Note:

The actual explanations of what is happening in this story are sparse, I know, so I will take a moment, now, to make sure we all know what's going on.

Point one: Persephone Malfoy has been kept for some time as, in essence, a sex slave for the Dark Lord—but rather than use her for pleasure, his goal has been to impregnate her with his child.

Point two: At the end of the last chapter, Voldemort discovered that Persephone was, indeed, pregnant by him. At the start, the child was a normal child (or as normal as a child begotten from Tom Riddle is capable of being). But then Voldemort is described as "breath[ing] his frozen soul into [Persephone]" which means that he is placing part of his soul into the child she is carrying—in essence, making the child into another horcrux.

Point three: In the first chapter, Persephone's narration made multiple references to immortality, because she understands that Voldemort's goal is to, through her, produce a child who will live forever, who will be, in essence, him. Throughout this process of attempting to impregnate her, he has been "priming" her body, so to speak (sorry, that was a horrible word to use, but I really couldn't think of a better one) for his seed, using dark curses that attempt to solidify this plan.

Got it? If not, feel free to reach out. To be honest, I'm still going through these chapters trying to sort out just exactly what my self of two years ago was getting at. Being asked questions by you all would greatly help me along in that process of deciding where I am going to take this story in the future (because, of course, my past self wasn't thoughtful enough to leave any sort of notes or plan).

I hope you're enjoying the story!

Enter, Draco.

Three: Without

December 1995, The Malfoy Manor

Draco arrives at the beginning of the Holiday break with immaculately combed hair and his usual suit in perfect order. i am the only one who seems to sense how much time he must have spent making himself look normal and undisturbed before his arrival. surely he did it for the sake of my mother, and she doesn't suspect a thing. so i pay no heed to the ignorance of my parents. my strength has waxed lately, after many nights spent in my bedroom on a decent mattress, access to soap and water and as much food as i can fit into my severely shrunken stomach. so after he greets our parents and suffers the required niceties with a smile, i help him carry his second trunk up the stairs to his room.

'how has power been serving you, sir prefect?' i say on our way. a wordless agreement to carry on the small talk from downstairs stands between us. we cannot discuss anything we truly want to until our sure-to-be-eavesdropping parents are far out of earshot.

he gives a short laugh. 'As well as it can, given that Parkinson prefers to take the lead anywhere she can manage to snatch it. I'm no real match for her, you know.' i laugh back, but really the thought of Pansy Parkinson makes my stomach roil. she's been after my brother since time immemorial and she has no warrant. nobody will ever deserve Draco, in all his depth, all his sadness, all his hidden beauty, especially not a swine like her—

'Jealous, sis?' Draco jokes, drawing me out of my angry train of thought. 'Wish you'd gotten the chance to shove her off the throne?'

'Merlin's beard, no. i much prefer being home, thank you. and i know you don't enjoy sitting through classes all day as much as you'd have mother and father believe.'

truly, i would rather be at Hogwarts than here. here is no longer home. a taste of freedom can be dangerous for one who is expected to continue resigning themselves to captivity even afterward. were it not for the threat of my murder and the murder of my entire family, i would have severed myself from this place at the moment i gained my sanity. at times when my head is clear and i am alone in my room or walking the halls, wishing i had even a fraction of the oddity of my distant friend Luna Lovegood to keep me afloat, i believe this. i believe i am resisting, silently, as firmly as i can, if only from the inside. but when He comes, that disappears. the huddled conscious inside my chest silences herself and something else entirely takes hold. i turn into a body for His use and His use only. and in the moment, i truly enjoy it. i enjoy being diminished, becoming less than nothing, becoming subject to His all-powerful whims. being destroyed. my insufferable but still lovable companion Hermione Granger could surely quote some obscure muggle textbook and explain the affliction clinically. not for the first time, i am grateful she isn't at hand to chirp facts in my ear at this very moment.

'Well,' says Draco, infusing his voice with the jocular snideness our parents are so used to him using around me. 'I'd like to see you survive a day under the reign of Parkinson back at that miserable place. We'd see how that jealous sleeping dragon of yours would bode then. You'd be scrambling to get back and teach her a lesson.'

we've reached our hallway; his room is just across from mine. nearly there, and then this miserable play-pretend will be over. 'i'll have to count on you to take care of that little irritation, then, while i remain detained. put her in her place, brother.'

'Wouldn't I enjoy it.'

he angles his trunk against his hip and opens the door, creaking as it swings inward and letting me go first into his room. it is impeccably clean, cleaner than it's probably ever been, as our mother had the house elves at work on it since early morning two days ago. i set the trunk on the floor near his dresser and sit down on the edge of his black comforter as he places his trunk on top of the first. only when we are both securely in the room, him pacing back and forth near his bright window, the door safely bolted, can we drop our facades.

