Chapter One: The Badger in a Snake Den
25th of June, 2024
Dominique Weasley had spent the entirety of her life looking forward. She believed in the power of centrifugal force, in forward motion, in throwing herself at her future - there was no use in dwelling in the past, it only created more problems than it solved. She went as far as to pity those who spent their lives turning around. Scoffing at their nostalgia, as if she had all the answers.
Dominique was foolish.
The past was creeping up around her like tar, and the more she struggled to get away, the more it pulled her down.
She wasn't sure she could fight it anymore.
Victoire Weasley sat at the edge of the bed, clutching Dominique's sketchbook. "I don't understand why you want to leave us again," she said, thumbing the book's worn leather corners.
"Aunt Gabrielle needs help. The bakery is short-handed," Dominique answered, stuffing all the shirts Victoire had carefully folded into her duffle bag and attempting to zip it closed. Victoire winced as the zipper nearly ripped from the green canvas and pressed her hands on either side to help. "It's only for a few months," Dominique added once they succeeded.
"Yes, but…" Victoire's voice was singsong as she continued, "what happens when you meet a dashing French man and fall madly in love under the Eiffel Tower? You'll never come back."
Pressing her lips together in an annoyed frown, Dominique moved to her desk, where she began to collect her pens into tight bundles, twisting them with the black bands that used to hold up her once-long hair. The only use she had for them now was to hold her art supplies together. Her hair was cropped short and messy against her skull, like the fluffs of a dandelion before they were blown to bits. Her mother, Fleur, had lost it when she emerged from her bedroom with her self-made manic cut, scissors still in hand like she was ready to battle.
Fleur sulked for hours, holding the old pieces of her daughter's waist-length hair to her chest as if they were slivers of her skin she had sliced off. 'You've ruined yourself.' Dominique smirked at the memory. Her mother may have hated it, but she loved the freedom it provided her. Her old life was shed in a blink of an eye. He was shed in the blink of an eye.
"It could happen," Victoire told Dominique, still stuck on the French man fantasy. She was flipping through the sketchbook and stopped on a graphite drawing Dominique had done of Victoire and her husband, Teddy, the Spring before. The two were cuddled on the family's threadbare couch, their limbs wrapped in loving knots. (They were always like that, glued to one another's side, grinning like mad.) Dominique had left the drawing colorless except for Teddy's blue hair and her sister's strawberry blonde.
Victoire ran a finger down the side of his cheek, "can I—"
"Take it," Dominique told her, carefully placing her watercolors in the front pocket of her inarguably too-large pack.
"You're sure?"
"Very."
Dominique grabbed the book and dragged a blade down the center. She held the book out, motioning for Victoire to grab the page as it shifted and fluttered away from her. She snatched it swiftly, pressing it between her palms and smiling. Her smile faded when she looked up and saw what Dominique saw. Underneath that page was something Dominique forgot to cut from her, a crude drawing of his face looking back at her as he used to — his lips parted, eyes soft and slanted in her direction. The memory of their iron-grey was like a knife jabbing into her ribs.
Sweet as pie, Victoire reached for the book as Dominique slammed it shut. Her hands felt like they were on fire, and the burn scorched her whole body, filling every part of herself she wanted to forget. She felt pathetic… one flash of his face, not even his real face, and she turned into the weak girl who showed up on his doorstep the year before, soaked to the bone and near tears.
She pushed her sister's hands away, "Gabrielle is waiting for me to arrive."
Victoire gave her a look to tell her she did not believe a word of her excuses. "This is about him, isn't it? This is about whatever happened that night."
"Nothing's about him!" Dominique snapped. "Drop it."
Victoire just wanted to protect her little sister as she always had. Dominique knew that, of course. The two of them were once each other's closest confidants, but time had passed, and the truth of that night was not something she could even admit.
Despite Dominique's attitude, Victoire smiled while he pulled the book from her hands and found the page. She stared at his face for a moment before shaking her head and grabbing the end. She crushed it with her manicured fingers and, with one forceful pull, ripped Scorpius Malfoy from the book. His face hung crumpled from her nails, and for a moment, it was as if he was right there in Dominique's bedroom staring at her.
