The days turned into weeks and Sharlen began to grow sick each time she opened the little black book, sick of hoping to see anything from Harry, sick of the fear of what no news might mean. Her only solace was haunting the other inhabitants of Malfoy Manor, who had been badly punished for the escape of Ollivander and the others, because she knew if anything had happened to Harry she would have heard about it. Sharlen had been punished too for being away from the manor too long, just as Lucius had predicted. She tried to tell herself no news was good news, but the thought still made her quake. She continued to avoid food whenever possible until Bellatrix finally snapped at her and said the Dark Lord wouldn't thank them for letting his daughter die of malnutrition.
After three weeks, Sharlen couldn't take it anymore and wrote a second note to Harry, pleading with him to just let her know he was okay. She'd been fighting the urge to conduct a Locator Spell, fearing that showing up without any news or a plan would put him into further danger.
The next afternoon, Voldemort returned to Malfoy Manor and informed them he would be introducing his core group to Sharlen that evening during dinner. Sharlen figured this was likely to discourage her going off on her own again, the draw of doing so being that she was essentially nothing to anyone—but she couldn't be sure of her father's motives. It seemed sudden and unexpected, and she mused wildly over what he could be planning by exposing her.
The mansion buzzed with activity and Bellatrix and Narcissa bickered senselessly over what she should wear. They'd had instruction from her father, she knew. Sharlen stood quietly by the bottom of the master bed in Narcissa's room, watching half-heartedly, wondering where Harry was now.
The sisters settled on an off-the-shoulder black dress with three-quarter sleeves so the Dark Mark would be prominent. It fit closely to her, though it was still too big; she'd lost a considerable amount of weight, even though Narcissa was very slight herself. As Bellatrix brushed out her hair and Narcissa altered the dress, Sharlen stared out the window vaguely, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Her father came to inspect her before his Death Eaters arrived, walking around her and running a skeletal hand over her damaged neck and shoulder, the skin white as snow. He pulled her long hair behind her shoulders, instructing Narcissa to put it up and out of the way. "My little warrior," he said quietly near her ear, nails digging into her scar briefly. "Tonight, you have a new beginning."
Once he was satisfied with her appearance, her hair secured in a large knot on the crown of her head, they kept her in an adjacent room until all the Death Eaters were assembled and her father called her to him. She walked to the dining room, her skin covered in goosebumps she had no chance of controlling.
"It's time all of you met your princess, my daughter Sharlen," Voldemort said loudly to his fellows as Bellatrix pulled her into the room. Legs shaking, Sharlen walked to her father's side, keeping her mind as blank as possible and trying to hold her head high.
Her father grasped her unmarred shoulder hard, his arm around her as he grinned from her to the Death Eaters seated around the long table. Sharlen focused all her energy on steadying her breathing and keeping her mouth closed tightly.
Her father's most faithful were all in attendance, including the Imperiused Pius Thicknesse. Her stomach clenched tightly with fear as she hoped none of them recognized her from when they took the Ministry, as she had caused them considerable grief then, though she was sure even her father didn't know she'd been there aiding the Ministry. So far, there had been no retribution for it in all the months since. She ran her eyes over them, taking in their auras—mixes of confusion, fear, amusement… even lust peppered in. She swallowed hard, knowing that several of them could probably think of no greater honor than being married off to the Dark Lord's daughter.
"Very lovely, my Lord," a lean man with a sharp, black beard said from the left side, sitting up a little straighter. Several men chuckled.
"Her blood is more pure than any you could hope to meet, Macnair, made with my own," Voldemort said proudly, close to her ear. Sharlen did not move and simply stared at the table, hard. "She has grown up in the Dark Arts and I daresay she's never met a Muggle in her life." This was met with murmurs and cheers of approval.
Sharlen's stomach twisted in disgust before this band of men. Bellatrix and Narcissa stood nearby, proud to have already known her first, tight-lipped smirks on their faces. Voldemort continued, "Her last name, Down, will begin a new wizarding line so pure, never to be corrupted by the blood of wizarding traitors or Mudbloods for the rest of time." He released her and began to pace the table slowly. Sharlen stayed very still.
Many of the men were reluctant to take their eyes from her and turn to their Lord as he continued. "I regrettably had to be absent for much of her life, due to Harry Potter…" he muttered, "but Severus played his part well as her guardian and kept her magic education well advanced of others her age. You'll find her an asset to our cause."
"A powerful heir, my lord," grumbled one man near the back.
"I require no heir," Voldemort snapped. "I am forever."
"What's your wand core, princess?" another man asked hungrily.
"Yeah, let's take a look at that wand," came a third. Many more of them chuckled.
"She does not use a wand," Voldemort interrupted, stopping at the opposite end of the table, facing Sharlen. She was shaking with fury. Of course her father would want them to believe her powers were beyond the limitations of wandlore—despite his own thankless search for the Elder Wand—rather than her inability to yield a wand due to Merope's imprisonment inside her.
"I'm sure we'd all be delighted to see what she can do, my Lord," Macnair growled, his eyes back on her. She narrowed hers at him and glanced swiftly at her father, locking eyes with his.
"Well, don't leave your subjects wanting, Sharlen," Voldemort said quietly, murderously. With a quick jab of his head in Macnair's direction, Sharlen shot her right arm out in his direction, her hand tensed as if closing around a throat. She rotated her head to face him instead, eyes moving to him last, and concentrated on how his eyes bulged and his hands ripped at his neck, being invisibly constricted as he gasped and sputtered for oxygen. Sharlen continued her hold on him, her tense hand shaking visibly with effort, until his face began to purple and, upon release, he fell to the floor as her arm fell back by her side. Many of the Death Eaters around the table had stood in alarm and were now looking back to her with different expressions of fear and awe. Her father was visibly pleased.
"Lord Voldemort is merciful," he said over Macnair's gasps and coughs as he continued his slow pace around the perimeter of the table. "You'll do well to be less bold around her while your Lord is present, Macnair."
"Yes my Lord, of course my Lord," Macnair managed, breathing hard and fast.
"Sharlen, I did not tell you to stop," he said quietly, turning to her. Macnair's eyes widened with fear. "From now on, you must listen more carefully."
"I am sorry, father," she said to the floor. He rejoined her side.
"When the war is won," Voldemort said, addressing the group as they took their seats again, "we will begin procreating the Down line. For now I leave you all to your dinner and to get… better acquainted." He turned to Sharlen, who felt that her stomach had dropped out from her body icily at these words. She looked at him reluctantly. "I must leave you again, my daughter. I have business abroad."
"I understand, father," she forced her mouth to say. The room full of men in her peripheral frankly terrified her, tenfold now that they were apparently all suitors. As she held her father's gaze, she fought the urge in all her muscles to escape by any means possible. She found herself wishing her Master was present.