'I've been talking to some people, and there's a plan to get you out of all this, to help you escape,' he says, his voice lowering into his chest. i solidify what he's just said in my mind, eyes wide with disbelief.

my pulse jumps at the thought of freedom. of getting out of these four walls, of passing through the gates and escaping to somewhere, anywhere at all but here. i must allow myself a chance at redemption, at sanity, before the being that dominates my body when the Dark Lord comes near takes over completely, forever. my hands clasp one another at the thought, and i breathe deeply, focusing on my brother's words, watching his feet as he paces, pale eyes ringing of barely-harnessed panic.

'Draco, please calm yourself,' i manage. but my words have the opposite effect of the desired.

'Persephone, I cannot!' his eyes flicker toward the door, and his voice lowers to an urgent hiss, his hands flinging untethered through the air as he speaks, eyes gradually reddening. 'How could you possibly expect me to be calm with what they've been doing to you? You're my sister, for Merlin's sake. You're their bloody daughter—"

'stop that,' i say. his posture straightens, and he looks at the wood post of his bed just to my right. 'now just breathe, and try to settle your pulse.' i watch as he struggles to follow my advice, but eventually his fists unclench and he looks at me more calmly. 'come sit down and tell me what's gone on. what sort of plan are you intending to put into action? escape? Draco, really, how could that ever be successful against... against Him?'

'It's not the plan, per se, but the people, that we have on our side.'

my eyebrows arch accusingly. 'Draco, what have you gone and done?'

he sits beside me, making the mattress sink slightly, and takes my hand in both of his. i set my jaw against his tenderness; something must be horribly wrong. 'I want you to take all of this seriously,' he starts. 'I know you've been a bit, well, wrong in the head as of late—' i narrow my eyes, but the slight clenching of his jaw, and the tempting prospect of freedom, keeps me from objecting. 'I've still got my wits about me, though. And so do the certain adults I've contacted.'

'Draco.' my voice is sincere. 'what adults?'

'Certain members of the Order. The Order of the Phoenix.'

'what?' i'm sure my face fails to conceal the fact that i am utterly dumbfounded, so i give up the act. 'my dear brother, i haven't the slight inkling as to what you refer.'

a slight smile perches on his lips but is soon lost. 'Of course you don't. They are a secret operation. Not even Potter' —he spits the name— 'knew about it before this year and it's that loony godfather of his, Sirius Black, who heads it.' i can barely follow, and feel my eyes going blank as he continues to speak. 'Along with the parents of that Weasley clan and that pitiful Dark Arts teacher from third year; you remember Professor Lupin. And Moody, that bastard from last year...' here, Draco's face visibly contorts into one of hatred. he still hasn't been able to get over himself and his lingering embarrassment over the incident last year, in which he had been transfigured briefly into a ferret as punishment for nearly attacking Harry Potter while the latter was unawares.

i grin and make a voice, putting one in mind of a moneyed, potbellied man, announcing acts at a circus. 'ladies and gentlemen, i introduce to you once more, my unfortunate brother, The Amazing Bouncing Ferret.'

he scowls but i see the amusement glittering in his eyes. i chuckle darkly. 'Don't you dare,' he says.

'i wouldn't use magic illegally, silly. and besides, i haven't got my wand.' we wait a moment, looking out the window and ignoring the situation at hand. but, knowing myself and my brother all too well, i know that if we ignore it too long, we'll ignore it forever. 'what does this Order do, in the first place?'

'Well you heard the people they've got with them. They aren't much of a threat at all, I'd wager, but they're assembled to resist the dark forces growing in our world. Or so they say.'

i cannot say anything in response to this. his face falls slowly as he realizes what he has said, and we both sit in silence for a moment, unsure of what to think, what to believe. Draco clears his throat. 'Regardless,' he says, 'they're equipped with a headquarters safe enough to house you and hide you until I can get affairs in order. And they're perfectly willing to provide their services. Good thing you got those three Gryffindor fools on your side early.'

i brush aside his comment against my friends, knowing he wouldn't have said such a thing if his mood was less sour. 'affairs?'

he shifts on the bed. 'You and I will have to run away, of course. Far, far away from here, where we cannot be found.'

'but Draco, the... the child.'

i watch with a slowly sinking, splitting heart, as his face pales. 'The child?' he whispers.

the final snapping of my courage is nearly audible. 'did mother not write you in detail?' i manage at length.

