And So the Plans Unravel

Dolohov Château
Friday 31 July 1998

Antonin apparated them to his family's château in France after some of the festives had gotten out of hand. After Adhara had spoken to the Dark Lord in Parseltongue, he had left without another word. It wasn't until Pierre said something ridiculous that the attention left her. She had swallowed an agonizing lump that had formed in her throat. From there everyone ate, danced, and to her horror – a drunken Bellatrix and Alecto were nearly toppling over guests with their incessant gyrating.

Adhara dropped the snake's basket on the floor near her feet. Kicking off her high-heeled shoes, she watched as Antonin placed the dragon's egg near a cabinet.

"Are we going to talk about it or are you going to stand there looking confused?" Antonin questioned.

She struggled to come up with a decent answer.

"The Snake's Tongue? Why didn't you mention you spoke it?" Antonin clarified.

The young witch twisted her hands behind her back and bit her lip. "I'm not sure. I didn't know I spoke it."

He chuckled. "How's that?"

"It's not like I keep a snake in my handbag!" She snapped. Her blood ran cold as Antonin's smile dropped. "I'm sorry," she said before looking down at the floor.

Adhara felt as his fingers gripped under her chin to make her look at him. "You're my wife. Just because I'm a Death Eater doesn't mean I'm going to abuse you, witch." He turned away. "It just so happens that you're the niece of one of my closest friends; yet it doesn't mean I'll allow you to speak to me in that tone."

She swallowed. "I understand, Antonin." She paused as she watched him remove his outer robes. "However," she started. Yet she stopped as she found herself distracted. She watched as Antonin began to remove his inner clothing. She felt her mouth run dry and her palms started to tingle. Adhara had kissed Antonin before. They were subtle pecks on the lips, cheeks, and forehead. But it was more or less for Adhara to get accustomed to the prospect of being betrothed, engaged, and married to an older man.

"What are you doing?" She asked quietly.

His hands paused momentarily as he unbuttoned his dark green vest. He looked at her and gave her a small smirk. "Undressing." He went back to the buttons.

Adhara rolled her eyes quickly before looking even more skeptical. He shrugged off the vest and tossed it to the chair in the corner of the room. Antonin walked over to her in two strides and looked her in the face. Adhara shivered, she didn't know what to do exactly. His blue-green eyes bore into her brown ones. She blinked once before slowly reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand. She smoothed her thumb over the whiskers upon his face. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the warmth that radiated from her hand.

The witch raised herself on to the tips of her toes and leaned her forehead against his; her eyes fluttering shut as well. She wanted to sate her curiosity so she pressed her lips against his. That seemed to be the right thing to do. Suddenly the Dark wizard wrapped his arms around her. She felt his hands rush against the back clasps of the bodice. She shuddered; the young witch did not know what this feeling was. Ripping open the bodice, Antonin pushed the beaded fabric down her waist, exposing her breasts. She gasped as his large hands fell upon the mounds. Her head fell back and a gasp escaped past her lips.

"S'il vous plaît," she murmured before raising her head and looking him in the eyes. Only in these moments would she turn to her Father's native tongue.

It didn't take long for him to attack her lips. The stubble on his chin scratched at her face pleasantly as his tongue licked her lips. She opened her mouth a bit to allow his tongue to slip its way into her mouth. Her hands reached for the fabric of the black button down shirt he wore. Biting his lower lip, her fingernails scratched at the shirt he wore. She wanted to beg for his naked flesh against hers. Antonin's hands left her breasts to rip his shirt open. The buttons flew across the floor, some slapping against her skin. He slammed her against him, releasing a groan.

All the while, she shimmied out of her skirts. Once they were removed Adhara jumped upon him, her legs wrapping around his naked waist. With her breasts in front of his face, he buried himself – pressing a kiss on the flesh between the two mounds of flesh. His tongue snaked to flick across a nipple. Her fingers twisted in his curly hair.

"Antonin, s'il vous plaît," she moaned as she rested her cheek against his temple.

Antonin dropped her across the bed before hurriedly unbuckling his black trousers. She rose up, leaning on her elbows to look at him. She rubbed her thighs against each other to quell the burning sensation at the apex of her thighs. She'd never felt this whirlwind of sensation inside of her. Her quim was leaking; her knickers sopping wet. She smirked as he struggled to unbutton his trousers and shove out of them. Antonin stopped moving when he saw her place a slender finger against her clothed cunt. With that action, he kicked off his dragon-hide shoes and nearly scrambled out of his socks. Adhara pushed down her own knickers while he finished disrobing. Leaning up, she grabbed one of his free hands and pulled him closer to her.

"Chante, mon cher," he murmured against her lips. "Chanter pour moi."

