing and quickening, keeping her from finding release until tears of desperation streamed down her face, and he at long last pushed her over the edge, making her come apart under his hands.
Layla was still shuddering with ecstasy, no time to catch her breath, when Lucius yanked her up from the counter, spun her to face him, and dragged her to his mouth. She could taste herself on his lips and reached to stroke his cock again, but he caught her wrists again, stopping her. She growled at him as anger lit her up again, tired of being held back. Lucius laughed as he gathered her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom at last and dropping her onto her bed. He climbed on top of her, covering her body with his. She fit so perfectly against him, and she thought lazily that maybe they had always been meant to come together like this. Was it fate that brought her back in time and dropped her right in the lap of Lucius Malfoy?
The thought escaped her when he tenderly cupped her face in his hand, pulling her eyes to focus on his. Her hands found the back of his shoulders, then the ends of his white blonde hair for her to toy with. He searched her intently, but between the Willow's Thorne and the afterglow of her orgasm, she couldn't focus her mind enough to decipher his expression. "Layla… please?" He said it so softly she almost missed it.
It didn't entirely occur to her what he was asking her, but the way he looked at her… She melted beneath him. She pulled him down and kissed him hard and deep, tangling her fingers in the roots of his hair. When they came up for air, she whispered, "I love you."
Lucius froze above her. For a long moment, nothing happened. Layla began to question if she'd said the wrong thing. Then he kissed her again, and murmured into her mouth, "I love you too." After another kiss, he begged again, "Please, Layla. I need you."
This time it clicked in her head. "Yes, Lucius," she replied, her voice steady as she met his gaze. "Please, fuck me."
Those were the magic words. He kissed her lips again, then her neck, trailing his tongue down her collarbone to pepper kisses on her breast before sucking a nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth. Layla hissed in pleasure, bucking her hips against his, digging her nails into his scalp. He pulled away with a laugh, teasing, "Eager for me, my dear?"
"Yes," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Please."
His eyes were predatory as he took her in, his voice husky, his laugh dark. "I love you, my dark, needy little witch," he said, reaching down between them to line himself up with her entrance. He teased her there with the head of his cock, until she whimpered and tears pricked the corners of her eyes again. Then he filled her completely, and she couldn't help the small scream that escaped her. Holy fuck. He's definitely bigger, better, than Sirius. A perfect fit. Mine. The thought flashed through her mind, but before she could dissect it, he pulled back and pushed in again, and all thoughts of anything other than Lucius Malfoy fled her mind. He wasn't slow or gentle, but damn if there wasn't emotion, passion, love, in every thrust. She lost and found herself again in him until the pressure in her core finally exploded, and Lucius came inside her a thrust later. She could feel every pulse as he filled her, and after a brief pause and several heavy breaths, he pulled out of her, a gush of sticky warmth following against her thigh.
Lucius dropped to the mattress next to her, both of them sweat-soaked and breathless. Layla curled into him, pressing her forehead against his collarbone as he wrapped an arm around her. He kissed her dark hair, and she sighed contentedly into him, already struggling to stay awake. He took a deep, shaky breath, then whispered, "No one will ever hurt you again, my dear. No one." Then darkness swept over her, and sleep took her, secured safely in the arms of the man she loved.
April 25, 1978
"Lucius?"
"Yes, my dear?" he called back from the other side of the closed curtain.
Layla stood on a small pedestal, staring at herself in the mirror of the alterations room of Madame Malkin's. Her wedding dress flowed in beautiful white and silver, and the bodice seemed to glitter, not with beads and rhinestones, but with sheer magic. It was absolutely beautiful, the very image of Aphrodite, but… She shifted nervously as the witch tailoring her dress bustled around her, taking furious notes as she measured and adjusted and pinned Layla. "The dress," she said anxiously, worrying at her lower lip.
"What about it?"
"It's sleeveless."
"And?"
Layla took a breath. "Lucius, it's sleeveless."
"Most wedding dresses are, correct?"
"Lucius…"
Layla could practically hear the snick of the pieces clicking together in Lucius's mind. "Oh. Right." Then there was silence from the other side of the curtain, and Layla began to question if he had walked away. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry; it's not a problem." She hesitated. Thus far, she'd always been able to hide her scars from others by simply wearing her school uniform or long sleeves. It was always seasonally and situationally appropriate. But Lucius knew magics that she'd never considered. She breathed out slowly. He would work it out; he wouldn't let people discover her secret like that. It would work out.