The ghost of his voice filled her head, 'let me go, Dom. You have to let us go.'
Father's head popped into the room just as the tears began to well. He smiled cheerily, painfully unaware of the tension, "all ready?"
Dominique swallowed the lump in her throat and watched as Victoire tossed Scorpius' likeness into her childhood waste bin, her innocence devouring him. She lingered there for a moment, resisting to urge to save him from his fate, before taking a deep breath. "Ready," she said, slinging her pack over her shoulder and stepping out.
*
1st of June, 2023
Rain fell sideways against the car windows, loud enough to deafen the sound of Dominique's nervous breathing. The sky was pitch black with rolling clouds and flashes of white lightning that lit the forest on either side of the winding road, curving branches into monsters that clawed at the car as they drove.
Dominique shifted in her seat, hugging her bag to her chest as she tapped her phone screen repeatedly, hoping it would regain signal.
No luck. It had been zero bars for nearly half an hour.
Her boyfriend's last message was still awaiting her reply as hers bounced with little red x's. She opened her mouth to ask the driver if it was normal to have no service out there or just the weather but stopped when she saw he'd rolled the dark glass barrier between them.
To distract herself from her nerves, she took out the folded-up page of the Daily Prophet she'd been carrying around for the last month.
Malfoy's to Open Up Manor to Young Artistic Hopefuls! was splattered across the page as if sprayed on. Underneath was a picture of Draco Malfoy standing in front of one of his newest works, waving sheepishly.
Dominique spent most of her young life looking up to Draco Malfoy and his masterful, magnificent works of art. Everything from his paintings, coated thick with paint, to his charcoal sketches, evoked such emotion in her that she had been moved to tears on more than one occasion. A copy of his most famous painting, Unfolding, sat above her bed. She spent hours staring at each spot his brush pressed deeper into the heavy blues and greys he used to depict a fist opening and closing, crushing and un-crushing a bundle of death lilies.
She admired how he had turned his pain of the war into beauty, expressing himself in all the ways his family and circumstance never allowed him to. She read all about it in his biography, Almost Deadly. (Which she'd, of course, brought with her.)
So to learn that she could have the opportunity to spend a year of her life with other graduates of Hogwarts in Draco's own home, to learn from him, one of the most prolific artists of the Wizarding World since Vincent Van Gogh, was a terrifying dream.
She never thought she would be accepted.
But there she was, stuffed into the back seat of a car more expensive than her family's home, with three bags and a suitcase.
Biting the inside of her lip, she pressed her face against her window to try and see the road in front of them. She could barely make out a massive steel gate and brick wall a way up the road between lightning flashes.
Her heart skipped into her throat. The Malfoy Manor was only moments away. She felt a sense of dread. Was she making the right choice? Should she have listened to her parents? The two of them were unhappy when they learned of her plans. In fact, her father had gone far enough to attempt to forbid her from going, forgetting she was an adult of twenty-three years and could make the decision without his permission.
It took a lot of yelling, 'you still live under my roof!', and one poignant visit from Uncle Harry full of preaching unity and trust for them to finally warm up to the idea. He was amazing in that way, able to convince anyone of anything with only a few rousing words. He promised them she would be safe, and as he kissed the top of her head goodbye, he made her promise not to make him a liar.
Even Dominique believed his words. She was naïvely confident that she wouldn't make him a liar up until the sleek black car glided into the local train station to pick her up. The driver did not speak the entire time he helped her into his ominous vessel. Her stomach began sinking as he slammed the door, and it sunk deeper and deeper as they crept along the road.
Why did she think this was a good idea? She would have to live in that manor, eat, sleep, and drink in that manor. How was she going to exist in there knowing its horrible history?
They rolled to a stop, gravel crunching under rubber, and there was a click as the driver left the car to stand at the front gate. Two metal snakes writhed in the shifting darkness, their eyes glinting with emerald as he raised his hand to his face. Smoke erupted from his head as his body shook.
Dominique tried to open the door, but she was locked in. She shouted, "Sir? Sir!"
