Hello again folks! So holy moley, this chapter is so long, I had to break it in two. There's a mini chapter coming up here (maybe even today, if I get my ass in gear) that will round it out. Enjoy!

Grovek26: ah yes, the anxiety of schemes upon schemes, and plans in plans! Muahaha! Hopefully I can keep you piqued through all the political stuff in the chapters to come!

Pgoodrichboggs: She's special lady, but Riddle isn't necessarily all that fond of her… But you'll see soon!

KyloRen'sgirl213: I'm glad you are loving it! I'm investing in developing this as much as possible without it droning.

I'm not sure if y'all want me to keep warning for any triggers, but I will regardless. I hate spoilers personally, but FYI, mentions of harm against women. Also, some horror and gore. And even terror.

Chapter 14

Even though her eyes were shut, the light of morning persisted behind her eyelids, flooding her vision with brightness. She focused on her inhalation, followed by a controlled exhale. Soon the warmth of the sun would be a dwindled commodity, and she committed to seek it whenever possible before the seasons shifted, and the driving snows would come again.

If the circumstances were normal and it was a typical day, the library would have seen Ursa occupied with a book, or studying ancient scrolls. Anything she could get her hands on, she used to further her knowledge base and bolster her intellect. She was blessed with the privilege of freedom as the Lady of the House to learn whatever her heart desired, and she whimsically chased anything she felt of interest.

In spite of her lack of restrictions, this day was not what felt like a normal day. Not at all. Despite the beauty of the day, and her peaceful surroundings, Ursa felt burdened. The emotion sat heavily in her core, as though residence had been taken up within her, the weight growing roots in her very soul. She felt troubled and tired.

There was so much confusion within her thoughts that it overpowered anything else she tried to pay focus to. It was maddening and distracting at a time that she felt she could ill-afford it. She sighed in frustration, trying once again to maintain her breath as she tried to make sense of what had happened with her husband only days prior.

From the first moment Ursa had lain eyes on him, Loren Gresham's wildness had drawn her to him. The way he'd worn his hair long, and unbound and how it lacked order and whispered defiance to convention. His fierce brown eyes and masculine brows brought to life his expressions and mannerisms that had been so cavalier, yet sincerity had existed there beneath the surface. Not yet bound to his Dragon at the time, he was still a fierce man even in those days of his youth; his lessons of wisdom had yet to be experienced. But he had been so kind.

That innate wildness had never scared her before, never given her reason to shrink back from him. In their years of marriage, in rows or disagreements, or stubborn unwillingness to back down lest they be proven wrong; the Lord had nary once done so much as breathed aggressively to her. He was the paragon of control, in all matters. Wise and patient, guiding and confident.

Her reconciliation of the man she knew, the man whose hand in marriage she had taken happily, and children she had borne joyfully, was woefully unbalanced.

The residual marks of palms and fingertips in the flesh of Ursa's soft shoulders spoke of a very different man indeed. Even now, though her eyes were closed, she had committed to memory what the sight of handprints looked like on her body. And despite the years of bliss and comfort she recalled when she considered the years as a wife, and Lady, Ursa Gresham was livid.

She rolled the feeling around in her mind, as though it was a great wave she could control, though she was the great moon and she could push and pull at the tides. How dare this man lay a hand to her? How dare he allow himself to succumb to cause harm upon someone he loved? Her mind was raging in wake of this event. Yet I let him touch me as though I loved him, and wanted him. The memory of her own reaction to the sudden change in tempo had been disturbing to say the least. The shock and terror of it didn't allow her to think clearly, just to accept the placations he paid her as a soothing balm for the injury.

In truth, it wasn't uncommon for a Lord to lay a hand on his wife. More disturbingly it was an occurrence that was only discussed between the familial ranks of women, mostly in hushed tones with light weeping, and comforting embraces. Words of assurance and support, and whisperings she'd heard her mother's sisters make when they thought themselves safe.

Ursa was lucky in her marriage to have been made as a love match, and not a political alliance, but she'd been blind to Loren's shortcomings all her married life. His propensity over the years to let his tempter lose had become more and more prevalent.