She cried out when he sheathed himself inside her. It felt as if there was a panging stitch in her side, except the location was all off. Antonin withdrew but then quickly surged forward again. The same pain occurred again. The older wizard pressed his lips against her forehead as her legs curled around his waist. She wanted to press herself closer to him. She licked her lips, grinding against him. Adhara was desperate to release the pain. It was sweet, sticky pain that was giving way to pleasure. It didn't take long for her to get used to the feeling of being stretched in this way.

"Antonin," she whispered in his ear.

He pressed another kiss to her lips, but was urged on once her small hands pressed against his shoulder blades. Antonin pulled back and snapped his narrow hips forward. Her grip on him tightened. Again he pulled and pushed within her. He settled into a pace that made her throw her head back and gasp his name out loud. His pounding became ruthless as her eyes closed tightly. The headboard slammed against the wall relentlessly – it squeaked and groaned. Adhara called out his name continuously; pushing herself against him, sliding on his cock until she felt as though she would unravel beneath him.

Her walls began to flutter around him. Antonin looked down at her. He pressed a kiss against her throat, his tongue lapped at the pulse that fluttered in time with her cunt.

"Adhara, mon cher," he whispered against her neck. He slammed once more as his hand travelled in between them. Antonin then pushed his middle finger against her bud gently. With a whimper, her walls fluttered around him stronger than before. She exposed her neck to the wizard, as she clenched against him. Her arms and legs wrapped around him. One more thrust and he spent himself within her. He groaned out her name as he pressed himself against her.

Their eyes locked – both bright with euphoria. But her mouth formed words he never through she would say.

"Je t'aime, Antonin," her voice was quiet.

He nodded, not knowing what to say as he pulled out of her. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his curly hair and pulled her up so they were lying on the bed correctly. He wrapped her in fur blankets, before pressing a kiss against her temple and pulling her to him. She curled against him, pressing her face against the hairs on his chest and placing a hand over his heart to feel the steady thump. Their gazes fixed on the wolf sigil painted on the ceiling. They soon fell asleep; the horned viper never looked away from its perch at the foot of the bed.

Malfoy Manor
Saturday 1 August 1998

Hermione awoke the next day with a throbbing headache between her eyes. There was a heavy taste of Firewhiskey and Elf-made wine on her tongue; it almost felt slathered in it. To say that Hermione did not have a hangover was blatant lie. Slowly, she rolled out of bed. How much did she drink the night before? And why?

The events of the previous night slammed back into her head at full force. Her sister's marriage. The ceremony was the night before. Her eyes looked at the beautiful white gown she wore that was thrown over her cabinet door. Hermione remembered as the Dark Lord placed Adhara and Dolohov under the ancient Pureblood way of marriage: the Marriage Vow. It was archaic and cruel. Adhara would never be able to divorce Dolohov. And those children Adhara would have to give birth to; their future was already set in stone.

And then the unthinkable happened. Adhara spoke Parseltongue. That gift did not run in her family, so how in Circe's name could Adhara taken to it? She had had a full blown conversation with the Dark Lord and didn't even notice.

Hermione did notice how her sister's face lit up at the two gifts that were bestowed to her. The gifts: a dragon egg and a horned viper were both gifts from the Dark Lord. Supposedly the snake was from Nagini, but that was beside the point. These were unusual gifts, Hermione did notice; but it was not in her place to say what present was acceptable for her sister. After those events Hermione watched with sadness as Adhara picked at her food anxiously. Then they left together. Adhara grabbed the basket containing the snake and left with her husband.

Hermione sat up on the edge of the bed. If only she could turn back time. She knew that her sister would be safe with Dolohov. But how would she be treated? Was Adhara destined to be a quiet housewife in the French château that was owned by Dolohov while he did the Dark Lord's work, or would she become like their mother, a Death Eater? Each outcome seemed equally as bad. It just wasn't like her sister to be like that. She wouldn't roll in front of a man and take it, would she?

It was known that Adhara and Dolohov would have to have a child soon. The Dark Lord willed it. Hermione hoped that her older sister would be okay. Would she even see Adhara again?

Although Hermione loved her cousin Draco, she did not like his friends. The only one she could stand was Theodore, but he and Draco weren't really friends; more like acquaintances. They were forced into the same circle since their fathers were Death Eaters. Blaise Zabini was way too bigoted to be around. Millicent was too clumsy. Daphne Greengrass and her sister were too whiny. The two other boys, Crabbe and Goyle, were too oaf-like. And although Hermione did enjoy Pansy's company, it just wouldn't be the same without Adhara.

Hermione sighed before rubbing her temples and grabbing her silk robe from the stool in front of the vanity.