"Bella will tend to you," he said dismissively, waving vaguely in her direction. Sharlen felt the woman's delight radiating in her aura. With that, he swept from the room.
Unable to eat, Sharlen sat straight-backed in a chair Narcissa drew for her at the head of the table and tried to remain stonily silent throughout the meal, attempting to dispel her disbelief that her father would entertain the idea of her marrying any one of these killers. She told herself nothing was beyond what he was capable of.
What was she capable of?
There were a few direct questions she couldn't avoid, such as if she regretted missing "all the fun" when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened years before. "How foolish," she'd responded icily, picturing the basilisk's carcass she had exhumed on one of her attempts to Hogwarts as each man hung on every syllable. She looked away and muttered, "My father told you I was rightfully hidden from the world until now. I would have been the assumed Heir of Slytherin in a second, and persecuted as such."
"So much mischief she missed in recent years while Dumbledore had that school in shambles," Lucius added with gusto, raising his glass, "like when that oaf Hagrid set that brute Hippogriff on Draco. But you've seen his incompetence yourself now, haven't you Sharlen?"
"An oaf for sure," she muttered boredly.
"Seems she's had her share of mischief," a man called Selwyn, growled, pausing to take a sip of his glass of whisky. His chin raised as he swallowed, smirking at her. "Quite a scar you've got there, princess."
Sharlen narrowed her eyes at him coldly, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably. The men's eyes followed the depth of her collarbone with the movement. "Make no mistake," she said quietly, flourishing her hand in front of the dragon fire scar as though it were of little consequence, "the one responsible died a hard death for it. You'd do well to remember it."
They all attempted conversation with her at one point or another, usually approaching in small groups, but she would merely nod or shake her head. She watched the men warily, trying to avoid Draco's eyes from the opposite end of the table. They spoke loudly about their doings at the Ministry, latest killings, next phases of operation, and where Harry Potter may still be. She was glad to hear they were all wild projections with zero basis. Whatever Harry and the others were up to, they were hiding well.
"... Just last week, we sent the Dementors into Surrey," one of them was saying, turning to Sharlen as though hoping to impress her. "Gave the Muggles a right bit of hell."
"Delightful," she said without a hint of delight.
At one point in the night, Yaxley turned to her and offered her a fresh glass of wine. She shook her head and turned away. "You look extremely familiar," he said curiously, leaning forward on one arm. Sharlen stared at him blankly, wanting nothing more than to shock him into remembering again.
She knew she would not be allowed to escape into solitude, and so took to pointedly ignoring whoever tried to speak to her after some time. When people began standing to mill about the room with each other, whiskey and wine plentiful, she saw her opportunity to escape and quickly stood to slip away.
"Well now, the night is young," a man with dark hair and prominent cheekbones growled at her, blocking the door. He was one of the few she recognized immediately—Antonin Dolohov, the man who killed Stacey and her parents. He leaned against the doorframe over her and she didn't dare move. His dark hair and brooding eyes were ominous and his face was unshaven. "Not leaving so soon, are we?"
"I tire easily in groups such as this," she muttered, looking from his gaze left and right, trying to find a different path. His aura was blazing as he took another draft of the drink in his hand. He smelled strongly of whiskey.
"Perhaps you'll be more comfortable if we go someplace quieter," he said huskily, leaning closer to her. She took a step back, her hands pressed against his chest to keep him away, the alcohol strong on his breath.
"I don't think so," she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously. She couldn't let him see her sweat.
"You're a true surprise to us," he said, unabashed. In a strong grip, he removed her hands from his chest with one of his, holding them tightly. She stiffened and he smirked deeper. "None of us had any idea the Dark Lord had a daughter."
"I'm a well-kept secret."
"Yes, but why is that, I wonder?"
"Surely you're not serious?" she asked, trying to wrench her hands from his. This seemed to delight him. "I would think it obvious that my father would keep his only legacy away from potential danger while he was in hiding."
"Well, now that we know…" he growled, lower in his throat and quieter, "I assure you it will be difficult to stay away."
"You'll manage," she said darkly. She peered up at him, seeping quiet hatred. "You killed a close friend of mine, you know."
"Can't say that surprises me," he said easily with a lopsided grin. "Though, you may want to pick better friends if that's the case." Sharlen scoffed, shoving her way past him and out of the room. With quick steps, she headed for the stairs and began to ascend. Dolohov watched her hungrily, drained his glass, and followed.
Sharlen heard him behind her on the stairs and quickened her pace, running into her room and slamming the door behind her. As she put out her hands to lock it behind her, Dolohov threw it open with his wand and shut it in his wake. He quietly cast the Muffliato spell on the room, which instantly gave her goosebumps as she backed further into the room. He faced her without putting his wand away, teeth showing, and she held her arms out at the ready. "Go back downstairs," she commanded him. He didn't budge.
"Sorry princess," he said, advancing, "but it's your father I abide, not you."
With a flick of his wand he bound her hands in the same thick cord the Snatchers used to apprehend her in the woods and ran forward, shoving her chest to throw her backward toward the bed.
Struggling to keep her balance, Sharlen forced her hands out toward him through the bindings and threw him back with the Revulsion Jinx, but with a flick of his wand her legs fell out from beneath her, her spine slamming into the baseboard of the bed. In the process of casting Bombarda as she fell, Sharlen ripped her hands up through the air and the chandelier on the ceiling exploded and came crashing down, Dolohov narrowly dodging to the side.
Advancing on her again while she was attempting to shield her face from the shards of flying glass, he pulled her up from the ground by her neck and punched her in the face with his full force. Sharlen crumpled back on the bed, dazed and letting out a cry. For good measure, Dolohov took another shot at her, first with a backhand to the mouth and then a heavy blow to her ribs that stole the breath from her throat.
"What's wrong, princess?" he growled. Sharlen groaned, seeing stars. "I'm gentle enough."
She struggled to lift her head and roll off her back to the side of the bed and away, but he pulled her roughly back into place. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, Dolohov leaned over her to secure her bound hands above her head, his grip crushing her wrists as her eyes blinded white with a vision. She felt him rip his wand sharply down the length of her body, tearing open the front of her dress, exposing her. His teeth angrily bit down on the skin of her chest and she cried out again.
Sharlen heard the door bang open and fought to lift her spinning head off the bed. Through streaming eyes and the vision from Dolohov's touch—a dark graveyard full of masked Death Eaters—she couldn't see who it was.
"Leave her! Now!" came Draco's voice. A moan escaped her, marrying relief from his arrival and pain from Dolohov's elbow against her ribs, which felt splintered.