April 30, 1978
The return from spring break was surprisingly unwelcome to Layla. She'd had a lovely time at Malfoy Manor, aside from that nasty incident at that party. She had lazed about the Manor with Lucius, taken trips to Diagon Alley, and attended a surprising number of social functions, most of which were far less exciting than the first party. Gratefully, she hadn't been pulled along to any Death Eater meetings, tested by them again, or seen the Dark Lord again. Lucius had disappeared for several hours at a time, more than once, but when she'd asked about it, he'd just kissed her and told her not to worry, that it was just business. She hadn't asked if he meant the Death Eaters' business or if he had a day job. She was a little afraid of the answer.
Layla sat alone at the Ravenclaw table for dinner. Even though there had been other seventh years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at that party, Layla was being shunned by her fellow Ravenclaws for attending too. Rumors had spread about the Muggleborn woman who had disappeared, about Death Eaters "crashing" the party (never mind that they had been invited by the host, formerly a Slytherin himself… whatever his name was, Layla couldn't remember it), and exaggerations about what had happened and who had done what. Naturally, this meant that Layla was too evil to even sit near, so the other students had given her a wide berth from the moment she stepped off the Hogwarts Express; no one wanted to be mistaken for associating with her. Well, the Slytherins naturally didn't mind, but none of them were putting themselves out by leaving their own house table to keep her company.
Layla ate lazily as she read her novel; it was better than letting it be obvious that the isolation bothered her a little. She hadn't heard any details of what nonsense about the house party the other students had been spreading on the train; she just hoped that she'd be left alone about it. She hoped for too much.
"Snogging with the LeStranges? Really?" Sirius snickered as he slid onto the bench opposite her.
Rolling her eyes, Layla didn't look up from her book at him. "Who did what now?" she asked with a tone that said that she didn't actually want to hear it.
"You. Snogged. Bellatrix and Rabastan LeStrange," Sirius elaborated, his face smug. "How very unlike you, Danes. Or is it? I can't keep up anymore; your multiple personalities give me whiplash."
"Do I? Better than the rashes you give me, I suppose, with the way you irritate me."
"How about the rashes I gave you putting you on your knees and…"
"That would be cute if that had really happened, Black," Layla sneered, finally sparing him a glance.
Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Bellatrix particularly was an interesting choice. I didn't know you swung that way, Danes."
"You never asked," she drawled, tiring of the Gryffindor already. "Not that it was ever any of your business."
"Oooh, so scary," Sirius teased. "If we ever get together again, I'll have to remember that. And that you apparently have a deeply running masochism kink, to make out with the likes of my cousin after all she's done to you."
Layla glared at him. "Did you even bother to fact-check your bullshit before telling everyone you saw? Because that didn't even actually happen. I did sleep with my fiance, quite a few times, during this particular break, but I certainly didn't snog anyone else while I was home. Perhaps you're confused, as usual."
Sirius's smug grin grew wider. "That's what you're going with? That it didn't happen?"
Anxiety fluttered in Layla's stomach. She knew Sirius well enough to know that face; it was the face he made when he thought he'd cornered his prey. Slowly, she said, "I was with Lucius. No one else."
Sirius barked a laugh. "Oh, that's sweet, kitten," Sirius teased as he pulled out a photograph and held it up for her to see. A wizard's camera must have captured the image because it moved like the moment was still alive: a rainbow of colors tinted the three and shimmered as Bellatrix shoved her tongue down Layla's throat, with Layla smiling and wrapping her arms around the other woman's neck and pulling her closer, as Rabastan laughed behind her and leaned down to pepper Layla's neck with nips and kisses. Layla dropped her book, knocking over her pumpkin juice in the process, soaking her book and her lap with the spillage. Her face fell as horror took control of her mind. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Sirius watched her for a moment, then said, "You genuinely don't remember that moment, do you?"
Layla's mouth opened and shut silently a couple of times as she struggled to answer. "No," she finally choked out. "No, I don't. I mean, I…" The image had triggered flashes of memory, and she added, "I thought I'd dreamed it."