One of the snakes reared back, and the sound of iron bending hollered through the night. The driver's knees weakened, but before he hit the ground, he was gone in a twisting of ash and smoke. All that was left of him was a moment of hovering rain before it swallowed the space he once was.
The gates swung open, and with a lurch, the car continued on.
"Okay," Dominique breathed out, "be calm. Disappearing driver? Completely normal."
She fell back and stared at the numerous passing topiaries, statues, and intricate fountains on their front lawn. They were loaded and not afraid to flaunt it. Rumor had it Draco was one of the wealthiest Wizards in the UK, having inherited not only the entirety of the Malfoy fortune after his father died and mother grew ill but also his aunt Bellatrix's after she disappeared.
It was a stark difference from her family's quaint cottage by the sea with their tiny garden of fruit and lavender. She suddenly felt uneasy with her tattered bags and baggy cardigan.
The car stopped as it hit the manor's front doors. Dark brick and black marble enveloped her vision as something inside the car door snapped, signaling she was free to go. She could not open it immediately; it felt like she was signing a contract in blood. Was she a traitor for doing this? No, she told herself. If cousin Albus can be friends with Scorpius, I can learn from Draco. She took a second to gather herself, combing her fingers through her hair and pulling her cardigan tight.
"You got this," she whispered and opened the door.
She was soaked instantly as the wind screamed in her ear, pushing the car door out of her hands. She let out a screech as she dropped her suitcase on the ground. Mud splattered onto her jeans and soaked the inside of her loafers. With a groan, she slammed the door shut and climbed the stairs, heaving her bags behind her. Beyond the first step, she was safe from the torrential rain, but the wind still whipped her long hair around her face and stuck to her glasses.
She knocked. She could barely hear it above the storm and doubted anyone inside could either. Desperately, she searched for a doorbell, a terrifying knocker in the shape of a gargoyle, or a giant rope to pull. Surely the Malfoy's would have something as ridiculously extravagant as that, complete with their very own silent manservant. But she was wrong; the front door was only smooth dark wood and radioactive green stained glass.
"Why…" she whined as she slammed her hand against the glass. Everything would soon be ruined inside her bags. She could just imagine all of her supplies dripping all over her clothes.
Her shoes squelched as she paced the front steps, checking her watch. It was 6:29 pm, a minute before they expected her. She rested her body against the door. She had woken up at four in the morning, anxious for the day. Now, she feared she would fall asleep right there, only to be found the next day bloated and deceased.
She rechecked her phone, droplets of water dripping down the screen. The red x's danced, mocking. Her last few messages were hovering, wishing to find their home; I love you… my messages won't send… test… test… I'm going to miss you… xxxooo… Her boyfriend's name, Callum Finnegan, sat greyed out, waiting for a response. She was sure he was wondering where she was. They were never out of contact with each other since the second year of school. She was so focused on those little red x's she did not notice the sound of the door unlocking. If she had been paying attention, she could have avoided the embarrassment that was to come.
The door opened.
She tilt, tilt, tilted, falling back into the Manor's foyer, landing on her butt, sliding across the polished stone floor, and letting out an embarrassing cry. Her phone shattered as her wrist twisted underneath her. Her wand fell from her pocket and rolled away.
The maid who opened the door screamed.
She began apologizing to the older woman with frizzy white hair and a uniform that looked straight out of a Gatsby adaptation. "I'm so sorry," with some effort, she managed to get off the slippery floor and pull her bags into the house, "I didn't mean to scare you! I was just—"
She stopped screaming as she noticed the mud Dominique had tracked in.
"—waiting for someone to come to the door! I was tried and leaned against it, and then you opened it without—"
The maid put up a hand to stop her babbling and quickly closed the door, struggling a bit against the wind. The second it latched the room when silent.
"What in Merlin's name is going on down here?"
They both looked up.
An elegant woman was on the last step of the grand staircase, dressed in a flowing black housedress with her dark hair falling over her shoulders. Her painted red lips scowled at the sight of Dominique as her eyebrows raised in either confusion or amusement. The maid bowed, so — foolishly — Dominique did too.