Dolohov turned his head and grinned again, laughing at Draco's readied stance in the doorway. "Did you claim this one already, boy?" he said, amused. He remained straddling Sharlen, whose head throbbed and spun as she saw double. "Maybe I'll let you have her when I'm finished with her."
"Bellatrix is on her way," Draco hissed at him, wand pointed menacingly. "What do you think she'd do to someone attacking the Dark Lord's daughter?" Dolohov's face dropped instantly. "Get out of here."
Scowling, Dolohov slowly climbed off Sharlen and stormed out the door past Draco, who slammed it after him and ran to Sharlen past the wreckage of the chandelier. One knee on the bed, he leaned low over her to support her head and hurriedly release her hands with a flick of his wand. She slid to the floor past Draco, holding her face.
"Sharlen, Sharlen, stay with me," Draco said firmly as he followed her down, coaxing her hands away and tilting her head up so he could get a look as she moaned in pain. Her eyes went milky white again at his touch and even the vision she saw of their old playdates was doubling now. Draco frowned at her swelling lip and eye. "God damn him," he growled, eyes searching her damaged face.
"Th-thank…" Sharlen gasped, but she couldn't get it out. She half-heartedly tried to cover herself with the ruined dress, struggling not to black out as her head fell to her chest, but Draco removed his own cloak and flung it over her, pulling it closed around her as he knelt at her side on the hardwood.
"Let… let me get something for you…" Draco stuttered, still catching his own breath as he stood and hurried to her bathroom. Coming slowly back into herself second by second, Sharlen put her head back into her hands, bent double over her folded legs, truly frightened for the first time in a long time and unable to shake the feeling of Dolohov hard against her. When Draco knelt before her again, he gently pulled her hands away, holding a cloth wet with cold water, and saw she was crying. His lips tightened into a thin line as he held the cold cloth to her blackening eye. "Your father will kill him," he said quietly, hoping it would soothe her.
"He won't," Sharlen cried, fists clenched in her lap. "He only had me hurt Macnair to show them my powers. This is what he wants from me. What he needs from me. He won't care how it's done."
Draco said nothing, moving the cloth to her split lip. It reddened with blood.
Feeling uncharacteristically open, she said, "I'm done with this."
Draco sighed, unsure how better to help her. "Let me get someone who can help you. I'll get mother. She'll know what to do."
"I need Harry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.
Draco dropped the cloth to his lap and looked at her carefully, expressionless. After several seconds, he said, "You can't have him."
Sharlen flung her arms around Draco's neck and cried, her body bare against him. He held her for a long time, staring hard at the floor behind her.
Draco eventually called Tifty to the room, who was immediately beside herself to see the destruction from the explosion. At Sharlen's insistence, Draco commanded her not to say a word to the other inhabitants of the manor. Long after Draco had repaired her room and Tifty helped her dress and put ice on her ribs, he sat on the edge of her bed with a hand gently resting on her stomach, both of them in silence. It gave Sharlen deja vu of the year before, when he'd visited her in the hospital wing without a touch of softness. He'd put his hand on her stomach then, too.
After an hour or so, he got up and left without a word, turning out her light with a wave of his wand and closing the door behind him. She wanted to call after him and ask him to stay with her, but couldn't create sound. She knew beneath her anguish that it would be kinder to let him go, having watched his aura reel from her confession about Harry.
Sharlen lay under the cold covers, feeling empty and helpless, going over the encounter in her head. She hadn't been quick enough in defending herself against Dolohov and she couldn't help but berate herself for what would have happened if Draco had not come to her rescue.
She didn't want to need rescuing. Everything up until this point had insisted on her independence. How could she hope to help Harry any further if she couldn't defend herself against just one of her father's inner circle?
Sharlen removed the ice from her ribs and sat up with a wince, looking around for her black book with slow purpose, her back and neck bruised from the fall. Reaching for it on the bedside table elicited a small gasp of pain and she pulled it closer with her fingertips. She gingerly pushed herself up to sit straighter against the pillows and flipped it open to the most recent page. Long since she'd been checking after Luna's rescue, she'd lost hope a response would appear, but she ached for his comfort after Dolohov's attack. He had been silent, but she saw now one brief note: Dobby is dead.
Sharlen held out a hand to summon the quill and ink on the desk across the room and wrote back, Are you safe?
She looked out the window and tried to focus on her breathing, almost wishing Trelawney of all people was there to guide her into meditation and then, mercifully, sleep. While Draco was still beside her, she had been planning to find Harry and go to him the second he left the room, but she thought better of it now. She didn't know what he was doing or planning and didn't want to inconvenience him, especially when she said she wouldn't rejoin them unless she had information to deliver. When she looked back down at the page, she saw Harry's response. Yes. We got everyone out. We've been here since, but may have found another one. We're taking action in two days.
How can I help? she replied. She stared eagerly at the page, wishing he could safely expound more. She wanted him to call her to him and give her a reason to flee her post without guilt or selfishness. To relieve her from the decision to stay.
She watched him write, Keep Bellatrix busy. Very busy. Don't let her out of your sight.
Just Bellatrix?
As many key players as possible, but definitely her, yes.
Sharlen put the tip of the quill to her mouth, careful to avoid the aching split in her lip, and tried to think of what he could be planning that required Bellatrix to be distracted. Whatever it was, it had to be extremely dangerous and complicated—she couldn't risk telling him what had happened tonight. He had much bigger problems to focus on.
She set down the quill and ran her hands through her hair, thinking hard. Her father said he would be abroad, but he would be back before then, and she was sure finding her a husband was his top priority for her at the moment considering that dinner he insisted upon. Was he ultimately considering any of the men that had been present as a decent suitor for her, to start his ultimate pureblood line? He'd set Bellatrix in charge of her, and if she could convince Snape to come… but why? It would have to be significant to get Snape away from Hogwarts.
Too deep in her own head to think clearly about a solution, Sharlen held out her left arm gingerly to summon her tarot deck. Shuffling slowly while staring blankly forward, Sharlen thought, I need a distraction that will keep Harry safe. Her wrists ached in protest as she moved the cards over each other, heavily bruised from the cords and Dolohov's grip as he held her down. Once satisfied with the deck, she drew the Dialectic spread. Elegant—three cards to show her the way. She closed her eyes for a moment before looking down at the spread. Focusing on one at a time, she turned to the Thesis card and was assured to see the Tower. A critical event, unseen danger.
Leaning her pounding head in her hand, Sharlen followed her gaze to the Antithesis, which showed the Chariot, reversed. Sharlen laughed a little to herself, thinking the appearance of this card was apt; she had consistently felt a lack of control more and more by the day. Vulnerability and certain aggression were at stake here. Finally, her chest tight, her eyes moved to the Synthesis card.