The Lady of the House straightened her back, and opened her eyes. Looking forward at nothing specific as her mind worked over her resolve. The sands of time were trickling away, and she had tasks to attend. As she rose from her seat and straightened her gown, sleeves, and mechanically smoothed her hair, the matron of the House steeled her features. She would not be complacent in his treatment of her. Her previous passivity in his overtures notwithstanding, she was in control of her person. She would control her emotions, and delineate over them as time allowed. But she would be damned if she allowed herself to show resignation to Loren's actions.

Between the rigors of dueling in the mornings, and hours-long rides before dinner, Theodore could feel the wear in his body most acutely. From the first stirring of his body each day, his muscles reminded him that his previous day's activities were none too gentle, and by the time he returned to his room to consider a bath, they wailed to be allowed reprieve.

As the Warlock Black had said many times, "The pain will change you, you only have to be patient." Theodore wasn't completely certain what he meant by that, but from the bedraggled expression that his fellow students wore, he was comforted by the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who was suffering.

Theodore would have imagined that the Gresham siblings would have been spared the brutish schedule, seeing as how they had already received training and tutelage from the Master Warlock previously. It seemed instead in the face of a larger pool of pupils that Master Black chose a pointedly more sadistic regimen now that he was influencing all four of them.

Unlike when Draco and Theodore had just arrived at Gresham House, both Tyt'o and Hermione found themselves slacker in adjourning to the great hall immediately following breakfast. Whereas before they would have tripped over the other in a race to be the first to arrive.

Most perturbingly, sweat trickled down Theodore's forehead, and the sound of Master Blacks voice barking commands broke through his train of thought. "Swing harder Nott. Feel the magic, concentrate harder when you build you shield. Draw it from the well of your soul! Honestly, boy, how can you expect to hold your own in a proper duel if you're occupied with being pelted left and right?!" Sirius shook his head disapprovingly at Theodore, and he turned to face Tyt'o again.

Tyt'o looked just as worked over. His light, long hair was moist with perspiration and his breaths slightly ragged. The two faced off again, engaging in fierce offensives in an attempt to best the other again. Sirius nodded to the pair and returned his attentions to Hermione and Draco, who stood apart from each other locked in concentration. Each participant throwing spells at the other without hesitation. Some would land, some would deflect.

Hermione hissed once as a wildfire of welts landed on her neck and she faltered, steeling another strike on her opponent by using a sudden gust of winds to cause him to lose his footing. Sirius circled the pair at a distance, careful to watch their volleys of missed magical attacks as he studied their shortcomings.

Without any preamble or announcement, the large wooden door to the hall swung open unceremoniously. With his back to it, Sirius paid it little mind as he focused, figuring that the presence entering was that or Ursa Gresham, who was the most likely to entertain watching the lesson.

The Lady of the House had often been a fixture at lessons in the previous year as well. Sometimes she would sit and watch, sometimes she would excuse herself after a brief time to attend her duties as the Lady of the House. But more often than not it was a pretty reasonable assumption she would be present for at least some of the lesson. The only exception to this was this stint in particular, it seemed.

After the first lesson, Ursa had not returned to the Hall, and the group had not seen her again until dinner. When they saw her, she was quiet and asked too-few questions of her children and two wards to be normal for her natural curiosity and interests in the education being imparted. The morning following, she had exited the small breakfast hall much quicker than her Lord, and following several supported reasons as to why she could not attend, she was unseen until the lesson had been all but over that day.

Overall, her person had been almost a nonentity in the presence of Sirius Black. While Sirius himself hadn't dwelled on it, Theodore Nott had most definitely noted the change. Having almost no other female company in his own home, the proximity of both Ursa, and even Hermione, had entrenched in him a sort of hyper-awareness of the two of them.

Though the pupils were engaged and focused and none of them turned to observe, into the room strode the solid and stocky form of one Rune Mora. The woman's brown hair was parted conservatively and it's length wrapped in a long cord down the middle of her back, but was peppered in a few places with strands of white that she didn't bother to waste magic to color back. Her brown and blue leather coat was in the style of what a man would wear albeit tailored to fit her exactly. Paired it with breeches and boots she looked everything the serious instructor should.