"Where are you going?" A soft voice asked from the bed. Slightly bemused, Hermione turned to face the bed. Draco had propped himself up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His pale hair looked soft and silky in the sunshine. He looked over at the clock on the bedside table. "It's past noon."

"Yes and I'm hungry. Care to join me for brunch? Your mother will be wondering why we haven't woken up," Hermione said.

"There was a party last night. She'll understand how we passed out drunk," Draco grumbled and got out of bed. He grabbed a shirt from the foot of the bed and pulled it on. Hermione noticed he still had his briefs on from last night. "How do you think she is?"

Hermione's face crumbled. Poor Adhara, married off to one of their father's friends. Her eyes began to water.

Draco looked startled before rushing over to his side. "Cousin, don't cry," he said as he pulled her into a hug.

As Hermione struggled to recover, she pushed herself closer to Draco. "I just feel like my mother has abandoned us. It's as if she doesn't care whether the Dark Lord kills us or rapes us."

He pulled back from his cousin and gave her a curious look.

"Well, isn't it obvious? He's punishing our family. Every mission we've been given, we haven't completed. He's probably dangerously upset with us. By selling Adhara off to Dolohov, he's showing us that he'll do anything to make sure we know our place in his new kingdom. We're nothing more than pawns."

Draco raised an eyebrow. He hadn't thought of it that way. In fact, he didn't even think of it at all. Adhara's marriage had been strictly business, like Aunt Bella's and Uncle Rodolphus'. However, in their own way they came to care for one another. Perhaps, Adhara's marriage could be similar.

"Do you even understand what I'm talking about, Draco?" Hermione asked shrilly. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her robe. "You know what, forget it!"

Draco watched as Hermione angrily stormed out of her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Ministry of Magic
Wednesday 5 August 1998

Arcturus paced down the hallway away from his office. It had been nearly a week since he had an Elf-cooked meal. In fact the last time he had some decent food it had been at his sister's wedding. He'd been working long hours at the Ministry for the past month and a half. The Dark Lord willed it that he work double shifts to make sure that all the blood-traitors would be caught. They were resilient but Arcturus knew that he would find them either way.

Maybe after questioning the latest catch, he could go home and get a hot meal. Catching the next elevator down to the courtrooms, he rushed to Level 10. Tapping his foot impatiently he thought of his sisters. He hadn't seen either of them since the wedding. He shook his head. He really needed to get home to see his family.

"Level 10: Wizengamot Courtrooms," the elevator said. The doors opened and he hurriedly ran to the room that was designated for his questionings. The gold plate with the letter and number "A3" scratched into it stood in front of him. He swung the door open and closed it violently.

"Arcturus," said a familiar voice.

Ignoring the suspended body that was hanging from the ceiling, Arcturus hurried over to his old school friend, Scabior Greyback.

"Scabior," he nodded, embracing the werewolf.

Arcturus knew it wasn't Scabior's fault that he was a werewolf. His father happened to be the most barbaric, feral, and cruel werewolf in Britain. He had his uses and it was known what he was capable of. Fenrir's son, Scabior, wasn't as cutthroat as he was. Scabior opted to use other means to scare prisoners – not his fangs and claws. Arcturus considered the son to be a bit more intelligent than his father. But he knew Scabior would never rise against his father.

"I heard your sister got married," Scabior looked down at his feet once they pulled apart. It was clear to Arcturus that Scabior was trying to look nonchalant, but failed miserably.

"Yes," he answered. "It happened a few days ago. The Dark Lord preformed the ceremony." He looked knowingly at his long-time friend.

Scabior noticed Arcturus' stare. "He'll cherish her?"

Arcturus moved over to grip the back of the lone chair inside the room. He pondered this question as well. Arcturus had always been close to his sisters – more so with Adhara. Knowing she was to be married had crushed him. In some sick way he almost thought that their mother would marry her off to him. However illogical that thought was, their mother was even more illogical. Yet, Bellatrix had once again surprised him to the point of submission.

"I just don't know," Arcturus then turned his cruel gaze to his friend. "What's it to you?"

Yet Arcturus did know what it was to Scabior. Growing up at Hogwarts, Arcturus knew that Adhara had felt affectionate towards Scabior. She had voiced on more than one occasion how she'd have loved to pursue something with him. Alas, Scabior had turned her down; this devastated her.

Arcturus had watched with a certain disdain as Adhara's friendship with Scabior diminished. After a while, Scabior had been thrown in to Azkaban for using an Unforgiveable, murder, and extortion. This was just the catalyst that Arcturus needed to form an even tighter bond with Adhara. But Arcturus overlooked that his sister was a Pure breed and would be married off at any chance.