The Ten of Cups hit her like another punch to the side. All she could do was stare. If she got married it would be a significant enough affair to get them all in one place and far away from whatever Harry was attempting.
Her instinct was to tear up the hateful card and try again.
Her eyes darted across the bedspread, arms around herself again, trying to find an alternative. What if she fell out a window and broke some limbs? Set herself on fire? Could she maybe ransack the mansion and make it seem someone had broken in looking for something? Maybe if she Apparated quickly to twelve different locations and said her father's name each time to call the Snatchers and confuse the system… or went to the Ministry and created some kind of diversion? Anything she thought of either didn't seem believable, didn't seem big enough, or would allow Bellatrix to be out of her sight for any amount of time. But she knew the cards were right: If she was married off, all of them would be present. That she was sure of.
It would also help to further secure her among the Death Eaters, potentially giving way to more information that could benefit Harry on his hunt for Horcruxes. If she initiated this, it would make it clear to all of them that she was not working to help Harry—that her father's wishes were her own.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. What would Dumbledore have wanted her to do? I think I have a plan that will keep her, the Malfoys, Snape, and my father preoccupied, she wrote, fighting the urge to be sick.
Harry's reply came immediately, as if he had been staring at the page waiting for her. That would be absolutely ideal. Thank you. That is more help than you know.
I'd do anything for you, she wrote, willing her hands to stop shaking so violently. I need you to know that.
Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over at his reply: I wish you could be here.
She closed the book and pulled herself to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs off the side and pausing briefly as the pain in her ribs cut into her breath. She stood, holding the amber pendant tightly in one hand, and walked toward her bathroom where Narcissa had a full assortment of her old makeup and accessories. She tentatively began to practice covering the dark bruising and broken blood vessels around her eye and the swelling of her lower lip. She was so ineffective with self-transfigurations that she didn't dare attempt it. As she coaxed the darkness away and smoothed out each layer, mimicking what she'd watched Stacey do dozens of times at Hogwarts, she began planning, steeling her resolve. Every few minutes, a tear or two spilled over.
"The Dark Lord will be very pleased to hear this," Bellatrix exclaimed at breakfast the next morning. Sharlen was nervous that in the light coming through the windows her cover-up job may not have been sufficient, but no one had said a word about the marks on her face yet. She knew even with the makeup that her lip was swollen and broken, but she could create a lie for that if needed. Draco's eyes had flitted to her several times once she appeared at the table, but now that she had announced that she felt it wise to get married sooner rather than later, he couldn't stop staring at her with horror all over his face. Bellatrix continued, "You share much of his ambition; it will serve you well, as it has him."
"Thank you," she muttered, feeling ambition to be more sin than virtue.
"Well, don't leave us wanting," Narcissa said from Draco's side, her grip tight on her son's forearm though the tension didn't show on her face, "Who have you chosen?"
Sharlen met Draco's eyes briefly and then turned her gaze out the window and said loftily, "I'm sure my father has already chosen." Lucius was eerily quiet.
"You're probably right, princess," Bellatrix said eagerly. "Something this important should be left up to him." A twinge of annoyance flickered across Sharlen's face but she recovered quickly.
"Tomorrow, I think," she said to the window, "when he returns in the morning. Why waste time?"
Bellatrix murmured her agreement mischievously.
"I… would like Master Severus to be here, too," she said quietly.
"Of course, of course," Bellatrix said, clearly delighted. "We'll send for him immediately."
"I'd like to go, if possible. Tell him myself," Sharlen said quickly. Bellatrix agreed and stood up, saying something about letting her father know. Sharlen told the others she would be back by nightfall with Snape and excused herself from the table.
Draco excused himself as well and followed her into the hallway out of earshot. He grabbed her arm above the elbow and turned her around, saying seriously, "You don't have to do this."
"I do," she said simply, quietly.
"Of course you don't," Draco protested. "I thought you'd be long gone by this morning, what are you even still doing here?"
"That's not in the cards. I have my reasons for staying," she said quietly, and then leaned forward and whispered, "What do you think my father would do to all of you if you misplaced me?"
Draco frowned. "But getting married—"
"He's going to force the issue sooner or later," Sharlen interrupted. She realized her lip was bleeding again from not being precious with it while talking. "I have my reasons for doing it like this." Draco considered her through sad eyes, his aura bleak. Sharlen's breath caught, and she cleared her throat to will her voice not to break. "I can't stand to prolong it." She walked away and Apparated after a few steps down the hall.
Just outside the gates of Hogwarts, Sharlen regained her footing and was met with two enormous Dementors guarding the gates, excited by her arrival. "I'm here to see the Headmaster," she said, opening the gates with a wave of her left arm and walking past them. The chill was ferocious against the warmer spring breeze but she kept her gaze forward and continued toward the castle. They seemed to remember her.
At the castle entrance, she found herself facing Filch, who immediately stepped aside to let her through. She was thankful that the students seemed to be in classes, as the halls were largely deserted. As she walked, she secured her sleeves under her gloves to hide the bruises on her wrists. When she got to the door of the headmaster's office, she muttered, "Ancora," and the gargoyle leapt aside to let her pass. She held out a hand and the yew door opened before her.
Snape looked up from his desk, brow furrowed, and quickly stood at the sight of her. He strode around the desk to face her, and she said softly, "I'm getting married tomorrow."
Snape paled instantly and his aura leapt with sweeping panic. She kept her face straight, and continued, "I thought you should be there."
"What are you talking about?" he asked firmly, brow furrowed once more. She recounted the events of the night before, sparing him Dolohov's advances and subsequent attack.
"I see," was all he said.
"I don't know who it will be," she continued, her eyes locked on his, "but I figured there was no use prolonging the ordeal. Remaining on display."
"A prize to be won?" he muttered. Sharlen shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. He considered her for several long moments. "Is this… what you want?" he asked slowly. She knew he was trying to read her mind.
"It's what I have to do," Sharlen answered simply.
Snape turned his back on her, running a hand through his hair while the other leaned heavily on the desk. The reaction perplexed her, but he offered nothing more. She took a deep breath, swallowed, and said, "I want you to be there."
"Why would I need to be there? This hardly concerns me," he muttered, still facing away from her.
"I thought you alone knew what was best for me?" she asked quietly.
Snape turned back to face her and she could have sworn his face was struggling not to betray the pain radiating in his aura.
"Come back to Malfoy Manor with me," she implored him, taking a step closer. "Tonight. I'll wait for you in Hogsmeade."
Reluctantly Snape nodded, and Sharlen turned and left the office, nothing left for her to say. She took a detour down to the dungeons as she left Snape's office, making a beeline for his storage closet and the safe he kept inside. Undoing the lock, she pocketed three vials of Veritaserum before setting off again. This time, she made her way to Professor McGonagall's classroom.