Her stride was shaped with purpose and her gait lacked any sort of pretense. One might even go so far as to considerer it a march if one were to scrutinize it further. Her fine boots made no sounds on the stone of the floor as she approached the Warlock from behind.

Sirius Black had ceased his pacing and stood focused as the dueling pairs started to wind down, so when the figure of Rune Mora appeared beside him, Sirius flinched instinctively.

"Bit edgy aren't you Black?" She teased, placing her hands behind her back and straightening herself at her painfully average height as much as she was able, though in a way to make it seem like she was straightening her posture. Sirius scoffed, trying to recover from her surprise upon him.

"Hardly. Mora." He hedged back to her, emphasizing her own familial name as she had his own, and she smirked knowingly and turned herself to the four youngsters.

"Bit of déjà vu returning to this House so soon, isn't it?" She ventured and Sirius nodded.

"Aye, truly." He agreed, and Rune sighed.

"Wind them down then. I'm going to steal them away for the rest of the morning." Sirius shot her a look of incredulity.

"Now see here, Mora, I'm in the middle of a series of lessons." He gestured to the four students, whom Sirius and Rune had stopped observing. "These conventions must be maintained to ensure that the forms are mastered." Rune clucked her tongue and Sirius and shook her head with a smirk.

"Be that as it may, Lammas approaches." She countered with some measure of finality on the topic, and Sirius deflated. Damn. His pesty oppugner had a valid point: as the summer was winding down, the magic imbued by the presence of Dragons and the onset of hatching eggs changed how magics flowed within their users. It became easier to channel the magic into certain rituals and meditations.

And Rune Mora would know this unequivocally, as she was one of the only remaining actively-practicing Necromancers that walked the lands. Sirius' bluff was called, and they both knew it. He flung his hands up momentarily. "Fine!" he exclaimed in exacerbation. "Take control of this pounce of kittens and return them to me tomorrow-" She nodded, moving to leave her station and approach the group of students –who by this point had stopped and begun observing the instructors in various levels of fatigue and confusion- When Sirius stopped her by grabbing her arm, and holding her firm. "Whole and mentally unburdened." Rune Mora shot him a look of disgust as she glanced at his hand upon her person.

"I've been instructing the heirs of Houses since before you started realizing what kinds of mischief was possible within the obfuscation of a castle buttery [1]." She spat at him, and yanked her forearm from his grasp. She made sure fix her expression so as to clarify how repudiated the contact was with her person. As the two parted ways, Rune repressed the urge to roll her shoulders at the disgust she felt and briefly toyed with sending him just the smallest of curses. Just a wordless reminder that she was not a woman to be handled by anyone without her invitation.

Noting that four pairs of impressionable eyes were now watching her, her moment of rancor had to be stowed away for future consideration. They had absolutely bore witness to the exchange between their teachers but wisely kept commentary and questions to themselves. That was a promising sign, she acknowledged. Not all the students she taught maintained self-control. In her mind the visages of several flame-haired scions came to mind. Particularly one pair of twins and their younger sister, who on more than one occasion caused Rune to consider the usage of corporal punishment in the form of a subtly-constructed blood rituals at the first sign of any insubordination. She smiled at the wonderfully dark ideas that floated through her mind on any given whim, silently relishing in the depths of dark knowledge she carried with her, most of which would never be imparted to any of these simpering children that stood before her.

In the ancient days, a woman with talents and knowledge such as Rune Mora, would have been placed at the side of a great King for counsel and strategy. In days such as these, with the lands divided and the Lords bickering and picking at the trivialities of trade agreements, and disputes over titles to lands, it was a far-cry indeed from the more noble beginnings of the Necromancy practices.

But nonetheless, she did have a higher degree of satisfaction in teaching the Gresham children; more so than she did most of the other pupils she'd taken on. They were respectful and studious overall, and understood that she tolerated no dissention to her authority.