Sirius frowned; apparently, some of the victory of catching Layla in a lie had been stripped by the recognition that she truly hadn't known. "Where the hell was Malfoy?" Sirius asked, his voice turning hard.
An image of Lucius, dark and tantalizing and beautiful, came to her mind. "Watching," she breathed, remembering what she had forgotten, dismissed as a potion-induced fever dream, over the past week.
Unwilling to believe that she had even been capable of the action, Layla snatched the photograph from Sirius's hand, and he made no move to stop her. It was far too real. "Someone was passing them out on the train," Sirius said. "They're everywhere; I imagine the whole school knows by now."
"Fuck."
Sirius studied her for a long minute. "What the hell happened?" he asked, his voice ringing sincerely.
Layla looked up at him, eyes wide and brimming with tears. She shoved the photo into her robe pocket as she stood up. "None of your damn business, Black," she snapped before racing from the Great Hall, up to Ravenclaw Tower, up to her dorm room. It was far and away too late. Her half of the dorm room had been practically wallpapered with the images, many covered with silver Sharpie declaring Layla a "Death Eater slut." Her bed had been covered in some sort of… what the hell even was that stuff? Layla dared to touch what appeared to be motor oil, then recoiled with a squeal when it burned her fingertips. She collapsed to her knees, the tears finally spilling over and down her cheeks, clutching her hand to her chest.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, but she didn't move until she heard Dorcas's voice saying venomously behind her, "That's what you get, slut." Layla glanced up long enough to watch Dorcas laugh, step around her, strut into the bathroom, and slam the door shut behind her.
Layla finally got to her feet and checked her trunk; it was still packed. She hadn't left any of her few belongings behind over the break, so she didn't even have to so much as clean out her nightstand. With her good hand, she grabbed her trunk and painstakingly hauled it from the seventh-floor tower down to the dungeons. By a stroke of good luck, she walked up to the Slytherin entrance at the same moment as Severus Snape gave the password. His gaze wandered up and down, appraising her for a brief moment, then sighed. "What the hell, Danes?"
Layla sniffed, refusing to show Snape of all people her tears… or trying not to, at least. She didn't answer, just showed him the photograph. Snape looked at the photo, raised an eyebrow, looked back up at her, and coolly said, "Really, now?"
"Shut up and help me," Layla muttered, brushing past him into the Slytherin common room.
Snape followed after her, saying nothing. Layla spotted Regulus across the common room, cozy on a sofa with Evelyn Burke, but she said nothing and didn't approach them. Instead, she dropped herself into the nearest empty armchair, as Snape knelt in front of her, demanding to see the injury to her hand. She allowed him to take her hand but kept her fingers clenched into a tight fist in a pathetic attempt to stave off the pain. He made a noise of disapproval and waved his wand, summoning his potions bag. "Fucking idiots," he grumbled under his breath, as he pulled out a cerulean potion and forced her to uncurl her fingers. Layla hissed as he dripped a drop of potion onto each burned fingertip. "How?" he asked.
Layla shook her head. "Doesn't matter. I don't exactly have a bed in Ravenclaw anymore, though."
Snape made a sound of disapproval. "Pity."
Hands clamped Layla's shoulders from behind, and Layla jumped hard. She looked up to find Alecto Carrow behind her, cradling Layla's kitten Delilah and smiling at her. It didn't even cross Layla's mind to ask how Alecto had gotten her cat from her carrier. "Lucky for you, the extra bed in my room is still empty. You can stay with me."
Layla relaxed a fraction, pulling her hand away from Snape the second he was finished healing her. "Thanks," she said softly, to both Slytherins.
Alecto levitated Layla's trunk – why hadn't I fucking thought of that, she cursed to herself – and led her along the girls' dormitory corridor until they came to her room. "So, what was it this time?" Alecto asked curiously.
Layla snorted, laughing with dry amusement. "I simply don't agree with parties," she joked.
Alecto laughed. "You wouldn't be the only one. Have you ever taken Fairy Dust Potion? Man, that stuff's a trip, but I can't say I recommend it. The last time I did, I nearly ended up a vampire's dinner. Wasn't pretty getting out of that."
