The deciding moment comes all too soon. The Longbottom boy appears and I am surprised at how formidable he is in his rage. With a sword that I suspect might be that of Godric Gryffindor, he hacks off the head of the Dark Lord's snake, Nagini. It is as if he lopped off one of the Dark Lord's legs; Voldemort is incensed, screaming, quivering. As Longbottom and his entourage retreat, Harry Potter springs up and runs with them.
The snake writhes and twitches and is still at last. Something has shifted. There is color in the Dark Lord's cheeks, sweat on his brow, and recklessness in his eyes. The death of that snake has done something to him.
He advances on me. I feel the others melt away from me, fearing his rage. Lucius steps in front of me, his hand locking around the Dark Lord's wand in a swift, clear gesture. It says to everyone that he stands by his seditious wife. It won't do anything to protect either of us if the Dark Lord has murder on his mind, but just now he seems too angry for words. And without words, there is no Killing Curse.
He rips his arm from my husband's grasp. Without preamble he strikes Lucius, once, twice, three times. Fists and feet draw blood from Lucius's face and crack his ribs. I am stunned and afraid. I have never seen the Dark Lord use physical violence like this. It is always spells, curses, hexes, Cruciatus, never fists. He always fancied himself too good for the barbaric physical confrontation that muggles resorted to. Oh, but he is not. Not anymore.
Lucius is unconscious. Now he comes for me, and stars explode behind my eyes as I am hit with a cold fist slick with my husband's blood.
"Traitorous wench!" he bellows. I look up at him from where I have fallen, my hand pressed to my throbbing cheek. He is breathing hard. I say nothing and as he looks at me for a long minute he seems to calm. He has remembered himself. To show any more weakness could result in mutiny.
Voldemort – yes, I can call him that because he is my Lord no longer – wipes his fist on his robes. Then he gestures at some of the Death Eaters, new recruits that I do not recognize.
"Watch them," he hisses. "They will pay for their duplicity when we return."
The four that are left behind have separated us. Lucius is still unconscious, several feet away with two of them standing over him diligently. It bothers me that he hasn't woken but he doesn't look too badly hurt. In all likelihood he will be fine.
The two guarding me are irrepressibly stupid. They are arguing about whether Bellatrix or I was more attractive with more than a tad of vulgarity. My sister is insane, but even she would be offended by their assertion that her cunt probably tastes like a dead mouse. It doesn't escape me that dead mice are a favorite of snakes, so in a crude, twisted way, they might be paying her a compliment. I wonder what Bellatrix thinks of me now. It won't matter, because I'm fairly sure that she won't make it out of this battle alive. Longbottom and Potter will be gunning for her; she took something precious from both of them.
The one on the left thinks I am the better catch. The one on the right says Bellatrix. I am content to ignore them and their moronic observations until the one on the right says,
"Hey, if you think she's such a prize, why don't you have at her right now?"
"Are you mad?" the other one responds. Perhaps he has more sense than I gave him credit for.
"What's to stop you?" the first goads. "Hubby over there is lights out, and none of us will stand in your way, right?"
The two standing over Lucius nod. "Go on, Callahan," one of them says.
"Yeah," agrees the other. "To the victor go the spoils."
"You're nuts. If the Dark Lord doesn't approve he'll have my head, idiots," Callahan rebuts. There is hope for this one, yet.
"Well if you won't do it," one of Lucius's guardians says, "then I will." He strides away from Lucius, swaggering. "Bitch deserves it for betraying us."
"Seriously, Morris, it's not a good idea," Callahan protests.
"Shut up, Callahan."
"Yeah. Grow some balls," the third snorts. I scowl at them. Callahan has more balls than the three of them combined. Morris tosses his robe aside. Callahan won't stop him and I understand why; he's outnumbered. They'd kill him.
I bite the inside of my lips. I'm outnumbered, too. One of them I could take, but not four. Not four. I come to a snap judgment. I can deal with this. It's not death. It's pain and humiliation, to be sure, but I'll live. As long as I'm alive there is the possibility that I can save Draco. With Lucius out and my son inside the school, neither of them will ever know it happened. I can pull off that charade.
Morris is ogling me, predatory behind his mask. "Hold her down, Reegan. I don't trust her not to struggle." The one called Reegan pushes me down onto my back and pins me. Morris leans down and begins to open my blouse, taking his sweet time. "Although," he says menacingly, "if she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't fight."