Addressing the tired newcomers to her session, she raised her thick eyebrows haughtily. "Do you know who I am?" This caught Theodore and Draco a little off-guard. Having been worked quite thoroughly by Master Black not only that morning, but every day, the pair were weary and less-alert than they would be under alternate circumstances. She didn't care to give them time to respond anyway, and continued. "I the Necromancer Mora. You will refer to me as such in discussion, and address me directly as "Madam". Do you understand?" The contrast in their new Master instructor was very evident; Where Sirius Black was indeed devoted to his craft and their tutelage, he possessed a more welcoming countenance that this woman did before them.

Theodore looked her over more carefully once again; her expression was stern, and her lips were set in a line that bordered on a frown; the corners of her mouth already showing lines where evidence of its frequent occurrence could be seen. Her features overall were what could be considered appealing with her thick brows and her dark lashes. Though it was something in her lack of frippery, it seemed, that gave her an air of disinterest in showing any femininity. There were very few Necromancers anymore, and certainly none that Theodore knew of that would have been conscripted to teach any scions of the Houses of The United. While he was quite worn, Theodore couldn't help but feel invigorated by the prospect of tutelage by a Necromancer! Blood rituals, callings, and summonings were rituals that Theodore had seen his father study his entire young life!

As he silently committed to write his father again once he returned to his rooms, Theodore pondered briefly if his father knew of this particular teacher? Her name did seem a little familiar, but as she'd never attended any of his fathers allied Houses, it was impossible to say.

Draco, on the other hand, practically gaped openly at the woman. The Houses of the Guild weren't purported to have any relationships with any known Necromancers! His father had insisted on referring to the Gresham's as "such commoners" and "simpleton folk" that surely it was impossible such a highly-sought and powerful practitioner would be willing to instruct their children? He debated this all internally as the Madam had launched into an oratory of instruction, which had let his fellow students to listen with rapt attention.

It was not the first time since Draco had arrived at the Gresham House that he had observed a much different atmosphere that he had anticipated. This was another instance in which his father's insistences had been proven faulty: Necromancers agreeing to take on anything less than a life-bound apprentice was not a casual occurrence. Why then would the supposed "lesser" Houses within the Guild be gifted such a privilege?

From beside him, an unexpected elbow connected with his rib, though as more of a nudge than a jab, and Draco was shaken from his thoughts. Quickly seeking the source of the prodding, he was met with a stern glare from none other than Hermione. "Pay attention!" She hissed under her breath, and looked back to Madam Mora as she'd continued laying out her instructions for the four of them.

Draco had to hold in a chuckle; Hermione hadn't hurt him in any way, but the intentional physical contact from her was surprising. It was something he'd seen her do to her brother more than a dozen times, and it was strangely endearing. He felt warmed suddenly as the notion occurred to him that it was her token of acceptance into the fold. It was a struggle to keep a grin to form on his face; that simply wouldn't do.

Their teacher had requisitioned thick blankets from the staff before she'd entered the hall and usurped Sirius Blacks time with them, and they were brought in a tidy line of attending people, quietly arranging the items as the Necromancer had instructed: blanket folded in quarters and lain flat on the floor. Having done as instructed, they were bid away and to shut the hall door firmly upon their exit. The Necromancer followed them and secured the door with a traditional lock.

Theodore looked at the floor, and then questioningly at the other students, but before any of his fellows could react, she pointed at the floor. "Choose your seat and fold your legs comfortably. You're going to begin to calm your mind and body before we begin." Each of them took a pad and did as instructed. Rune continued onward. "In order to gain mastery of a magic, you must practice your focus and intent, but you must also learn to conquer your greatest fears." Her voice was, oddly, quite like velvet. It had taken on an even, and rich quality that it hadn't possessed before. "I want you to find a focal point, and fix on it. Clear your vision of anything but that point. Move anything of distraction to a place in your mind where you can walk away from it. Take your focal point and make it your destination in your mind."

Each pair of eyes looked out in front of them at some unseen place, as Rune had circled around behind them, drawing her forces around her easily, allowing her magic to transform her voice and calm the four that sat before her. She reached to her belt and drew a small silver knife, and raised it to her left hand. Carefully running its razor edge at the pad of her thumb, she continued to advance the summons she was performing. "Once you have cleared your mind, find the weight of your eye lids to be so heavy that for every time you blink, you cannot imagine opening them again. The weight is so great, and the desire to rest them overwhelms you."