As she approached, she saw that the door was ajar and moved quietly toward it. Standing in the doorway, she rapped her knuckles a few times on the frame to get the professor's attention. To Sharlen's secret dismay, she spotted Ginny immediately and felt her glare melting her cleanly in two. She kept her gaze on McGonagall, who was plainly startled to see her there. "Professor, may I see you for a moment? It won't take long," she said quietly, though the classroom was absolutely silent with all eyes on her. She didn't dare glance around.
Professor McGonagall gave her class quick instruction in her absence and swept down the center aisle toward Sharlen, who turned and walked a little ways down the hall so they'd be out of earshot. When McGonagall joined her, she said urgently, "What in the world are you doing here, Miss Down?"
"I need a favor," Sharlen murmured, bringing her sleeve to her face gingerly. She wet her robes and wiped the makeup from her eye and lip, watching as McGonagall's face turned from stern to dismayed. She peered up at the professor dolefully, unable to keep her poker face on any longer. She wasn't sure how bad her eye looked truly, but from McGonagall's reaction, it was in no way pretty. "You know I'm awful at personal transfigurations," she whispered. "Can you please hide this? I can't let them know about it."
"What in the world—" McGonagall exclaimed, cutting herself off with a shake of her head, looking around the hallways to be sure they weren't being overheard. "Sharlen, what happened?"
"I can't explain," she said regretfully. "There's nothing to be done about it, this is just… collateral damage."
"Miss Down, despite what you may have been raised to believe, you are a person, not a tool," McGonagall scolded, wand out as she worked wordlessly to fix her ruined face. "If this is the situation you've found yourself in, then you must leave it immediately!"
"I have a plan," she assured her, wincing slightly.
When McGonagall finished, Sharlen sighed gratefully. "Thank you. Really. I would have asked Draco, but I needed it done right. I won't take any more of your time."
"This won't last," McGonagall warned her, gesturing to her face.
Sharlen nodded. "A day or so would do. That's all I need." She turned and walked away back down the corridor.
"Sharlen!" McGonagall called after her. She turned around too quickly, wincing at the pain in her ribs and spine. "Is he safe?"
Sharlen nodded sincerely and smiled at the professor before she turned to leave the castle and bide her time at The Three Broomsticks. After her last run-in with Dumbledore's Army and its ghosts—needing desperately to stay on her father's good side a little while longer—she was not long to linger at Hogwarts.
It was a quiet night at Malfoy Manor. Snape had excused himself from Hogwarts for the evening, leaving McGonagall with a million questions and worries about what Sharlen was up to. Truthfully, Sharlen had enjoyed sitting alone in The Three Broomsticks all day, fingering the amber necklace absently as she fine-tuned her plan; it had been a while since she'd been truly alone. When Snape joined her, they left together wordlessly and Apparated to the manor under cover of darkness.
Whoever her father threw at her, she was ready. Whether she had to remain in espionage or return to Harry and abandon the Dark Side, she was ready.
Voldemort had returned early, clearly irritated that he hadn't found what he'd been looking for, but approving of Sharlen's acceptance of her position and her retrieval of Snape. He and the headmaster secluded themselves with Lucius to discuss, and Sharlen turned in early, providing no explanation and allowing the men to choose this limited path for her. She admired McGonagall's handiwork in the mirror above her vanity and kept the black book open for word from Harry. The bottles of Veritaserum sat before her on the tabletop and she considered them, one hand on the necklace at her throat again.
She knew she wouldn't be sleeping that night.
Harry wrote to her around midnight. We'll be leaving in the morning. All set on your end?
Everything's in place, she wrote without delay. They're all here. I'll hold them as long as possible, but you should be clear until mid-afternoon. After that I don't know how I'll hold them. She figured it would not be a long affair whatsoever.
Thank you, Harry wrote hastily. Our plan should work, but it can't hurt to have the major players occupied.
They will be, Sharlen wrote slowly, willing her hands not to shake. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, running over her plan in her mind again. Please be careful. Leave nothing to chance.
We have an asset, he replied. She waited for more. We have an advantage. We wouldn't attempt it without him.
Enough, she replied. It wasn't wise to divulge any more.
You're right, came Harry's reply. You be careful too. Your safety means more to me than the extra precautions. Back out if you're not safe.
My safety is not a priority, she wrote, glancing back up at her face and the wounds that lay hidden in her skin. Yours is. I'm just glad to be useful.
Keep the necklace on, he instructed. She tucked it into her shirt to conceal it.
Her quill hesitated above the page. I miss you, she wrote selfishly. Every night, every day.
Harry's response looked a little smudged, as though the paper wasn't smooth on his end. I don't have the words to tell you how afraid I was after you left. I need to see you.
Sharlen hesitated before she began writing back, biting the index finger of her left hand, not sure if she was helping or hurting. I know. It's been too long. I wish I could hear your voice.
Got a telephone? She could almost hear his sarcasm, recalling his explanation of the Muggle device.
Afraid not. She put her head back and sighed. After tomorrow morning, she'd need her wits about her in a new place, and a new avenue to try and find Horcruxes. That's all that kept her going.
When this operation is over, come back to me. Sharlen closed her eyes and smiled, nearly splitting her lip again through the transfiguration.
The second I can, I will.
Downstairs, Draco pretended to be reading outside the door while the men discussed who was to be Sharlen's husband in the morning. He'd stared at the same page, the same line, for the past two hours. So far, all that had happened was Bellatrix was summoned, then left the room and Disapparated from the manor. Half an hour afterward, she'd returned with Dolohov walking purposefully in her wake. The two swept past Draco into the dining room and closed the door on him, leaving him to speculate wildly. He warred with himself over whether he should rush upstairs to tell Sharlen he was here and insist she leave, though he didn't know where she could go.
Some time after midnight, the group of them emerged, his father walking slowly toward his mother and leading her upstairs to bed with a hand on her lower back as they whispered. Dolohov shook hands with Snape before departing from the manor, a gesture that turned Draco's stomach into knots. Bellatrix and Voldemort bid Snape goodnight before retreating to their rooms; Draco nodded to them respectfully before turning back to Snape, who had yet to leave the doorway.
"Him?" he asked his professor quietly once he was sure the others were all gone.
Snape shut the door behind him with a snap and strode past Draco toward the stairs, muttering, "Well it isn't you, your father saw to that immediately."
"He beat her, you know," Draco called after him, barely a fraction louder. Snape slowed to a stop at the base of the wrought-iron staircase, but didn't turn. "Last night. Assaulted her."
Brow furrowed, Snape took a few steps back toward Draco. "She looks… herself," he said quietly, a question lingering somewhere in his tone.