'You can't mean that.' he stands, pacing again in denial, running his hands through his hair, looking all too similar to our father. 'You can't mean that.'

my head falls to my hands before i can exert enough strength to control this. my shoulders shake, though no tears will come, and i feel foolish and disgusting under my brother's gaze. he should abandon me, and all the work we've both poured into each other over the hard years. he would have every right under the sun moon and stars to storm out of the room and never return. but instead he places his hands on my shoulders, tilting my chin up toward him roughly.

'Hush,' he demands. 'Shut up now, alright? It had nothing to do with you. It wasn't a bit your fault.' he breathes deeply and his cool exhale brushes comfortingly across my face. it would be surprising to most how stalwart a force my brother can manage to be when he sets his mind to it. 'But he wasn't successful in, well, the entirety of the plan, was he? We can get it out of you. We can end it.'

i shake my head. the tears arrive, now, slow and still and strangling. 'no, Draco. it will not be ended. it will not be killed.'

'That just cannot be.'

'i know. yet, it is so.'

a soft knock at the door interrupts our eye contact. from the nature of the sound, we both know it is one of the house elves outside the door, not one of our parents. 'Yes?' snaps Draco. i furrow my eyebrows at him in reprimand and he shrugs his shoulders. he's never understood my sensitivity toward creatures he considers as lesser than, but he has still usually acted in adherence to my values, at least in my presence.

'Master Malfoy, sir?' says a small voice, not opening the door. 'Madam Malfoy has requested you and your sister's presence in the dining room for a meal and then a stroll around the grounds.'

we look at each other briefly. 'we will be down momentarily, Gertie,' i say kindly to the elf outside the door. 'thank you.'

'Oh,' says Gertie, voice gentler and steadier. Draco rolls his eyes at me and i stick out my tongue. 'Thank you, Lady.' she goes on, mumbling something unintelligible and bewildered-sounding to herself as she walks back down the hallway and we chuckle softly together.

after waiting long enough to be in good faith that we are not being eavesdropped upon, i gather the will to speak again. the smiles slip from our faces; my voice is heavy-laden with sincerity. 'brother, the risk is too great.'

his hand clasps mine. 'I fear for my life,' he says to me, 'but more for my sister.'

at this, we lean into each other. embraces have never been completely comfortable with Draco; we've always had some sort of baggage, and it's been difficult to accept each other in such a way when we can barely accept ourselves. but we manage. we pull away after an acceptable few seconds, looking at the bedspread.

'Let's go join mother and father, then,' he says abruptly, and i nod in agreement.

'let's.'

we leave the room behind, Draco first, myself second. before closing the heavy door i look back through the window, and could swear i see, against the wind, a large black crow flapping past. it vanishes, however, and i cannot help but shiver. i shut the door securely and hurry down the corridor after my brother.

He returns with blood caked beneath his nails for the umpteenth time. Draco and i have been immersed in a complex game of Wizards' Chess in front of the crackling fireplace for over an hour, both our necks aching from concentration, when He apparates into the room without warning.

we both stumble to our feet, my knee accidentally knocking a Bishop from the board in the process. i watch, holding my breath, bowing beside my trembling brother, as it rolls across the black floor, which seems to move beneath our feet in the firelight, and comes to rest before the Dark Lord. at length, He outstretches his hand, and the Bishop rolls back, past us and onto the square on the board from which i'd accidentally knocked it, the sound of its rolling echoing around the cavernous space. the fire climbs a gradual crescendo behind us.

'Draco, you may go,' He says in a cold voice, lighter than usual. it seems, on the cusp of cheerful. i wonder whose blood is under His nails this time.

my brother draws himself up from his bow, and i feel his eyes avoiding me as he walks past with quiet footfalls, down the length of the great table, and up the stairs. likely, to hide away in his room behind a locked door, under the covers of his bed or buried in a distracting spellbook. i long to join him.

at another time, i might've drawn myself up from my bow after the respectful amount of time, but i know not to trust His temper. the room smells of His most recent victim's blood. 'my Lord?' i venture, motionless.

'Silence,' He hisses. the intimidated fire's sound diminishes and i bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. what will He do this time? what will this new night draw out of Him, out of me?

many a time since the arrival of His precious immortal child inside of me, He has visited only to ensure its well-being, and has disregarded my presence. once, He came and His purpose was to be certain that it was strong, that it truly belonged to Him. that was a painful day. screams and spells and testing, over and over. but His seed proved strong, and so did i. and He was afraid to go too far, afraid, i knew, to kill me.

i've told myself i should never have expected him to touch me again. but gradually, over the days upon days, i grew anxious. none of my attempts at seduction were successful, and it seemed that only when i was afraid of Him did He choose to act on His own primitive desires. the few interactions beyond business which we've had have been abusive, and have left me aching but only in want of more bruises. i would take a body of broken bones, were they from Him.

