18
Sarah POV
"Come along, Sarah." My mother's voice was sharp. She had a firm grip on my upper arm, walking briskly through Grand Central Station. Father was pushing my trolley next to me, sneering at Lee Jordan, who was talking to a wide-eyed group of first years, giving them pamphlets on Skiving Snackboxes. Father then glanced almost nervously around as mother marched faster. They both hated picking me up and dropping me off at the train station because they hated everything to do with Hogwarts.
"Ridiculous people," Father sneered as we past two girls talking excitedly, an owl between them hooting in a dignified fashion. "I don't know why we let you go to such a madhouse."
"You aren't trying," Snape's curt voice sucked me back to reality. I was flat on my back on the cold stone of his office, eyes blankly open. I closed my eyes in frustration before getting to my feet, pressing the heel of my left hand to my head. I was doing quite the opposite of what Snape had said- I had used all of my energy that time, trying to hold my own shield and attack him back at the same time. I'd done pretty well in Occlumency, being able to hold a shield and block his spell, but not repeal his attack mentally. Every time I failed he saw more of my life, which was particularly degrading for me; my parents seemed more and more like wackjobs with each lesson.
"That's all the energy I can give," I said quietly, feeling a pounding starting under the heel of my hand.
"For being so far in Occlumency, you are surprisingly weak." Snape said loftily, sitting at his desk. "Very well, until next time." He continued, going back to grading papers as if the suffering I'd just done for him was nothing. With a sigh, I left, holding onto the vial of feather around my neck until it started to work again. This lesson had been one of the more terrible ones I'd had in weeks. It had been getting easier for me to recover from lessons but now that I was constantly worried about Malfoy, Harry and Ron, my focus was going. My two best guy friends were watching me with eagle-eyed stares almost constantly, giving me dark looks when I left the Common Room every night or afternoon to track down Malfoy. Their lack of support and our now quickly fraying friendship made me very vulnerable- especially to emotion. Last Wednesday night, after my lesson, Hermione had woken me up at about two in the morning because I'd started to scream. Bellatrix was starting to push on me again, when I was weakest, with vindictive pleasure. I was trying to empty my mind before I slept, but overwhelming sadness and guilt would plague me as I started up at the canopy of my bed, thinking of what I was doing to my friends. The morning after my screaming, neither Harry nor Ron asked, and I didn't tell; it hurt more than the loss of control had.
The next morning, trying to fight off my spiraling depression, I skipped classes. Determined now to pull Malfoy away from the dark so that I could get my life back, I went immediately to the Room of Requirement and snuck in. Leaving the room open so that he could come in, thinking it was unused; I ventured into the labyrinth of forgotten things and lost items. The Room was huge, filled with junk. It took me a long search, past busts of statues, bookcases and mountains of trash before I found what I was looking for- the Vanishing Cabinet. Looking at it for a long, hard while, my examination yielded that Malfoy was making good progress on mending it but he'd need to work harder if he was going to finish before the end of the year. With a heavy sigh, I flopped into an armchair nearby, taking off my glasses and rubbing at my tired eyes. I'd been extremely restless last night, often waking up wrapped up in my sheets, almost panting with the effort of keeping Bellatrix out. I put my glasses back on and curled up in the chair, hoping that Malfoy would magically appear so that I could get this over with. Snuggling deeper into the surprisingly comfy chair, I felt my eyelids start to droop…
Malfoy POV
After my first class, I was fed up. It was all just a joke, going to class, trying to be all innocent. Wimkil already knew what I was doing- but she didn't have the guts to tell anyone or something. At first I thought she'd told Potter and his Weasel, but they didn't confront me at all, something any ridiculous Gryffindor would do. Dumbledore hadn't kicked me out yet either, so she must have been keeping it a secret, but why? She'd told me to 'ask my aunt' as to why she hadn't told anyone yet, but that didn't make any sense. It was maddening how mysterious Wimkil was being, and if I could, I'd hunt her down and make her spill. Deciding to skip my second class, I slipped away from Crabbe and Goyle and took a secret passageway up to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. The closer I got the deeper my scowl became. I loathed the Room. It was where I basically spent all my time- and there was no escape. It was the mission I hadn't asked for and couldn't deny, one I had to complete or die. Entering the room, I instantly loosened the tight, green silk tie around my neck and let it hang looser. Glowering halfheartedly at the piles of trash around me, I headed into the Room. But this time was different. Prickles were going up my spine, and my mark started to burn, which could only mean one thing. Instantly drawing my wand, I inched around piles of trash towards the Vanishing Cabinet. Finally, I whipped around one, wand out and pointed straight ahead where the burning was coming from. No attack came. Curious, I edged forward and around an armchair sitting near the Cabinet and found her. Wimkil looked like hell- with a thin, pale face and bags. Restlessly stirring in the chair, her hands clenching and unclenching, she trembled and shook. Her eyes would squeeze shut then dart wildly underneath closed lids. Clearly distressed in her dream, she jerked and shook in the chair, head tossing from side to side. Bemused, I stuck my wand back in my pocket and crossed my arms, too curious to wake her up and kick her out.