"Her face has been transfigured, but the rest of her's a mess," Draco answered darkly. "Held her down and bruised his grip right into her. Hurt her, stripped her. You have to get her out of here."
"The Dark Lord wishes—"
"She won't leave by herself, she's too worried about the rest of us suffering the consequences of 'misplacing' her," Draco spat, bitterly interrupting his excuses. Snape fell silent. "What kind of Slytherin has so little self-preservation? She would listen to you. Do not let her do this."
Searching the determination in the boy's face as though memorizing it, Snape said nothing else, eventually turning to climb the stairs to his temporary room.
Sharlen delayed going downstairs the next morning, having watched the sun come up hours before. She paced around, her stomach in knots, trying to quell her anxiety by wringing her hands and reciting her plan—which she knew would likely go to hell, as all her Hogwarts plans had. She felt her sanity slowly unraveling as the hours raced by each other in her dread, but she wanted to buy Harry as much time as possible.
Around ten in the morning, she allowed Bellatrix and Narcissa to come into her room to tidy her hair into a large knot and dress her, wanting to keep a close eye on Bellatrix specifically. The dress had been rush-made the day before by the Malfoy's seamstress, made of long-sleeve black lace and something Narcissa called chiffon that stopped around mid-thigh. The bodice and sleeves were fitted, though the rest of it draped. She ran her fingers over the strange material, momentarily distracted by how cold it felt against her skin.
The women instructed her to disrobe and step into the dress and Sharlen obeyed stonily, removing the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground around her. She felt their eyes surveying every cord scar, the massive white burn on her neck and shoulder, the rifts and valleys of her too-prominent ribs, but kept her unmoving gaze forward.
"Sharlen," Narcissa gasped, fingertips gingerly touching the angry bruise moving down her side as they brought the dress up around her to be zipped. "What happened?"
"Fell," she muttered, wincing at the wall. "Clumsy."
The door to the room opened, drawing protests from Bellatrix and Narcissa until they saw Snape enter. Sharlen made no effort to cover herself as she glanced back at him over her shoulder, though he hurriedly shut the door behind him to further spare her from being seen by anyone else. He held her doleful gaze before exhaling, eyes traveling down the length of her to settle on her ribs, blooming blue and black in stark contrast with the rest of her. His lips parted and his aura grew angry.
"Severus," Narcissa said breathlessly, startled as she guided Sharlen's arms quickly through the lace sleeves. The mother's eyes spied the bruising on her wrists and followed them closely as they moved beneath the lace. Sharlen's eyes went white from the vision of Narcissa's Hogwarts sorting, but they didn't move from Snape. "Severus, she's not ready yet—"
"Will you excuse us a moment, Narcissa? Bella?" Snape muttered, gesturing to the door behind him.
"He's preparing to give her away," Bellatrix sang to her sister as they swept out, cackling to herself.
"Did you see all those bruises on her?" Narcissa hissed back quietly as the door shut them out.
Snape slowly walked toward her, frowning seriously. Sharlen kept her face and mind blank, the fasteners to the dress still completely undone along her spine. This was bruised too, from Dolohov taking her legs out from under her and dragging her back up against the wooden bed rail by her throat. "Who?" was all he asked.
"Does it matter?" she returned quietly, refusing to let herself look away.
Snape took her by the shoulder and turned her to get a better look at her spine. As he brought her around to face him again, he reached up to take her chin, turning her face up to see fingerprints bruised into her throat as well. He covered his mouth with his hands and paced away, inhaling sharply. "Why are you doing this?"
"To create a new pureblood line," she told him monotonously.
"You're only eighteen," he objected, turning back to her. It took Sharlen a second to realize he was right, that a birthday had passed while she'd been in stasis. Closing the gap between them, he grabbed her left forearm over the Dark Mark. His aura burned a furious red to see the deep bruising on her wrist, as Draco said.
"I hardly think that matters."
"I'm afraid," Snape muttered, dropping her arm, "I'm afraid you've watched me do this for too long. So long that you've deluded yourself into thinking this is the only way."
Sharlen's eyes narrowed as she tilted her head up at him. "Isn't it?" she asked, a genuine question. "What do you propose?"
"The Dark Lord would be swift and merciless against anyone who laid a hand on you to harm you," Snape said, firmly enunciating each word. Sharlen couldn't help but laugh, some dark corner of her wondering if he wanted to be the only man in her life allowed to beat her.
"Master, that is a terrific sentiment," she told him, walking away to sit on the edge of her bed. She took off the amber necklace and carefully put it in her small black bag. "But that's all it is. Sentiment."
"I—" he started, pausing to further war with himself. "You're fighting the wrong battles."
"I don't agree. It's meant to be this way," she said simply, looking forward out the window.
Snape walked up and kneeled before her, his face made of stone. "Say anything else, and I will stop this. Anything at all."
Sharlen held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, her throat working furiously to swallow the lump that had formed there. She steeled her resolve and finally turned to look back out the window to the courtyard. She focused hard on the white peacocks below as he finally stood up to leave, her face screwed up to fight back tears when she heard the door close behind him.
Finally, Bellatrix and Narcissa led her downstairs around noon, saying her father had summoned her. Making sure the necklace was completely hidden in her black bag, Sharlen straightened her dress and followed them to the drawing room where Snape, Lucius, Draco, and her father stood waiting. Antonin Dolohov stood by his side in long, black robes, a smug look on his face.
It took every ounce of restraint in her bones not to react when her limbs fought to run.
"Lovely," he said lowly, lowering his chin slightly as he watched the recognition in her eyes. "Just lovely."
A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face and she wiped it away hurriedly, pretending to draw back a strand of her hair and willing her face not to change as bile rose in her throat. The memory of him tearing her dress open with his wand erupted viscerally down the length of her. She focused on her breathing and kept her eyes on her father's.
"Sharlen," Voldemort said with an evil grin, "I'm very pleased with your decision to marry."
"I'm glad to hear that, father," she replied proudly, speaking a little too loudly to keep the quaver from being noticeable.
The auras before her were a mixed bag—Dolohov radiated triumph and mirth, as did Lucius who seemed more like his old, smug self than he had in years. After this affair, he would, at long last, be rid of her in his home. Snape just seemed sick; the dark yellow into black betrayed his lack of control and his fear. Grief, even. Sharlen had long questioned his auras, but in this situation she was especially mystified by his reactions. Bellatrix and Narcissa both had a similar blue, at peace with the situation, proud to be part of it. She knew Narcissa at the very least was relieved Draco had not been chosen. Draco had never learned the necessary art of hiding your expressions, and was hardly attempting to hide his disgust with Dolohov, all of this nearly too much for him to bear despite the terror he always felt in Voldemort's presence.
