I Want To Break Free

by Queen

"I want to break free, I want to break free

I want to break free from your lies

You're so self-satisfied I don't need you

I've got to break free

God knows, God knows I want to break free."

Chapter Five

Imprisoned.

Pansy Parkinson's bedroom door was painted a beautiful bone white color, the door frame was painted silver to match the intricate caricature of flowers that decorated the walls of her spacious room. A deep purple canopy bed took up most of the space in the middle of the room, an assortment of inviting feather-down pillows lay on top of it. A tall window that occupied most of the wall faced the vast garden. On an ordinary day, Pansy would always position herself on the window seat in time to watch the sunset. As the sun disappeared over the horizon, thousands of fairy lights would light up the Parkinson garden.

But today was not an ordinary day.

Pansy's door was covered in black scorch marks, the purple canopy was ripped in half and the part that managed to hang precariously on the top of the bed was dancing with soft embers. The witch stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily after letting out a scream of frustration. Her arms and hands had angry burns on them and she was glowering at the door. Pansy swiped at her black chin-length hair.

Her father had just paid her a visit. He had informed her that Rabastan Lestrange had agreed to take her as his wife after she was marked. He had turned his nose down at his daughter and said, "He was the only one willing to take up a pure-blood wife that is as insolent and disgraceful as you." Despite Pansy trying to get the Chosen One captured and delivered to the Dark Lord, she had only done so out of fear of his forces attacking her school. She had grown up hearing stories about the awesome powers the Dark Lord possessed, powers that even Dumbledore would not dare dip his fingers into. Pansy did not want to risk the chance of confirming whether those stories were true. She had no intention of joining the Dark Lord's ranks. She knew that father lived like a house-elf and catered to every whim of his master. Pansy did not want that life. Her mother never forced her to do anything she did not want to do. Lady Parkinson would always step in when the pure-blood training and dueling lessons his father required of his daughter to attend got too much. Her mother, before her death, had told Pansy that she could do anything she put her mind to. Her father, on the other hand, claimed that she was too strong. Too ambitious. Too much.

Pansy was not willing to let go of her freedom. She was happy with it, she valued it. Men want their women obedient, her father had told her. Pansy would rather die first before she gave the Dark Lord or Rabastan Lestrange her obedience.

The bedroom door and the windows were locked. It had also been cursed to burn Pansy if she tried to open it. Her arms and shoulders were covered with burns. Although she had asked for burn paste from the house-elves, they sadly told her that her father had forbidden them from healing her burns. For the past three weeks, Pansy had been imprisoned in her room. She was allowed to have visitors as long as they were supervised by house-elves. Daphne visited frequently. They had cried in each other's arms. Pansy cried for her fate. Daphne had cried for her friend and for the possibility that she would be in her place in the near future. Theo and Draco also came to visit. She did not cry in their presence, but she was thankful for their silent support.

Pansy woke up with a start. She did not even realize that she had fallen asleep. She looked around the dark room. Pansy walked towards the windows and tapped at it . It hummed. Magically locked. She strode to the bedroom door. She tapped. It hummed. Still trapped, she thought, inwardly cursing her father.

Bang.

She looked with surprise at the door. Pansy tapped at it again.

Another bang.

Pansy realized that the banging sound was probably what woke her up in the first place. Who would be making that awful sound in the middle of the night? Surely not her father. Maybe Daphne had come to visit?

"I got it! Classic pure-blood locking spell. The blokes at Gringotts taught me how to undo it. Most of the things they got in their vaults got dozens of them on it."

Gringotts? Pansy's eyes sharpened and she prepared herself to face the intruder.

Pansy's beautiful bone white bedroom door opened with a click.

On the other side of the door was a crowd of redheads. A tall man stood before Pansy with long scars across his face. He was wearing an earring with a fang dangling from it. Another man was standing behind him, Pansy could just make out an image of a neon green dragon emblazoned on his black shirt. And there, in the middle of the group, with his freckled face and a triumphant expression on his face, was Ronald Weasley.

Pansy, stunned at seeing the redheaded best friend of the Boy-Who-Had-Lived, did not react as they all rushed into her room. "Weasel? What are you doing here?" Pansy hissed. She raised her wand and pointed it at his face, confused at the sight before her. "How the fuck this you get past the bloody wards?" She added as an afterthought.

The man with the dragon on his shirt looked at her in surprise. "You mean, you weren't expecting us?" He exchanged a glance with the Weasel.

She glared at him. "Why would I be expecting members of the resistance in my home

in the middle of the night?" Pansy spat, "I should call my father and have you lot turned over to the Dark Lord!"

He gazed at her thoughtfully, "Yes, you could. But you're not going to, are you?"