Rune didn't need to see their faces to know that they were all blinking slowly, succumbing one-by-one to the power she called to her and cast into her spell. She continued to circle, allowing a drop of blood to fall as she completed her circle around them, and returned to her original position. "Ave inferis potestatibus, et nutritii portendentes. Offero tibi sanguine pascere. Ego offerre mea potestate. Ego vocare te et fores aperire mihi. Aperi in futurum, et ut nobis concedas transitum. Per sanguinem meum, eaque ipsa Venus." The very air around her drew tight with power as the spots of blood in the circle she created lit immediately as though they were each their own candle, and the room around them grew very dark suddenly, as though the very natural light itself was being pushed away. Rune Mora raised her hands as she wove the spell and held it fast, focusing and steeled her power around the group and opened her magic around all of them.

Hermione blinked rapidly as her eyes were assaulted by a blindingly bright light on the other side of her eyelids, and she felt something soft and tickling falling across her face. Trying to adjust her vision, she rubbed her eyes, and ventured to open them. She hissed and squinted as her eyes tried to adjust, to allow her to look around her. The brightness was so intense, she struggled to focus, but slowly her vision adjusted and she looked around her. The feather-soft tickles kept wisping across her face, like tufty snowflakes and little whispers. As the severe light calmed slightly she could see that it was, indeed, as though snow was falling all around her, but she didn't feel any cold around her.

She looked to her surroundings, uncertain as to what she was seeing. It was too dark to be snow, she realized, and she focused instead on her feet. They were covered in this fluff of light gray that had coated everything that surrounded her, creating the landscape into hills and soft lumps everywhere she could see. As she examined further, she took a step, squinting again at the ground, and kicked at the fluff. Beneath it was earth, blackened and hot, and Hermione stood up again, holding her hands out in front of her as she watched pieces fall into her palms.

It wasn't snow. It was ash, and it was still smoking.

Hermione dropped her hands, and backed up in alarm. Fire! Her wild copper eyes searched all around her for answers to her discoveries, but she saw nothing. She heard nothing. It was so quiet, even the sounds of her breaths were booming against the din of silence.

A dark shadow passed over her, followed by the return of the blinding brightness. She looked up to the sky, and flying there in the leagues above her was a great Golden Dragon! She opened her mouth to cry out, and found that nothing was there to be pulled from. She shouted again and waved her arms upward to the sky. 'I'm here!' She thought. 'I'm here, don't you see me?!'

The Dragon parried through the sky above in an arc to circle back, and the sky above her was suddenly rent with a jet of fire. Its heat burned her face, and she crashed down to her knees as she screamed again, feeling the flesh of her face tightening as it burned, and her nerve endings shrieked in agony. Her hot tears ran down her face sending her pain receptors into overdrive as she looked up once again, and to her absolute horror, she saw a second Dragon bearing down upon the gold that already soared above her.

Its massive red wings blacked out the sun, and its sheer mass rivaled that of the gold above her. Flapping furiously the gold reared up in the air to block the fire with his impenetrable scales, only to receive a whip of the red Dragons razor-barbed tail. The gold Dragon screamed in agony. The sound of the scream was deafening and it shook the ground all around her. Hermione fought with the terror within her urging her to run! Run as far away from her as you can! But she couldn't move, her fear crept over her and rooted her in place, even though her mind recoiled madly.

All around her then there was a hissing as wet collided with the smoldering ash, and from where she crouched, clutching her own shoulders and shaking, she peered up to see what created the sound; splatters of blood had begun littering the ground. Mere drops to a Dragon, but the masses that pelted the ground were larger than both her hands outstretched.

The shadow passed once again over her, and she saw the mass of gold, slack and weak, tumbling to the ground. With an explosive crash the gold Dragon hit the ground only to be covered by the still-attacking body of the great red. It's wild eyes were gleeful, and blood dripped down its craggily horned head, and the Dragon laughed as it rent the golds throat with its teeth. Its massive clawed feet gouged into the gold belly spilling waves of blood, and pinning it to the earth beneath it's similar mass.