Sharlen cleared her throat and continued, "If this is what you wish for me and will forward our cause, there's no sense in delaying."
"I'm glad you agree," Voldemort replied, gesturing Dolohov to step forward. "I'm to assume you two were acquainted the other night?"
"We were, my Lord," Dolohov answered, his eyes hungry on Sharlen. She met his gaze blankly, her hands trembling. "It's an honor to be chosen for her."
"And to give her to you," Voldemort agreed darkly, nodding to Snape. "Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"
Snape's hands met behind his back as he glanced at Sharlen, a trying smile on her lips. "A fitting match, my Lord."
"Dolohov is a natural fit for you, Sharlen," Voldemort told her, taking out his wand. "A ruthless fighter, loyal to me for the past eighteen years, descended from two pureblood lines, always willing to serve his Lord in all things… Exactly the tenants on which to build this new line of pure wizards." He beckoned her forward. Sharlen glanced out the window, wondering where Harry was and if he was nearly done with his task. "Not to mention he'll be able to keep you safe in this climate when I cannot do so. He'll make a fine husband, don't you agree?"
"Yes, I think you're right," she answered in a quiet voice, reluctantly stepping toward the two. She stopped before Dolohov and he took her black-gloved hands in his. She fought the urge to flinch violently away from him and cry, her skin crawling.
Voldemort lowered his wand to lay over their joined hands and began the brief ceremony. She made every effort to look around and give a close-lipped smile every once in a while to hopefully distract from her shaking, though she was almost positive only Dolohov was aware of it as his hands held hers. After a few quick vows were said, with great difficulty from Sharlen whose mouth appeared to have filled with sawdust, Dolohov retrieved a silver ring with a large onyx stone from his inner cloak pocket, removed her glove, and slid it onto the ring finger of her left hand. Her pupils shrank and pale irises lightened further as a vision of him dueling Tonks in the Department of Mysteries overtook her.
Voldemort tapped the ring with his wand and Sharlen gasped lightly as it resized to fit around her, the metal hot and burning her skin. She blinked rapidly several times and he announced them husband and wife. When she chanced a glance up at Dolohov she saw that his teeth were bared in an exultant grin. After several seconds she realized they were expected to kiss and tilted her chin up to meet him—he brought a hand behind her head to pull her in and his lips found hers almost angrily. Snape and Draco had to look away, both their fists clenched.
The next hour or so was a blur to Sharlen. They all sat down at the Malfoy's long dining room table to share a meal, both she and her father abstaining from anything but wine. Dolohov lived in London and she was to go live with him when they were through; the house elves had already prepared her things for their departure. The men discussed their upcoming plans for the Ministry when Yaxley showed up to offer his congratulations and took his place opposite Lucius; Snape sat silently to Voldemort's right, Sharlen equally as silent on his left as her new husband possessively gripped her left forearm over the Dark Mark.
Her eyes remained white from visions for the entirety of his grip on her and she fought to keep her face straight. Visions of a previous wife met her, Dolohov being as abusive as she could have imagined, him finally killing her, as well as him and Rowle attacking Harry, Ron, and Hermione in a Muggle cafe and a scattered few from his childhood and adolescence. She was inordinately pleased not to see him killing Stacey, because she didn't think she could bear it. Whenever he released her for brief periods of time, she looked up to see Snape staring at her from across the table.
Then, many things happened in rapid succession.
A Gringotts goblin appeared at the door in an absolute frenzy, where Lucius and Bellatrix hurried to meet him. The rest of the party stood from the room, Voldemort in the lead, to see what was happening as Bellatrix began shouting furiously. Sharlen pulled herself from Dolohov's grasp to regain control of her senses. "What's happened?" Voldemort hissed commandingly. The goblin shrank visibly in the doorway.
"My Lord, my vault—someone broke in—" Bellatrix began, and Sharlen saw something she had never seen in her father's face: Fear. It quickly morphed into rage and she found her heart beating painfully hard in her chest.
"Impossible," Voldemort said murderously. "Explain."
"They triggered the security, you must come and see if anything's been taken," the goblin shouted hurriedly. Bellatrix's hand was closing around his throat and Voldemort descended upon the two of them.
"For your sake, absolutely nothing better be gone from that vault," Voldemort said, Apparating with Bellatrix and the goblin immediately.
A stunned silence remained. Sharlen chanced a glance at Snape as he muttered that he had to return to Hogwarts—his anxiety was at an all-time high. He seemed to know exactly what might be missing.
Sharlen stood before him to block his path, suddenly adamant. "What do you know?" she demanded quietly in the aftermath. His face was blank but the black in his aura spread further as the seconds ticked on. She took a step closer. "This is the time. Tell me what you know."
Snape swallowed, turned, and made his way to the door.
Sharlen was thinking frantically as Dolohov grabbed her hand again. There was no way this was what Harry had been planning, was it? Breaking into Gringotts was a death sentence—there was no way he'd attempt it. But she had told him Bellatrix had been bragging about something else in her vault… and a goblin had been the fourth prisoner they rescued from Malfoy Manor.
Her heartbeat was choking her at the possibility. The goblin hadn't said the thieves had been caught. She tried to steady her breathing and hoped she had kept them busy long enough to allow Harry a safe escape, both unable to believe anything so wild could have happened and perfectly capable of seeing Harry Potter attempt something so insane.
"Are you listening to me?" Dolohov said loudly beside her.
"No, what?" Sharlen said absent-mindedly, wrenching herself from her racing thoughts. Snape had already left the Manor. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"It's time for you to see your new home," he repeated with a smirk, taking her wrist.
Sharlen began to shake her head in opposition as he pulled her to the door, looking back at the Malfoys but not seeing them past a vision of him running through the Department of Mysteries. "Wait, we just—"
"We're leaving," he said firmly, pulling her to the door.
"We should wait to find out what happened!" Sharlen protested, pulling back on him uselessly. "And my owl—"
"Leave it."
"Draco," she called behind her blindly, "Draco, send Piotr to Hogwarts!"
Ignoring her, Dolohov thanked Lucius for hosting them and, once he'd dragged Sharlen past the threshold of the front door, he Apparated, pulling her along with him into the suffocating darkness, a gasp caught in her throat.
Taking a deep breath as their feet hit the ground again, Sharlen was released and a door shut behind her. She looked around, breathing hard, still trying to process the break-in at Gringotts. Dolohov's flat in London had many windows but all the curtains were drawn; it was large and ornate, not unlike the Malfoys', and had the air of being vacant a majority of the time. She knew he was one of the Death Eaters her father sent on missions most often. Her small bag of belongings was in the corner near an old, claw-foot kitchen table. It didn't appear any cooking had ever been done there. She took it Dolohov had inherited this from his family.