"I apologize, Mrs. Malfoy," the maid said, "the child frightened me."
Dominique grimaced at child.
Astoria's eyes landed on her as she swiftly came down, her hand outstretched. She soon realized how wet Dominique was and retracted her hand, smiling with tight lips, "you look positively drowned."
Dominique's cardigan was dripping on the floor, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I can clean it for you."
She waved a hand, "Oriel," she addressed the maid, "please find Fuller and have him bring Miss…" she frowned, "I apologize, I've forgotten which one you are."
"Dominique Weasley."
Astoria's face shifted as she took her in, lingering on her pale red hair. It was not quite Weasley red, but close enough. She smiled, still, and then repeated her name slowly, "Miss Weasley's bags up to her room."
Oriel walked off, but not before waving a hand at the bags to dry them.
That left Dominique alone with the elegant, stiff Mrs. Malfoy. Usually, Astoria was dressed up, but somehow in her natural state, comfortable at home, free of high heels or heavy jewelry, she was even more beautiful than Dominique remembered her to be.
Astoria's lip twitched, "you must be itching to get washed up."
Dominique nodded.
"Draco wanted me to relay how sorry he is for not being able to greet you. He was whisked away early this morning on important business. He sends his well wishes and will," she looked at the door like she expected him to burst through, "hopefully be home by morning."
"Oh, I get it," Dominique said with a little too much understanding and enthusiasm for someone who was never more important than the average witch.
Astoria smiled with teeth for the first time and gestured to the room, "this is the foyer," she began to walk, her house shoes making zero noise, "this is where you can leave your wet coats and shoes if need be."
Dominique took that as a signal and slipped off her wet loafers, leaving them lined up with the others. She clutched her phone and wand and followed Astoria close behind.
"To the left, you will find the ballroom, used only for entertaining guests. To the right is the dining room, and behind that, you will find the kitchen where our cook can make anything you like, whenever you like. Underneath the stairs is the entrance to the servants' quarters and a guest bathroom."
They climbed the stairs, stopping in front of a massive painting of a sinister landscape. Dominique recognized it instantly as one of Draco's.
Astoria gestured to the right, "down that hall is the game room, a study you're welcome to use, the library, the observatory, and at the very end is the entrance to the indoor pool. If you follow me, I can show you the way to your bedroom."
The hallways were wide and lit by golden candelabras whose candles dripped wax onto the floor. Countless doors lined the walls, and as they walked, Astoria named off the purpose of each one. Dominique would never remember them all.
"Up those stairs, you will find Draco and I's room, Narcissa's room, and up, even more, is Draco's personal art room, just before the attic. Those rooms are obviously off limits."
Astoria stopped at one more door before they got to Dominique's. "This," she said, pointing with a long nail, "is Scorpius' room."
Dominique's stomach flipped. She had forgotten Scorpius was living at home. She had not seen him since graduation, and they barely said a word to each other. They habitually ignored one another whenever they rarely crossed paths at Hogwarts. It made sense. While Albus and Scorpius were both Slytherins, she was a Hufflepuff. It was unsurprising that Scorpius never looked her way when she was around. She was but a soft sprig amongst his menacing friends.
Dominique knew she shouldn't think of them like that. Slytherin was full of kind souls, just like her cousin. But she could not help to feel like a weak sapling around them.
"His room is also off limits," Astoria stated, "unless invited."
Dominique could not help but wonder if he was on the other side of the door listening and stewing over the fact that he had to share his home.
A few doors down, Astoria abruptly stopped, "this will be your room. You'll find everything you need, along with an ensuite."
A moment passed before Dominique realized she wanted her to go in. "Okay, yeah, thank you," she said, dipping her head.
"Yes," Astoria responded.
"Yeah."
"No, yes."
Dominique cocked her head, hand resting on the crystal doorknob, "what?"
"Ladies always say yes, not yeah," Astoria corrected with narrowed eyes.
She gulped, "yes," and awkwardly opened the door to reveal a room three times the size of hers at home. It was stripped bare with a dark chevron wood floor, a chandelier, and a four-post bed with matching furniture; all painted a soft grey with gold hardware and ornate feet.