Layla grinned, feeling a small bit better as Alecto dropped her trunk at the end of the unoccupied bed opposite her own. "I'd imagine not." Alecto walked back to the door and tapped one of the empty nameplates with her wand. Layla Danes etched itself onto the silver plaque in an elegant script. "Not Fairy Dust," Layla felt safe admitting, despite Lucius's warnings not to discuss it. "Willow's Thorne."
Alecto looked at her with wide eyes as she sat down on her bed. "Merlin's beard, Layla! Hardcore!"
Layla laughed. "What?"
"That stuff's dangerous," Alecto gushed. "Fun as hell, definitely, but dangerous. If it's not brewed perfectly? You could lose years of your memory, and some people get some seriously scary hallucinations on the stuff. It can be pretty bad."
Layla blanched. Why would Lucius encourage her to drink something so dangerous? "But… Lucius…"
"Oh, Malfoy brewed it?" Alecto exclaimed, instantly brightening. "Oh, well that's all right then. Malfoy's a potions genius; he's the only Willow's Thorne dealer I trust. That's the safest that stuff gets."
"Wait, he…" Layla shivered, the pumpkin juice drenching her skirt and sweater cold and sticky. "Never mind. I think I need a shower." Layla excused herself, slipping away into the bathroom to hide. She stripped and got into the shower, scrubbing herself until her skin was pink and raw. The Wizarding World equivalent of a drug dealer. She laughed sardonically to herself. Why did that surprise her? Just when she thought she had him figured out…
When Layla exited the bathroom, dressed in her pajamas, Alecto was in bed, already revising for final exams. Layla couldn't bring herself to join her new roommate in a study session and immediately dropped herself into her new bed next to her cat, crashing hard with exhaustion.
May 1, 1978
The next morning, Layla rolled her head as she sat at her desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, stretching her sore neck muscles and ignoring the lecture. Inside, she fumed; Sirius had snatched the only desk next to hers and refused to leave it. As if she didn't have enough to deal with that day after being kicked out of her own house. Layla hadn't been sure if she even still counted as a Ravenclaw anymore or if she was technically a Slytherin now. Alecto had offered to let her borrow one of her Slytherin uniforms, but Layla had turned her down; she'd sacrificed so much of herself this year. She refused to let go of such a basic piece of her identity as her Hogwarts house, even if her house had disowned her.
A piece of parchment slipped onto her open textbook, and Layla shot a mean glare at Sirius next to her. He didn't even look at her. She opened the note. What the hell happened last night?
Sighing heavily, Layla wrote her reply and passed it back. Not that it's any of your damn business, Black, but I've moved into the Slytherin dungeon. Because I guess doing something stupid one time makes you no longer smart enough to be a Ravenclaw.
Sirius read it, then stared at her as though she'd grown a second head. Layla shrugged at him. You can't just switch houses, Danes. It doesn't work like that.
They want me there. The Ravenclaws don't. I don't like it, but I'm tired of having my stuff destroyed over and over.
You know you'd be welcome in Gryffindor Tower if you'd ditch Malfoy.
Layla rolled her eyes. Yeah fucking right.
I'm serious.
Of course, you are, and I'm Layla. I thought we were past the need for introductions.
Sirius snorted and struggled to hold in a laugh. Very cute, kitten.
Did I mention fuck you?
Not today, at least, but I still remember from last time, so it's ok that you're late delivering that one.
Layla bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Why did this asshole still have to get under her skin and make her actually like him a little? If she'd been a normal girl living a normal life, she was fairly certain they'd have been truly good friends. But nothing was normal anymore. Had normal even existed in her life since the Dark Lord had returned and killed Cedric Diggory? Suddenly, Layla had the itch to throw curses again in Dumbledore's Army… She was sure the urge would pass. Just leave me alone, she wrote before passing the note back to him. He wrote back anyway and dropped it on her book. She shoved it in the back cover, unread. Class let out a few minutes later, and she managed to slip away without having to speak to Sirius again.
"Miss Danes." Layla folded her arms over her chest, uncomfortable and defensive as she sat in a chair in front of Professor Flitwick's desk, held back by the teacher after Charms class. "A bit of a situation has been brought to my attention by one of the other students. It seems you've been struggling a bit with adjusting to Ravenclaw Tower and have moved your things to the Slytherin dungeon. Would you like to tell me more about that?"