Hermione screamed continuously until she had no voice remaining, only a hollow rattle as she watched the red Dragon devour the gold while it still thrashed in agony.

Rune Mora continued her circling of her students, enforcing and binding the magic spell over and over. She watched intently as each of her students, in turn, traversed through their visions before her. The Nott boy, though his eyes were closed, had waves of tears pouring down his cheeks. His body shook uncontrollably and his breaths were soft and a gentle whimper escaped his lips. "Mother…." He whispered.

Sunshine, and laughter. It tinkled in his ears like the ringing of a sweet bell. Theodore could feel sunshine across his face, and a light breeze as he opened his eyes. Arms wrapped around him, and enveloped him in warmth and long hair tickled at his nose. It was the color of spun gold. He felt lips press lightly, warmly, lovingly upon his forehead and he delved himself deeply into the embrace. It radiated all around him like blankets in front of a fire.

He never wanted this to end.

Her voice in his ear was soft, gentle, and was tinged with a smile. 'My beautiful Theo.' She said, striking his hair with her hand. Theodore didn't dare more, didn't dare to break contact, even to look up. He didn't need to look to know who it was.

'Momma.' He whispered into her arms, and her hair, and her feminine hands played continuously over his hair again.

'Oh my beautiful, beautiful boy.' Her voice was so faint, so delicate, the tone so enchanting it was like the sound made from stars falling out of the sky. But then her arms went slack, and began to fall away. Realizing they were pulling away from him, he reached for her, scrambling to try to hold onto her as she tipped back. He finally looked up, and saw the face that he had wanted to remember for all of his life, and in all of his dreams.

She was so beautiful. Her eyebrows were perfect bows, her lashes long and lush, and her smile brought the sun down from the sky to give it to you if you wanted it. The blue of her eyes danced as her expression of happiness reigned on her face. Theodore smiled back.

As her arms had loosened, and her body started leaning away from him, her smile frozen on her face and her eyes had begun to glass over. He scrambled to get a grip around her, to hold her close, but she just kept falling backward and he couldn't stop her. Theodore tried to lean over to grab her, unsure as to where she was falling, and how, but his arms grasp at nothing when he reached for her. He could see her; but her body became immaterial as it slipped away from him. Further and further she fell, her blue eyes sagging, and her smile eerily still. As she faded away he heard a sigh come from her. Deep, and rattling, as though it carried the very life from her body with it. The last of her living breath.

Tears sprung from his eyes as he lost her, and she slipped away completely, and Theodore was left there alone. The warmth of her embrace had left him and the cold began to slip in. Everything around him was dark now, and nothing of her love and light remained.

Beside him, he heard the shuddering sound of weeping, and he looked towards it. Beside him, his father Thoros sat with his head cradled in his hands as his sorrows were torn from his body. Theodore had never seen his father cry. His shoulders were bunched, and his robes distorted. From between the sobs he heard his father chant 'Calla. Oh, my sweet girl.' He drew in a rattled breath, and there was the cry of a little baby that interrupted his sobbing. He didn't look up. 'Damn you child. Gods damn you, you killed her.'

Theodore stiffened and looked forward again, his own tears pouring from his eyes as he listened to the pleading and piteous sounds of an infant mewling for attention, for love and the warmth of his mother's breast. His fists were balled up in front of his mouth as the swelling of emotion tore up from within his body and was torn from his mouth as he wailed and cried; Mother,' he wrenched out. 'Mother…..'

The Necromancers circling went on, the force of her powers controlling the augury which she had summoned. Rune willed the continued dripping of blood from her finger to strengthen the circle she supported, each drop becoming a little flickering flame once it had landed. She studied each meditating face of her students in turn while they traversed through the landscape of their fears. There was barely more noise in the room aside from breaths being taken, and the quiet padding of her soft-soled boots.