Stop, Persephone. Bring yourself back. This is not You. This is somebody else, this is a consciousness he has created and planted inside You, this is what he wants. You deserve freedom, You deserve to exercise your strength. You must exercise it—

'Go to the table, my child, you know the way.'

butterflies erupt below my stomach, and i have to retrace His words in my memory before i can believe my ears. my knees tremble and i am only half aware as i force myself, step upon step, across the room, never once looking at Him. i stand before the table, hands curling into fists at my sides. i feel the tears streaming already.

'Remove your clothes,' He drones behind me. the words pierce my skin.

i feel His eyes boring directly into the small interruption of bone in the smooth canvas of my skin, where my neck is fused to the rest of my spine. cautiously, expecting to break into pieces, i reach my hands over my shoulders to undo the small buttons along my back, my fingers trembling so violently it takes me an entire minute, even moving as quickly as i can. it's stunning how slowly time actually moves.

eventually i can pull my arms from their long sleeves and let the fabric fall around my feet, leaving my skin bare and vulnerable to the air, the firelight, and His searching eyes. undoubtedly, when my mother had this dress made for me, she intended it to be nearly impossible to remove, likely with sex itself in mind. how very ironic. i kick the dress under the table with slightly more force than necessary.

'Good,' says the Dark Lord. 'Now lie down.'

my chin tucks almost imperceptibly toward my chest. i close my eyes. 'which way, my Lord?'

amusement bubbles in His tone. 'On your back,' He says, and my face drains further of its color. it will be painful. He only desires to watch my face when He intents to make it painful.

i comply with His orders, turning around and crossing my left leg over my right as i sit up on the table, pressing my arms over my breasts though i know it will be no use.

This is madness, Persephone, you are not sleeping, this is reality. Run. Run. Run—

but He has come forward and both His hands are on the sides of my head now, and there will be no more escaping His breath, His lips, His cutting eyes. His hands go to my legs and force them open while i lay back against the cold of the tabletop, facing away from Him, convincing myself not to feel, not to indulge, to send myself away. but His hands, His evil hands, move along my legs and upward, His thumbs brushing the hipbones jutting out from my flesh, brushing over my breasts, making my body twist and writhe under His gaze. He captures my wrists and keeps them magically bound together at the opposite edge of the table. i am paralyzed, breathless, and His mouth is moving along the crease in my chest from my middle to my breasts and to my trembling neck, guiding my legs up to the table, bending them out as though i am a mere doll to bend and break and replace, and i can only gasp for breath and hang on and pray it will end quickly.

but i want it to last for eternity. i want to feel His hands hard on my body forever and His teeth biting down on my skin until my very last breath and beyond. i want to carry Him into the afterworld, curled inside me until infinity.

when He enters me i cry out and turn my face into the crook of my elbow, biting down on my skin to keep from causing my mother, but most of all Draco, any more distress then they've already been burdened with. this time is even more aggressive than the others, and i can barely breathe. with each exhale i can only grunt, my mouth filling with the taste of my hot streaming blood as i gnaw on myself to keep from screaming, my tears terrorizing the wounds inflicted by my teeth. this is all my doing, all my fault, all upon my knobby, quaking shoulders.

i feel His desire to cast the Cruciatus curse, to force my pain from me, to force me to express it loudly, to give him the submission He desires. but perhaps He derives something from seeing my inner struggle to keep my pain hidden away. perhaps He is only waiting for my will to snap, my silence to break, my screams to arrive, spilling from me, like honey to His ears.

when He becomes bored, he pulls himself from me and twists my body over violently without regard to my invisible restraints, my wrists yanking on my arms, elbows nearly dislocating. a yelp leaps from my throat, muffled by my clenched teeth and He enters me a second time with double the amount of hunger, forcing my face into the wood and letting it be ground down there with each of His increasingly violent thrusts, raking His nails down my back. i give up and scream, and scream, and scream, while He pulls my hair, terrorizing every part of my skin with His nails, His teeth. hammering into me.

but then, abruptly, it all stops.

His hands remove themselves from me as though i have turned to searing coals, His member soon after. i stare at a candle in the uppermost corner of my field of vision, feeling a wave of cold as He moves away. i can barely turn my head, but manage to follow Him with my eyes as He moves slowly, almost in a limp, to stand before the fireplace, staring into it. something seems to deeply trouble His mind, His head bent toward the flames, a trembling in His taut shoulders. He certainly wants nothing further from me tonight.