Before she could ask him what the fuck he meant, the Weasel took a tentative step towards her. He had his right hand raised in a sign of peace and looked into her eyes, "Parkinson. We're here to rescue you." He had approached her as if he was approaching a wild Hippogriff. She watched as his hand landed on her shoulder.

His eyes caught sight of the burns all over her uncovered hands and arms. He looked at her sympathetically and she scowled at him. At the back of her mind, Pansy considered that the Weasel might be trying to be reassuring. Pansy, however, did not handle the attempt well. "I am not some fucking animal, you prat!" She bit his hand. "And I don't need rescuing!"

"She bit me!" Her former classmate shouted. He shook his hand at his companions. "Bill. Charlie. Parkinson bit me!"

"Quiet down, Ron. You're going to wake up everyone in the manor." The one called Bill said. The other one, Charlie, had barked out laughter. Pansy knew that was not true. Her father made sure to put up strong silencing spells around her room to limit all the screeching and screaming she made during the first few days of imprisonment. Bill then turned to her, "You. Come with us if you don't want him to mark you."

Pansy gaped at him. How did they know? And why were they saving her from her fate?

At her bewildered look, Charlie grabbed her arm. "Come on. We'll explain later."

Pansy could have kicked at them. She could have summoned a house-elf. She could have screamed for her father. However, she knew that down the path her father is forcing her to take, her future would be a life of servitude. If that could even be considered a life. Instead of doing any of those things, Pansy closed her mouth and quickly packed her things. She did not want to be marked and married.

The air outside her bedroom door tasted sweet.

Freedom.

"Wait!"

Weasel turned to face Pansy who stood behind him. "What is it this time?" He asked her. They had made it all the way to the top of the stairway when she demanded that they turn around and grab her wand from her father's study. Bill had to do undo some serious locking charms and wards on the drawers of the desk. In the ten minutes that it took to get her wand, they had managed to fill her in on their spy and his demand that they rescue her.

"If I escape, they're going to examine magical signatures that broke into the wards. They're going to know that you let me out." Pansy stated.

Weasel's brow furrowed. "So?" He asked. "They already wanted us dead before we rescued you."

Pansy glared at the idiotic man before her. "They're going to know about the spy. He will break into the minds of every single Death Eater to scour their brains for even a hint of disloyalty." Pansy only had a short time to consider the identity of the spy, but she already had guessed. She only knew few people within the ranks of the Dark Lord that cared for her wellbeing. "Your little spy will be tortured for days in the most painful ways possible and you will lose your inside information."

Blue eyes widened. "We hadn't thought of that."

She rolled her eyes at him. Stupid Gryffindors. Running off into battle to save some person they don't even know without thinking the through details.

"We were only concerned about getting you to safety before you were marked."

Huh. Pansy hid her blush by glaring at him.

They rushed towards Bill and Charlie and Pansy told them what she had told Weasel. An idea formed in the Slytherin's mind. She smirked. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

The redheaded brothers looked wary at the scary look in her eyes.

"Hurry," Pansy said. She led them back into her father's study and started digging through his things. "Where is it?"

Bill leaned against the doorframe, "What are we supposed to be looking for?"

Ron shrugged. Eyeing Pansy's frantic movements curiously.

"A-ha!"

"Holy shit," Charlie's almost dropped his wand. "Are those…?"

"Ashwinder Eggs." Pansy smiled beatifically at them.

"Why do Death Eaters have Ashwinder Eggs in their bloody offices?" Charlie asked.

"Brilliant," Bill said, catching on to Pany's plan. "Mental, of course, but brilliant."

Ron was the only one who did not understand, "What are we supposed to do with eggs?"

They all watched as Pansy's smile grew even more. "We will be blowing things up tonight, Weasel."

She relished the way her former classmate's jaw dropped.

"Ready?" Bill asked Pansy. She nodded in response.

All three men rode on brooms outside the now open window in her bedroom. She watched as Charlie took out a miniature broom from his pocket and tapped his wand on it. It grew to its normal size and he handed it to Pansy.

Pansy stepped off the ledge of the window and positioned herself on the broom. She had one hand clutched around the broom handle and the other was gripping her wand tightly. She aimed her wand at the Ashwinder Eggs in the middle of the bed. Pansy took one last look around her room. She reminded herself that this was where she was imprisoned, she should have no remorse destroying it. She took comfort in the fact that her mother's old room was located in the east wing. The fire should not reach that far.

"Incendio."

Pansy watched as a large serpent, an Ashwinder, erupted from the blast of magical fire. Its flaming tongue licked at everything around it. The uncontrolled fire burned the walls of the manor. Leaving a gaping hole where Pansy's bedroom used to be. Another blast sounded from inside the house. Charlie grinned. It had been his idea to place some of the other eggs in the areas where they broke through the wards and the rooms where they used magic. That should erase all traces of the Weasley's magical signature. Pansy thought.