I can do this. I can. I can handle this. Just think of Lucius, I tell myself. Just think of two weeks ago when he backed you into the wall in the library, picked you up by the hips and fucked you like he was twenty…
That isn't helping. I don't want to associate this with my husband. I turn my head to the side. I should have picked the other direction, though, because when I open my eyes I'm looking right at Lucius. He's looking back, his brilliant blue eyes disoriented.
The next moment is a blur. There are shouts and blood. I piece it together slowly, almost dream-like. Lucius has a knife. He isn't stupid enough to go unarmed. Normally he'd have no chance against a wand, but the one guarding him was distracted by Morris's attempt to get his jollies. He receives a knife in the gut for his efforts and Lucius wrenches the wand from his shocked hand.
Morris fires a Killing Curse at Lucius. Thank heavens my husband is quick even in his concussed state. He pulls the body of the half-dead guard in front of him and he is made fully dead by Morris's curse. Lucius heaves the body at Morris, foiling his attempt at a second and possibly more accurate Avada Kedavra. Reegan, meanwhile, is scrambling for his wand. Lucius beats him to it and he slumps over me, dead, momentarily shutting out my vision. I deprive him of his wand and heave him off in time to cast a vicious hex at Morris. The man drops to the ground, convulsing. That will keep him busy until one of us can kill him.
Lucius is bearing down on Callahan, wand in one hand and knife in the other. The young Death Eater is wandless and paralyzed by a Jelly Legs hex. He is dragging his gelatinous limbs across the ground in an attempt to scramble away. I stand up, aware that I am in total disarray, and shout.
"Lucius, not him!"
My husband freezes. He looks up at me.
"It is not wise to let him live," he says after a tense minute. "He will run to the Dark Lord."
"He tried to help me." I don't elaborate how but I'm sure that Lucius knows exactly what I mean. True, Callahan could have tried a little harder, but his shred of conscience stirs my shred of mercy.
Another minute passes. Lucius wants to kill him. But in one precise movement he ends the hex. "Get out of here," he snarls, and turns away from him without another word. Lucius comes toward me, tucking Callahan's wand in his pocket, and behind him the young man gets up and begins to run for all he is worth.
I survey Lucius as he approaches. He has looked better, but whatever confusion I saw in his eyes in that odd moment before is gone. He doesn't say anything as he begins to mend and reaffix my clothing. His left hand is bloody from using the knife and without realizing, he has made a crimson handprint on my blouse. He stops. Lucius opens his mouth to say something.
A gurgling moan from Morris interrupts him. We both look to the man in the grass and then back at each other. Lucius hands me the knife obligingly.
"If you plan to emasculate him," he says, "please let me know so I can look the other way."
I hand the knife back. "Will you do it?"
"What? Emasculate him?" Lucius looks faintly alarmed at the prospect. Perhaps even a little nauseated. I want to laugh at him. My husband has certainly proven to have a strong stomach, but when it comes to removal or mutilation of male genitalia he is like any other man – downright squeamish.
"No, dear," I smile. "Kill him."
His face relaxes. His expression is one of 'oh, why didn't you just say so?' The moment is a bit surreal and I wonder if we are twisted people. Lucius approaches Morris and looks from hand to hand; in his left he holds the knife, in the right the dead guard's wand. After a moment of consideration he pockets the wand.
"You," he says decisively, "are not worth the piece of my soul that the Killing Curse would destroy." He crouches next to Morris, examining the knife as if it were a mundane task he did every day. When he speaks again his voice is soft and mocking, the way it gets when he is toying with someone. "But fortunately there are no such consequences with this."
Two minutes later, Morris is dead.
We stop briefly at the lake on our way up to Hogwarts. Lucius washes the blood from his hands and face. I am surprised when he comes over to me and gently uses his sleeve to coax the blood from my cheek – his blood.
"Are you all right?" he asks. There is none of his usual hedging; his face is openly concerned.
Oh, hell. I melt under his appraising gaze. I throw my arms around him and press my lips to his. He responds with more fervor than I expected and, off balance, we nearly go into the lake. It's as I suspected; we are twisted. We're bloody ridiculous! Of all the times to be having a romantic moment! His strong arms right us and though I can sense in his lips and tongue that he'd like to continue, he pulls away.
"Draco," he says. Then, with a crooked smirk, "Eye on the prize, woman."
I swat him on the arm, suddenly feeling much better about our chances. "Don't think you can get smart with me just because you saved me."
He says nothing, but the smirk stays on his face until we near the main entrance. It fades as we take in the scene. The great wooden doors are shattered and it is clear that utter chaos rules within. When I look at him he has become that hard diamond once more, but not so cold because I know he is ready to fight and die for his son. There are no empty promises in that.
Finally, we have something worth fighting for.