No, I wouldn't; fucking Sirius Black, Layla thought bitterly, with a mental image of throwing a Bat-Bogey Curse at the Gryffindor in question. "There's not much more to say, Professor. The other students don't want me there, and the Slytherins do. I got tired of having my stuff broken and stolen. Not to mention the nasty mess they left in my bed yesterday."
"Yes, that was tricky to clean up, admittedly," Flitwick said, taking a plate of little cupcakes from one of his desk drawers and setting them on his desk. "What seems to be the issue, precisely?"
Layla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, slouching down more. "No offense, Professor, but if you've already cleaned up my room, then I imagine you've already figured out what the problem is."
Flitwick nodded, pulling one of the captioned photos from his drawer and dropping it on the desk. "Yes, I suppose I have," he said gently. "But I was rather hoping to hear your side of the story." Layla shrugged, her face hot, staring down at her Ravenclaw tie. It's not like she wanted to give up her house, but what choice did she have at this point? Flitwick watched her for a minute, then sighed. "I understand; I can't imagine this has been an easy time for you. A transfer student is unusual enough, but things like this… I'm concerned about your behavior over the course of the year, Miss Danes. You've continued to achieve high marks, of course, but from what I understand, you've resisted all attempts at career planning with Headmaster Dumbledore and the other professors. Could you tell me why that might be?"
Layla squeezed her arms a little tighter. "It's nothing, sir. I just don't intend to pursue a career after graduation. I just wanted to get a good education and graduate, but…"
"Miss Danes," Flitwick interrupted seriously. "I admire your desire to get a comprehensive education for its own sake. I understand that relating to the other students who have known each other their whole lives has been difficult." He took out a piece of parchment, wrote a short note on it, folded it, then offered it to Layla. She took it uncertainly as he said, "In today's climate, education in all aspects of magic has never been more important. If Ravenclaw house cannot be conducive to a student's success… I would never forgive myself if I allowed house pride to hold a student back from achieving their goals, no matter how small. Take this note to your next class with Professor Slughorn. It gives him permission to count you among his Slytherin students and take action as your Head of House should the need arise."
Layla hesitated. "Professor, I… I love Ravenclaw house with all my heart. I never meant…"
"It's quite all right, Miss Danes. We all make mistakes and struggle sometimes," Flitwick reassured her. "It's rare indeed to see a student switch from one Hogwarts house to another, but it is not unprecedented. Take some time to see if you are truly more comfortable in Slytherin house with its students. For now, you will continue to wear a Ravenclaw uniform and earn or lose points for Ravenclaw house. We can reevaluate with Professor Slughorn in two weeks when things have calmed down."
Nodding, Layla stood to leave. Professor Flitwick offered her one of the cupcakes, and she accepted it with a small smile. "Thank you, Professor," she mumbled before fleeing as quickly as was polite to the dungeons for Potions class.
Layla handed over the note from Flitwick to Professor Slughorn at his desk, hoping it would also excuse her for being late to class. Slughorn read the letter with interest, peering at the writing over his reading glasses, then broke into a smile. "Why, this is excellent news, Miss Danes!" He folded and sat his glasses down on his desk. "We'll be happy to have you in my house, most certainly. I'll send your guardian an owl after class to ensure that everything is handled appropriately, with uniforms and whatnot. Oh, and don't forget my little dinner party this Saturday night; you are still invited, of course. Now, please take your seat, Miss Danes; we're continuing to brew our Essence of Insanity potions. Best get to it."
Layla slid into the only empty seat left next to Severus Snape. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well? Are you expelled or something?"
Layla rolled her eyes. "No, but it looks like I might be transferred permanently to Slytherin."
Snape tilted his head with interest. "Really?" Layla nodded, turning her attention to the bubbling potion Snape tended. "Hmm."
Layla ignored him, pulling her textbooks from her messenger bag for reference. As she shoved her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook back in the bag and freed her Potions book, the note from Sirius that morning fell out. Sighing, she retrieved the note from the floor and finally decided to see what Sirius had last written. Seriously, do you need help? Can I do anything for you? Layla shook her head, shoving the note angrily back into her bag. She didn't need anyone's damn help; she just needed people to leave her the hell alone.