She stood to face the young heir to the House of Malfoy, and found him sitting stock-still, his breaths measured and his face impassive as he experienced his own vision. Her expression never softened as she echoed her incantation to draw him into the portents he was meant to witness.

Pain. Draco felt pain. He crushed his eyes together and ground his teeth together as though the grinding would take away from the rippling agony that tore through his back and shoulder. He could hear the sound of a woman screaming somewhere near him, like an echo. It was muffled and insistent.

He couldn't focus on the noise, all he could feel was the spasms that ripped through him, one after another, accompanied by the dull thud of an object striking a body. He could feel the muscles of his shoulder and back start to give way slightly as though their abuse had broken them down and they melted away with every strike.

Between blows, he felt a hand at his collar lifting him, and shaking him. 'Do you see what you make me do to you? Do you, pet?' A voice asked, menacingly, gleefully, dangerously. Draco could barely breathe through the pain, let alone make any noise. The hand shook him violently. 'How many times have I told you? How many lessons will it take?!' The voice had grown more enraged, and another blow struck him, leaving the last of his breath to pour out from him in a wincing groan. The hand let go, and he collapsed in a heap of odd-angles and throbbing pain.

A shuffling of clothes, and boots over stone, and the voice was at his ear, unmistakably close. So much that the heat of breath could be felt on his skin. 'How many times must you make me hurt you until you listen, my pet, hmmm? You know I only do this because you insist on defying me…' the speaking paused as Draco felt his body rouse, he face turn towards it and beyond his control a weak smile crept up from him.

'Fuck you, Lucius.' The voice of his mother said, and a rage-filled growl barked out as another blow came down upon him, striking Draco in the side of the face. The sound of cheekbone being cracked was so loud in his head, it rung his ears to the point where little else registered now, his head was ringing.

'Stupid, pathetic bitch.' Lucius muttered as he stood, and the sound of his footsteps softened as he walked away.

Draco opened his eyes slightly, though they were swollen to the point where it caused him great difficulty. From where he lay, the slight of his crumpled hands was all he could focus on. Though, instead of the wiry forearms and masculine fingers he was familiar with, there were delicate and pale hands, with longer, albeit mostly broken fingernails. Dirt, and blood was on them, and his sleeves went past his wrists into a point. They were a woman's hands. Draco flexed them, and witnessed as the womanly grip opened and closed as he commanded it.

He looked around as much as his eyes allowed him, fighting the pressure behind his eyeballs, and the force of his eyelids that was warring with him to keep them open. Sprawled around where his face was lain, was long blond hair, straight and silky. He'd know that hair anywhere; it was the hair of his mother.

From where Rune stood she noted his body had twitched and flinched, but strangely his breath maintained an even pace. She moved on around her circle one final time, squeezing her flesh to produce more drops of blood as she walked the final lap and incanting in her mind to draw one final vision forth to complete the ritual. Her wound had begun to coagulate, so she pressed more to open it up again, unaffected by the little stab of pain in her hand.

Sitting taller that the other three students, Tyt'o Gresham's forehead had broken out in a sweat. A few of the heavier drops had formed thick beads and had dripped down his face as he gasped as though he was going to shout. Rune paused and considered this; the visions she had conjured would be strong indeed, but not so much that a mere student would be able to transcend the boundaries. As Tyt'o's face calmed and his breath slower, she felt a smug satisfaction within.

Ursa was clutching onto Hermione as she glared menacingly at a tall man that Tyt'o didn't recognize, but wore dark well-tailored clothing. His fine jacket, breeches and boots spoke of his Lordly station, and the contrast of his long blond hair that was bound at the back of his neck was identical to that of Draco Malfoy's. 'You'll have to kill me first, you son of a bitch.' His mother hissed out at the man, and he chuckled at her.

'Oh my dear, you make it sound like it would be difficult.' The man sneered, and touched Hermione on the shoulder with his index finger, running it down her arm suggestively. Ursa ripped Hermione farther away from him, closer into her arms and moved to place her own body between them. Instinctively Tyt'o tried to move forward to engage the man, but found suddenly that his arms were bound behind him tightly, and someone held him fast from behind.