Somehow, her bags were already sitting by the desk under the window.
"Dinner is at eight," Astoria said, "make yourself at home."
She left, leaving the door open.
Dominique stopped in the center of the unfamiliar room while the windows rattled. A chill ran down her spine. She could not shake the feeling of being watched. She shut the door to her new home for the year and sighed, wondering again if she had made a colossal mistake.
She had the incredible urge to wash away the day.
The ensuite bathroom was tiled from floor to ceiling with sage green and pink tiles. A clawfoot tub with a delicate floral rug at its base sat under two circular windows with pink flowers pressed into the glass. The room seemed out of place against the rest of the gothic manor.
She peeled off her wet clothes and switched them out of a plush towel, sitting on the edge of the tub as it filled with steaming water. She ran her fingers over the top while looking around the room, feeling exposed. Above her was a painting of a baby with wings, its giant eyes looking down on her, unblinking. She took it off the wall and placed it face down on the floor, hiding its creepy baby face.
Her legs tingled back to life as she rubbed them with lavender soap, and they did not stop tingling until she pulled on the loungewear her younger brother, Louis, stuffed deep inside my suitcase. They were sparkly and covered in butterflies — his idea of a joke.
After charming her shattered phone back to life, she tried to text again, pulling her thumb down the screen. It wasn't even about Callum anymore. She wanted to tell her family she had arrived safely.
The storm cracked a branch against the window as she abandoned her phone.
Methodically she unpacked, placing her belongings in the wardrobe and the desk and vanity with her things. A bit of her hair dripped onto her watercolors, seeping a lavender purple.
"Oh, bugger."
She took off her towel to wipe up the mess and heard Astoria's voice. "Miss Weasley is already in that room, but you two can claim whichever of these you'd like."
Dominique pressed her ear to the door. She knew several others would be with her, but it was kept confidential who had been chosen.
An unmistakable voice chimed, "Sneezely's here?"
Dominique winced and bit her finger. Georgia Delacroix was on the other side of the door. Georgia had been her biggest pain at Hogwarts. She hated Dominique.
Dominique never thought she would have to see her again.
Astoria ignored Georgia's slight, "let us know if you need anything, dinner is in an hour."
"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," an unrecognizable voice said.
"Astoria," Georgia said familiarly, "does there happen to be any other surprise guests I should be worried about this evening."
"I assure you, Georgia. None of them are a surprise to me."
*
Nearly an hour later, Dominique was sneaking out of her room early to avoid Georgia and the three others who arrived after her. The drippy candles in the hall from before had been replaced with new ones, white and pristine, the wax cleaned from the hardwood. She imagined they had a servant just for that task. It was astounding the attention to detail that was put into the home. She wanted to take her time traveling the halls searching for artistic treasures. Although she feared getting caught alone with Georgia, so she hurried on.
The dining room door was propped open when she arrived. She pushed it with a creak. The room, like everything else, was huge. The space was dimly lit by two opposite fireplaces charmed to give off more light. Heaving curtains were pulled closed across tall windows, blocking the bleak endings of the storm.
There was a long table in the center filled with silver platters. The chairs were bunched at the far end, their tall backs carved with roses. Astoria sat next to the head of the table, which was not set. She said nothing as Dominique picked the chair diagonal to her. Her eyes mused at her choice as if to say interesting.
The clock chimed eight times.
"You're looking better," Astoria declared.
Dominque picked out an outfit she hoped was understated and somewhat impressive. The black of it clung to her body uncomfortably, and her flats drew attention to her with their clacking.
Pushing up her glasses, Dominique thanked her.
The rest of them trickled in. Georgia was first, glaring in her direction and sitting as far away from her as possible. Then another girl arrived, Alice Marsh, a Ravenclaw who was a year below them and kept to herself. After her, two boys, Theodore Longbottom, and Oliver Snelling, both of them were a year above her.
It seemed Draco had chosen mostly those from the years his son went to school.
The table was soon filled with food. A golden chicken encircled in charred potatoes sat in the middle — a salad, a mushy orange soup, and a platter of vegetables surrounded it. No one dared to touch the food until Astoria did.