Looking around for Dolohov, Sharlen took a deep breath to find him behind her and took a step back to gain some perspective. He towered over her in this all-too-familiar situation. "Let me take your cloak," he insisted, a blazing look in his eyes. He didn't wait for a response, unfastening it and pulling it roughly from her shoulders. Sharlen staggered a little from the force of it, wincing again at the pain in her ribs, but she didn't make a sound. With one hand, he steered her to the bedroom.
It was large and open, the curtains drawn here too. What afternoon light made its way in illuminated black and silver instruments and a large, unmade bed. He stopped her against the end of the bed and instructed her to undress. She stared at the crumpled sheets, so out of place in the gaudy room, and reached up to undo what fasteners she could reach on the back of her dress, but she clearly wasn't quick enough. Dolohov grasped the neck of her dress from behind and pulled it roughly, tearing the material clean away from the rest, one arm coming off completely to reveal the black, lace bralet she wore beneath. Despite herself, she flinched, turning her head away.
Dolohov spun her around to face him and forced her to sit on the edge of the bed, standing before her. She stared straight ahead at his hips, her fury about to spill over. Wordlessly, he undid his black jeans and let them fall to the floor. Sharlen noted that his wand had been in the back pocket and fought a smirk.
Seeing red, she reached up and took his testicles in her hand. He sighed briefly, a quick exhale and a flash of smirking teeth—then her eyes met his, narrowed as her eyes went white, and she muttered, "Reducto," as her fist clenched him, vice-like.
His testicles were reduced to powder and a cloud of blood.
Sharlen was sprayed with blood from her face downward and Dolohov screamed with a pain so visceral she felt it reverberating in her ribcage. She blinked the blood back, straight-faced, as she watched him sink to the ground in agony. Not bothering to wipe the blood from her face or hands, she calmly stood and fetched a vial of the Veritaserum in her cloak in the other room as he continued to scream.
She found he hadn't moved when she returned and she kicked his wand far from his reach for good measure. She knelt down onto his stomach, one knee putting all her weight on him as he moaned in agony, bleeding freely. She peered down at him with a bored expression and muttered, "What's wrong, darling? I'm gentle enough." The mockery brought a smile to her lips as his eyes rolled back into his head.
"I thought you wanted me to touch you?" she added sweetly.
Dolohov stifled a scream, his fury trying and failing to overcome his anguish. She put out a clawlike hand to hold down his throat without touching him. "I should have warned you that it would be quite dangerous for you to hurt me. Daughter of the Dark Lord and all that, you understand. Now, I have questions that need answers."
Dolohov did not seem capable of forming words. Blood continued to pool out around him and the screaming only stopped every few seconds or so to reveal a grunt of pain. "This won't do," she muttered to him, her left hand out to seal his wound. The blood stopped and his screaming became rapid gasps and moans instead. She watched him for a minute or so, still forcing his neck to the floor.
"You crazy bitch," he growled with extreme difficulty, white as a sheet.
"Come now, I'm your wife," she said conversationally. He moaned angrily. "You shouldn't leave me wanting. I have questions for you, and we can do this with ease, or by force. I seem to recall you favor force." She held the tiny bottle, now smeared with blood from her hands, for him to see.
"What the fuck… do you expect to hear?" he gasped and growled. He seemed unable to bear the sight of his blood on her calm face.
Sharlen's expression didn't change. "What does my father have in Bellatrix's vault?"
"How the hell should I know?"
"Look, I'll find out either way, and you have other body parts I can relieve you from if you prefer. I'd rather not waste my stores on you," she muttered, referring to the Veritaserum.
Dolohov raised his chin at her and growled madly through his teeth, "I promise I will break every inch of you—"
Keeping one hand poised over his throat to bare him to the floor, Sharlen drew her free hand back to interrupt him with the Torture Curse. Writhing and screaming beneath her, Sharlen kept herself steady as he thrashed, glaring hard at him perhaps a little too long. When she let up and he fell to panting, her expression eased coldly as she reiterated, "What does my father have in Bellatrix's vault?"
"I have nothing to tell you, I don't know," he moaned, baring his teeth at her angrily. Murky pink surrounded him, despite the vibrant pain and hatred he emitted.
"I can read your dishonesty in your aura, you know," Sharlen said easily, unstoppering the vial with her teeth, "though it seems logical, considering you weren't close enough with my father to know about me. But I can't risk it." She forced his jaw open and poured the contents of the vial down his throat, holding his mouth and nose closed so he had to swallow it.
The effect was instantaneous. She asked him again what was in the vault and Dolohov said through gritted teeth that it was something her father didn't want anyone to have or know about. When she prodded for more information he repeated that he didn't know and she let it go. Sharlen struggled to get the wedding ring off her finger but to no avail—it was practically welded onto her skin. "What did they do when Bellatrix found out Harry and the others had the sword of Gryffindor?"
"The Dark Lord didn't know that, but he probably does now," he rasped, glowering at her. "Bellatrix didn't tell him. She informed the goblins that her wand had been stolen and to be on high alert for imposters."
"She's going to pay for that if she doesn't play dumb enough…" she muttered to herself thoughtfully. "When is my father planning to kill Harry?"
"He believes Potter will reveal himself soon. He'll strike then, with all of us."
"The final battle," Sharlen said, nodding to show she understood. "Where?"
"Wherever he appears."
'So he must stay in hiding until all the Horcruxes are destroyed,' Sharlen thought. 'Wherever he appears, my father will bring the battle to him.' "So he has no idea of Harry's whereabouts?" Dolohov shook his head with great difficulty. "Why hasn't he tried to flush him out by killing the people he loves?"
"He wasn't ready," Dolohov grumbled, trying to get up. She shocked him down with the Fulguro spell.
"Explain."
"He was looking for something!"
Sharlen frowned at him. "What is my father after? Why does he keep going abroad?"
"He has it now. The Elder Wand," he responded immediately, confirming their suspicions, eyes rolling back into his head with a great wince of pain. "So nothing will stop him from destroying Potter."
"Alright, one more thing I need from you," Sharlen said, standing. "What does my father know about the prophecy?"
"Only that Potter is the one with the power to kill him," Dolohov said, fighting for consciousness now from the pain.
"Nothing more?"
"No. The prophecy smashed."
"You've done well," Sharlen said, looking down at him with disgust. With an unceremonious slash of her right hand through the air, Dolohov's throat slit open, blood pouring out of the wound. Standing, she cast the Disillusionment Charm over him and his advancing pool of blood. She turned her back on him as he choked and sputtered invisibly, gathering his wand as well as her cloak from the front room and summoning her bag from the corner. She located her black book within it, placed her bloody hands on the cover to complete the Locator Spell, and Disapparated from the flat.