As the west wing of Parkinson manor burned, a large man pointed his wand at them from the balcony outside his master suite. It was clear he had recognized the unmistakable shade of Weasley hair beside her as he gaped at his daughter. "You… you…" He spluttered.

"Having trouble with your words, Father?" Pansy sneered. "The Ashwinder caught your tongue?"

"You! Traitorous bitch!" Her father bellowed. Pansy raised her wand, expecting his father to shoot a curse at her.

Unexpectedly, her father shot a stunning spell at Ron. He toppled off his broom and started to drop. Pansy, who was closest, caught him with a levitating charm and placed him facing her on her broom. She turned her head and saw that Bill and Charlie were battling her father. Pansy could see that they were experienced duelists. The way her father was battling did not make sense to her. It was like he was not focusing on the battle. It looked like he was distracted and he kept dropping his wand arm…

Pansy realized her father was trying to touch his Dark Mark.

Oh no, you fucking don't.

Pansy leaned forward on her broom, causing Ron to lean back in his position in front of her. They sped past the two redheads. She shot a spell that blasted his preoccupied father against the burning wall of the manor. His robes caught fire and he screamed in agony as flames licked his leg. Stopping a meter away from her father, she shouted at him. "How does it feel to be the one burning now, father?"

The Weasleys gaped at the feral witch as she put in all her heart and soul into the spell that she screamed at her father. "OBLIVIATE!"

As they flew away from the manor, Pansy could not stop laughing. It felt right to destroy the mind that had thought up the sinister plans of getting her marked and offering her life as a broodmare to older men. It felt good to be out in the open air with the sharp sting of the wind against her face.

After all, Pansy valued her freedom.

Ron Weasley was dumbstruck at the sight of before him. The manor they had just left was still burning from the series of magical explosions. He was sitting backward on a broom, facing a dark-haired witch. His hands were wrapped around her waist and he was holding to avoid being thrown over the broom for the second time tonight. The ends of her flaming robes were streaming behind them, revealing her scorched silk nightdress. The witch did not seem to be bothered by the fire though. Why should she be afraid of a bit of fire? Ron thought. She had just flown straight into a Death Eater and obliviated the hell out of him.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, staring at Pansy who had her head tilted back and was laughing into the night sky.

Draco lazily sat on his seat in the gigantic stadium built for the Quidditch World Cup. He had always held the sport in high regard and considered it one of the most brilliant things ever invented. The stadium was not, however, be used for the World Cup tonight. In fact, it wasn't used for Quidditch at all anymore.

What a waste, Draco thought. It had been another night of muggle-borns being forced to fight for the entertainment of the Dark Lord. The stadium was barely filled. Aside from Death Eater's families, Draco could see that only a few Durmstrang students and ambassadors were present. All the Death Eaters were present except for Parkinson and Draco's father. Lucius had turned his aristocratic nose at the brutish display. He had chosen to go on his business trip tonight instead.

There were a handful of wizarding governments that had shown their support for the Dark Lord's reign in wizarding Britain. MACUSA was not one of them. Amercicans, Dolohov had said. They're too liberal. They cannot see the appeal of the Dark Arts. No, Draco had thought. They just do not tolerate human rights violations. Although MACUSA refused to participate in the ways of the dark side, they also were not brave enough to come and fight against the Dark Lord. Interesting.

Death-Eaters and their guests had come to place bets on the performers, the term used by the Dark Lord to call those who were forced to fight like gladiators from the Roman Empire. The performers were treated as property. Runaway muggle-borns would be gifted to whoever captured and presented them to the Ministry. Yaxley's performer had been the one to win tonight. The muggle-born had looked large and muscled. He would have beaten Yaxley in hand-to-hand combat. Without his wand, however, it would be impossible to escape the bindings that Draco knew were under his robes. Death-Eaters would treat the champion performers like they were prized commodities. They would dress them in robes and award them with meals if they could win the games for the glory of their owners. Those who lost, on the other hand, had to endure whatever punishment their owners deemed fit.

He glanced at his friend who was sitting beside him. Theodore Nott's wavy dark brown hair fell over his face. It hid his dark eyes that were already concealed by silver frames. He appeared to look bored.

"Hem hem. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott."

The two young Death Eaters faced a short woman that stood simpering in front of them. She waited like she expected them to stand and kiss her hand. Draco did not move from his seat. Theo raised a brow.

Minister Umbridge was not daunted. "Mr. Malfoy, a spectacular display of prowess with the Killing Curse tonight."