'have i done something, my Lord?' my voice barely makes a sound, struggling from my creaking vocal chords, through the tears clouding my vision. i blink them away, but they return again and again.

'Go,' He demands at length, His voice actually trembling, and my restraints disappear, my body slumping over onto the floor. blindly, on my hands and knees, i gather my dress from beneath the table, pull myself up by the wooden edge, slick with blood and the rest of the mess from our bodies, slipping the fabric as best i can over my skin. i do not dare cast a second look in His direction before hurrying away, feeling the blood already seeping into the fabric and drying the dress to my soon-to-be-scarred back.

i carry myself stumbling and aching up the stairs. no-one confronts me on my path to my room. i bolt the door and scrub at myself in the tub until i give up on drying to feel clean, untouched, ever again. in my bed i cry and look out the window. i wouldn't dare quell the consuming pain magically. it takes a very long time before the strain of the tears and the ache send my exhaustion over the edge, and i am left vulnerable enough to be kidnapped yet again by unconsciousness.

life is nothing but falling asleep and waking up. Draco disappears daily to an undisclosed spot in the woods, probably sending out and receiving owls, carrying precious correspondence as to the conditions and details of my escape. but as time goes on i grow increasingly unsure of whether his desperately hatched plan will survive to maturity. as my sadness has increased the frequency of the Dark Lord's visits has become greater, and said visits have become more painful, so that during the days it can be difficult for me to sit up from my bed or to even walk at all. His anger manifests itself in His lust, and undoubtedly, were our plans of escape to succeed, neither my brother nor i would last the day. Draco and our parents would be murdered along with my guardians, and i would be collected and kept until the arrival of the Dark Lord's immortal dark heir, at which point i would be put to an end, too. all in all, the situation both within and without of my broken body has begun to appear utterly dismal.

i've been pacing in front of my window and my unmade bed all day, when the holidays have nearly come to an end, wondering how best to explain this situation effectively to my brother, when there is a knock at the door. speak of the Devil.

'come in, Draco,' i say.

the door creaks open and he looks at me a moment through the crack before stepping inside and shutting it again after him. his face is dark but energy brews behind his eyes. his hands are restless. 'I did it, sis,' he tells me. 'Tonight. They're ready. They're waiting, this moment. Didn't you hear me? Tonight.' it seems he's exerting all his energy into keeping his voice below a shout.

the news sets me trembling further and a whimper slips from between my chapped, split lips. my hands press into my abdomen, which has been increasingly vulnerable. 'Draco, i cannot.'

he shakes his head and crosses the room in two strides, grabbing my arms and forcing me to face him. 'Yes, Persephone, you can, and you will have to. This is not something you can back out of. For your safety.'

'no, brother. i beg you.' i wrench my body from his grip and turn to the window, staring out at the darkness of the late night, my breath so hard it clouds against the glass even though i stand so far away. 'this cannot take place. you will be killed. we will all be killed. we cannot allow ourselves to indulge this naivete any further.'

he stares at me, his head motionless on his shoulders now. a great sadness pervades his eyes and slowly, as we search each other, i see the wheels turning. i know him too well, and he knows me, too. oh, no, is all i can think. oh, no.

from his back pocket he draws his wand, backing up into the door, shaking his head. 'I'm so sorry, Persephone, but you know full well that you're leaving me no choice.'

i put my hands out in front of me. i cannot allow this to be done. 'Draco, please, i beg you, for both our sakes—"

but he has made his decision. he made it long before setting foot in this room. he raises his wand as i cover my face in futility with my arms, body heaving with grief for his future, and for mine. i know what is about to be done, and shake my head behind my useless shield of bruised flesh and weak bone. his voice is brimming with grief.

'Imperio.'

NOTE

I did want to mention that in my other current story, Our Blackened Hearts, Imperio is used in a similar setting, and for a similar purpose. The inspiration for that definitely originated with this story, in case you were confused or disappointed by the parallels, there.

I would say that my skills in writing dialogue have improved greatly since I wrote this story. In rereading these chapters I've found that the dialogue can sound a bit choppy, and almost reminiscent of the nineteenth century. Though it's not completely correct or accurate to life, it still adds to the overall mood of the story, which is why I've decided not to change it in these already-written chapters. If it's annoying you, not to worry, it will probably change when I start writing, later. If you enjoy it, message me soon so that I know to try to adhere to the same style when I do start writing.

What are your thoughts on Draco?

Thank you for not plagiarizing my writing.

All the best,

On_Errand_Bad

5,074 words

19 November 2020