Whenever she'd marched up to me, snarling and threatening, she'd always started out strong then weakened in my presence- just another one of her damn mysteries. Now she looked even worse, edging back to the corpse look she'd been sporting at the beginning of the year. The trademark Wimkil braid was trailing over her left shoulder and curled into her lap, a thick and sleek brunette snake. I hated to admit it, particularly because she was a Mudblood and friends with Potter, but she was undeniably attractive. She'd cut back on the obsessive nerdiness and started to gain back some weight, getting farther away from the bony body she'd had at the beginning of the year. Now she was bordering svelte, thin but with curves. Wimkil wasn't like all the Gryffindors- she had a reputation for 'retribution hexing', and a rumor had started that she'd hexed up Cormac McLaggen who'd looked like a demented Blast Ended Skewert in the Hospital Wing. That kind of revenge behavior was pure Slytherin, a complete 180 degree turn from how she'd been last year, practically doting on Potter, being the perfect little student, minus hexing Marcus Flint and myself. I frowned at her now, remembering how she'd 'taken pity' on me and hadn't hexed me to smithereens. Why did she do it? I'd only helped her because orders were orders, and disobeying Umbridge would make your life hell. "Don't, not my son," she murmured fretfully, making my head snap back up to look at her. It was a pity that she was a Mudblood- if she was equal to me I might actually take her seriously. Her hand curled around something under her shirt, something that looked almost like a vial, and squeezed it tight. I looked at her a while longer, torn between trying to have her help me (a Mudblood, of all people), finding out more about her, or kicking her out. For some reason, I didn't like seeing her in distress.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Whether I liked it or not, I had work to do, and I definitely couldn't be caught looking at a Mudblood of her stature. It was infuriating that she was so tempting and mysterious. But it'd be selfish of me now to have a relationship particularly because of the deep, secret trouble I was in. With a sigh of regret, I drew my wand, moving to prod her neck. As soon as it touched under her jaw, her eyes snapped open with a gasp.
Sarah POV
"Fetch Narsissa to me." I told the house elf in the room, and it left to find its Master. The Manor was a big house, but the elves here were well trained. Less than a minute later, the elf returned.
"Mistress is sleeping." The elf said, and I snorted, getting up and stalking past the elf. I walked through the Manor, sneering past the 'sophisticated' portraits of the Malfoy family. I was highly disappointed in my sister's family's weakness. Without knocking or calling in, I walked into my sister's quarters. With her husband in Azkaban, she'd got even weaker than ever before. Narsissa was tossing and turning in her bed, clutching at her sheets.
"Don't, not my son," She whimpered. For a second, I felt pity before it was easily swallowed by my impatience. Draco was safe at school, fulfilling his mission.
"Narsissa." I said loudly, jerking her out of sleep.
I jerked into awareness with a huge gasp, eyes snapping open. Something was resting against my neck, and my Mark suddenly burned hot, almost making me yelp. My eyes focused on Malfoy, standing over me with a fierce expression, wand resting just under my jawline. For a second, we only stared at each other. I was still shocked, half from the dream, and half from how stupid I'd been, falling asleep in the Room of Requirement, waiting to accuse someone. "How did you get in here?" Malfoy asked lowly, and I couldn't help but snort, pushing myself up to a more dignified sitting position. I could feel a light sheen of sweat on my face, probably making me look like hell. Malfoy's wand followed my jaw, irritating me.
"I walked three times past the door and then inside." I mocked, and he bristled.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here, Mudblood?" He spat, furious that I'd just played him.
"You know damn well what I'm doing here," I retaliated, and with a growl, he grabbed my left wrist, unknowingly pressing his mark almost directly on it and yanked me out of the chair. The effect was instantaneous. With a yell, I jerked my arm away from him, drawing it to my stomach. We both paused, me defiantly raising my chin, ready to tell any bullshit excuse possible to get him to forget what I'd just done, and Malfoy watching me curiously with more than a spark of recognition in his eyes. Slowly, Malfoy raised his wand back to my jaw again.
"Let me see your left arm." He said quietly, his eyes flicking down to it. I was wearing a short sleeve v-neck t-shirt under a cardigan- and I knew what he was thinking- that I had a Dark Mark hidden under it. When his eyes were down, my hand dived for my wand; there was no way in hell I'd ever let him see it. His other hand suddenly closed around my right hand as it went for my wand. My next reaction was to kick him as hard as I could in the knee. Malfoy sucked in a fast, hard breath as his wand dug down into my collar bone, sparks burning my skin. He didn't stop though, wrestling my right hand out of the way and throwing my wand behind him. Without hesitation, filling with desperation, I kicked him hard in the knee again, and he crumpled, his wand hand slamming into my shoulder and making me fall. Instinct took over then, and my arms flew out to catch my body. Malfoy fell with a huff noise, then flicked his wand in my direction. I expected the worst, but I only felt horror as my left sleeve flicked up. Wasting no time, Malfoy zoomed forward and his cold fingers tore off the band from Mrs. Weasley.
Malfoy's eyes found the mark and froze. His gaze made it burn hotter, particularly because his mark was directly underneath my arm, his other hand locked around my elbow to hold my arm still. Unable to look at the mark, I turned my head away, stiffening and closing my eyes. I didn't know what was worse, the pain, seeing the mark, or the look on Malfoy's face.