"I'm assuming introductions are unneeded?" She asked, giving a knowing look to Georgia.
"Correct," Oliver spoke, adjusting the napkin in his nap.
"Wonderful," Astoria's voice was monotone. She nodded at Oriel, who cut into the chicken and served them their first meal. It was tense and quiet. The only sound was the dying winds and the scraping of silver on silver. It was apparent by the tenseness in Astoria's shoulders that this was not particularly her favorite way to spend a meal. She barely looked up from her food except to speak sparingly to Georgia and Theodore, who were both in Slytherin with Scorpius.
Alice, Oliver, and Dominique were basically invisible.
The silence was crawling up Dominique's back. Her family was huge, huger than huge, with so many cousins she could barely keep track of them. Their dinners were like a circus, animals clamoring for the best seat and prettiest plate. The manor was like a museum comparatively. She scooted away from the table, "I'm going to go up and get some rest." The rest of them looked at her as if they wanted to curse her for thinking of the idea of leaving first.
"Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mrs. Malfoy," she said, picking up her plate and turning toward the kitchen door.
Astoria lifted her finger, giving her a burrowing look. "Darling, you do not pick up after yourself. You are our guest. Oriel and Emilia will take care of it, won't you?"
Emilia, the younger maid standing at attention, took the plate from her hand and smiled with a bow of her head. It felt strange. Dominique resisted the urge to argue and tried to quickly leave, but Astoria stopped her, "do me a favor."
"Su—" she caught herself, "yes, of course."
"Would you take a plate up to my son? He seems to have forgotten dinner."
Georgia started to stand up, "Astoria, I can do that."
Already a covered plate was shoved into Dominique's hands. The heat burned her fingers. The smell of the chicken that was once delicious turned nauseating. It felt like fate was punishing her for getting up first, for not being brave.
She had no choice.
The light was on in his room and shining across the hallway runner. She heard no noise inside.
Her knuckles hovered a mere inch from the polished wood for too long. She told herself she was being stupid; it was just Scorpius. The same boy who'd befriended Albus on the very first day of school. The worst thing he had ever done is ignored her, which she had done in turn… so why did it feel like she was standing at the edge of a skyscraper?
She tapped on the door.
There was a shuffling beyond.
The sound of something hard hit the floor.
A muffled voice saying something.
"Sc—" her voice squeaked, "Scorpius? I have your dinner."
More thumping.
The light shifted under the door. He was standing just beyond.
"Hello?" She tried again.
The door flew open, and an arm reached out, wrapping itself around her waist like a snake. She was pulled into the room so fast that the food platter fell from her hand and clattered to the floor, echoing loudly down the hall.
Dominique was then consumed with the uncomfortable sensation of Apparition, dragged along without her knowledge or permission. She felt dizzy as his room melted away and the new location solidified. They landed with a pop and a thud. Scorpius stayed on his feet, and she fell toward him. There was a split second of calm as she realized they were outside; sprinkles of rain misted her face, and the sound of water lapped against a wooden dock. She had no time to adjust to her surrounding or even get a good look at them before his mouth slammed into hers hard enough for her teeth to catch on her lip.
He smelled like alcohol and tasted like cheap vodka and blood — bitter and salty. The taste of him made her come back into herself.
She smashed her fist into the side of his face.
He cried out in shock and stumbled back, tripping and falling like a too-tall giraffe on the slick dock. He looked up at her with his hand covering his matching bleeding lip, and his eyes glazed over as he tried to zero in on her.
He was in a white t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. His blonde hair was a messy halo around his sharp face, curling around his high cheekbones and grey eyes enclosed in thick lashes. The way his clothes clung to him was practically pornographic. She tore her eyes from him.
"What is wrong with you?" She demanded, stomping toward him.
He grimaced, scooting away, "you're not Georgia," he realized, his pale face reddening.
"Oh yeah? What gave it away?" She spat, wiping the blood from her chin.
"Dominique?" He gargled in confusion before leaning over the end of the dock and throwing up into the water.