Draco kept his cold and indifferent mask in place. The Dark Lord had ordered the Death Eaters to kill the dark blonde muggle-born who had refused to fight his friend who had been thrown into the arena by his owner with broken legs. Before Bellatrix could take out her cursed blade, Draco had thrown a killing curse straight in the heart of the dark blonde young man, quick and painless. His aunt had shot him a pout. Upset that he had deprived her of a plaything tonight.

He ignored the toad-like witch and, instead, checked his silver watch. Half-past two in the morning.

"Minister! Minister!" A small sprightly young woman climbed the steps of the stadium.

Everyone turned to look at her. She faltered when she realized she had the attention of the Dark Lord, as well."

"What is then?" Umbridge asked haughtily.

"The Parkinson Manor." The young woman gulped. "It is up in flames."

Theo stared at Draco. Both of them had one thought.

Pansy.

Draco rubbed his temples.

He had arrived home at four in the morning.

After they all went to the burning remains of the Parkinson west wing and gardens, they had found the Lord Parkinson unconscious. There was no sign of Pansy. The aurors had evidence to prove that the magical explosions were caused by Ashwinder Eggs.

Dark Lord had cruicoed all of the Death Eaters that came with him and some of the aurors. "Find the girl." He had hissed at them.

Draco understood why the Dark Lord was angry. If Pansy had merely disappeared quietly, he would have been angry but Draco doubted that he would have bothered sending out search parties. Pansy, however, did not disappear quietly. She had left her home in ashes. Her Death Eater home. It does not paint a good picture for the Death Eaters. It sends the picture that their homes could be destroyed. That they were also vulnerable to the same dangers as the rest of the masses, like fire. The Dark Lord would probably torture Pansy until he was satisfied that she had acted alone and that her actions were merely that of a spoiled daughter rebelling against her father.

The others were convinced that Pansy ran away. She had been vocal about her adamant refusal at being forced to marry Rabastan. Draco, however, was not eager to rule out that maybe the resistance was involved.

Joints aching after being put under the torture curse, Draco had apparated to an empty home. He knew that his father was away on business. After the fire in his friend's home, Draco wanted to make sure his mother was safe. "Mother?" He opened Narcissa's bedroom door. The bed was empty. He made his way to their conservatory where his mother loved to look at the stars. She was not there.

After feeling out the wards surrounding the manor, he determined that his mother was not in the property. Where is she? Draco removed his outer robes and unbuttoned the top buttons of his black shirt.

"Mupsy?"

Pop.

"Master Draco calls for Mupsy?" The little elf bowed. She smiled shyly at Draco. Draco knew that Mupsy had a soft spot for him.

"Mupsy, do you know where my mother is?"

Instantly, the expression on the elf's face turned pained. "M-mistress…" Mupsy swayed on her feet. Her small fists started pounding at her head.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked. Was the elf spelled not to disclose the location of his mother? Was his mother alright? "Mupsy. As the heir of the House of Malfoy and the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I order you, elf, to tell me where my mother is." Draco demanded. Fear growing at the pit of his stomach. He was envisioning his mother in danger. Taken by the same people who he is certain captured Pansy.

"Not the heir of House Black." Mupsy managed to squeeze out before covering her mouth. She wailed and rammed her head against the floor. "No. No. No. Bad elf. Disobeying Mistress' orders."

Draco stared at the elf in confusion. Not the heir of House Black? Mistress' orders?

"Mupsy!" Draco called the elf's attention to stop her from further harming herself. "Where is my mother?"

Narcissa Malfoy lost track of time as she pored over a stack of books on the old ways of magical communication. She and Harry were looking for some kind of spell that could bypass ancient wards. They had been sending letters to Narcissa's estranged sister Andromeda Tonks for the past nine months. Not one letter had managed to get through the strong protections surrounding her home and Hogwarts.

She put the book on her lap and watched the green-eyed boy as he held two large needles. He was knitting. The healer had recommended that he should do tasks that would develop his motor skills. Narcissa had paid the healer handsomely to ensure her silence. Of course, Narcissa took the extra step and made sure to offer the healer tea dosed with a potion to addle her memory on her patient's identity. She was a Slytherin after all.

Narcissa had begun to reach for another book in the pile on Harry's bed when the door blasted open. Her son stood in the doorway, his silver-eyes livid at the sight before him. At the corner of vision, she saw Harry's mouth harden. Narcissa sighed. She had wanted to ease her son into this. She knew that beneath his icy exterior he was temperamental and was quite the drama queen. "Hello, my son."

"Malfoy." Harry greeted the pale-blond. Draco, with magic crackling in his fingertips, only had eyes for his mother.

"Mother," Draco gritted out. His mother shook her head softly at him. He knew she despised it when he resorted to dramatics. "What the fuck is Potter doing alive and fucking knitting on a bed, of all things?"

"Even if I'm dying, until I actually die, I am still living."

― Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air