'Watch yourself, pup.' The voice of Draco Malfoy growled into his ear from behind him. 'Father has them well in hand now, no need to trouble yourself.' Tyt'o could hear the smile on Draco's face, but kept himself glued on his mother and sister. Ursa continued to face down the blond lord.

'By all the Gods, Lucius, you won't be taking her anywhere!' Ursa insisted, and the name she'd spoken to laughed with amusement. 'To hell with your contract!'

'Oh, dear Lady, I think you'll find that not only do I have the upper hand here, but in the completely legally binding sense, she belongs to use now.' With a swift motion, Lucius reached his palm backward and landed an open palm across Ursa's face with resounding echo of flesh-on-flash, the force of which caused her to stagger, and with the same fluidity Lucius ripped Hermione out of Ursa's arms.

Trying to round on him, Ursa lunged at her daughter, only to be met with Lucius' open-palm as he used his magic to send her flying backward through the air with a full this. She did not get up. Hermione struggling against him. 'You bastard!' she screamed. 'No! Mother! Please!' Lucius leaned into the crook of her neck as he crushed her into him from behind, and he breathed in deeply.

'Such a fiery spirit you have, little one.' He mused, and Hermione tried to reach back to him, clawing with her fingers and spitting in anger as she raged trying to be free. Lucius shook her, hard, and plucked her off her feet against his body tightening his arms around her, trapping her arms. 'Now, now, little one. That's no way to treat your future father-in-law, is it, now?' He hummed, keeping his arms tight across her chest and sliding one of them toward her stomach, causing Hermione to fight harder. 'Ah, ah ah!' He admonished. 'If you can't behave, I'll have to punish you.' He chuckled darkly.

From behind him, Tyt'o could only feel Draco's breath as it hitched a little as his father pawed at Hermione, nuzzling his mouth into her neck. He growled low at Draco 'Do something, you prick.' Draco sniggered.

'Would you like me to take his place then, eh pup?' He asked and Tyt'o snarled back at him. Lucius continued to hold Hermione as she tried to wriggle from his grasp, the body of their mother several feet away lay still, her chest moving gently. Tyt'o watched his sister as tears had begun to fall from her eyes as Lucius worked at her belt from behind her with his free arm. His intentions were very clear now, and Tyt'o could do nothing to save her.

Having completed her final course around her students, Rune had wrapped her finger in a cloth square from her person and closed her summons with a finalizing incantation. As she did so, the light that naturally graced the Hall breathed anew and restored a more cheery atmosphere around them. "Evigilare faciatis." She murmured.

From the row in front of her, the four seemed to liven moderately as several deep, gasping breaths were heard. Tyt'o and Theodore both looked away immediately as they discreetly wiped at their eyes in an attempt to obscure their years from the others.

Hermione remained unpacking, and pale. As did Draco, who wouldn't meet Rune's eyes.

The Necromancer drew in a cleansing breath and clap her hands behind her back. "It seems there is quite a bit of fear in you. Fear causes hesitations and can lead to weakness. Uncertainty." She nodded to the group who still say before her, composing themselves. "Tomorrow we're going to start our work on harnessing those fears that we might use them, and bend them."

From in front of her, reach of her students in turn felt a twist inside them, realizing they were going to have to relive what horrors they'd just seen. Mayhap several more times. That prospect did not seem enticing.

A/N:

[1] – Buttery – A buttery was a service room in a castle in which barrels, bottles or butts of alcoholic drink were served. It was also an area where general alcohols would have been stored, though not always right next to a hall. Though sources tend to place it as a pre-serving area to any great hall where staff and servants would prepare wine and drink to a lord and guests. In this capacity, it's a replacement for the phrase "broom closet". Because honestly I don't think a broom closet fits terribly accurately with the time period.

This is the English to Latin translation, so I'm sure it's not going to be exact (I used google translation like a mega-noob):

Hail to the powers of the underworld

And the bringers of portent

I offer you my blood for you to feast upon

I offer you my power

I call for you to open the doors to me

Open the future and let us pass within

By my blood this spell be spun.

evigilare faciatis = awaken