One thing was very much clear to Arcturus was that Scabior had grown feelings for one of his sisters. His heart dropped like a stone.

The werewolf ignored the question. He instead pointed to the body suspended from the ceiling. The person had been sobbing endlessly. Arcturus cringed inwardly. He wasn't like his mother, father or uncle Rabastan when it came to torture. He hated hearing someone scream. To him, it was downright annoying and superfluous.

Unsheathing his wand, Arcturus flicked it, allowing the body to float gently down from the invisible bonds.

"His name is Bernard Tucker – muggle-born. We found him in a forest. It seemed like he got separated from his group and campsite. He was picking mushrooms when I caught his scent," Scabior explained.

Arcturus nodded. "And his wand?"

"My father confiscated it. He sent it to Yaxley's office."

Again Arcturus nodded. "Mr. Tucker," he addressed the man.

The man let out a dry heave, as if he was choking on his tears.

"Mr. Tucker, I'm here to talk to you about your magic," Arcturus started.

But the man was not having any of that. He scoffed, gobs of spit hitting the table beneath him. Tucker's greasy, dark hair whipped around his head and his blue eyes bulged out of his skull.

"Struggling will not help your case. If you keep resisting, I will have to shut you in Azkaban," Lestrange spoke with an air of authority.

Tucker continued with his belligerent, non-vocal tirade.

"Has he been acting like this the whole time?" Arcturus turned to Scabior.

Scabior rolled his eyes. "On-again, off-again. He's intentionally doing it."

"Mr. Tucker, if you don't cease your behavior, I will have no choice but to remove you from Level 10," Arcturus murmured.

Tucker's eyes snapped up to glare at Arcturus. "You pureblood scum! You think you're better than everyone else!" Bernard Tucker let out a roar of anger before twisting in his invisible binds again.

Arcturus' eyes narrowed. "Silencio!"

Tucker stopped making noises, but continued to twist and turn.

"Crucio!" Arcturus muttered the curse under his tongue.

Tucker's face twisted in pain and anguish. His mouth was slack and a scream looked like it was dying to come out. Yet Arcturus and Scabior did not hear a squeak.

To Arcturus the unexplainable feeling of having this much power over a victim made his blood rush. His palms tingled and his brows scrunched together. He licked his lower lip.

"I need to hear him," Scabior said in low voice. Scabior's fists were clenched at his sides. He was tapping his foot in time with the silent screams.

Arcturus nearly saw his friend salivate. He didn't know if Scabior wanted to eat or fuck Bernard Tucker; especially with the way he seemed to be grinding himself against the table below Tucker.

The wizard removed the curse and then allowed the Mudblood to speak. "I repeat, Mr. Tucker," he twirled his wand around like a baton. "Are you willing to discuss your magic?" He spat out the last word as if it was a filthy word.

Tucker panted, the restraints tugging on his body. He looked around wildly. Arcturus could tell the man wanted to be away from them. He started swinging slowly in binds, as if that would get him away from Arcturus and Scabior. "Please, just let me go. I have a family," he pleaded.

Arcturus rolled his eyes. "We do not care about family, unless we catch them." He gave a slight pause. "Now, Mr. Tucker, where did you get your magic?"

The older wizard huffed in exasperation. "Is the Ministry still on this? Us muggle-borns haven't stolen anything. It's just your ridiculous fanaticism that has clouded your judgment."

"Crucio!" Arcturus pressed the curse upon Tucker.

The screams bounced from against the wall. His shrill voice nearly popped Arcturus' eardrums. Arcturus signaled for Scabior to follow him outside the interrogation room. Scabior shut the door behind him and turned to Arcturus who was leaning against the opposite wall. They could still hear Bernard screaming his lungs off.

"We're not going to get much from him," Arcturus commented.

Scabior nodded. "Agreed. What do you want me to do with him?"

Arcturus rubbed his bottom lip with his left thumb. He sheathed his wand. "Release the curse in thirty minutes then send him to the dementors. Allow him to fight them off."

"And then?"

"Kill him."

A Pub, Muggle London
Friday 14 August 1998

Draco Malfoy did not like these nights. He hated when he had to sneak out of his home in order to give and get a little information. He wasn't so thrilled that he had to be the one to do it, especially alone. Ever since his little spat with Hermione, things had been much different between the two cousins. Hermione refused to eat. She even refused to talk. She spent all her time in her room locked up preforming spells on various objects. His mother, Narcissa, told him that Hermione just needed some time alone. She needed to cope with having her sister across a body of water in a different land. Yet, that didn't solve his problems.

Draco pulled the hood of his cloak around his head tighter. He didn't really care if the Muggles looked with odd expressions at his attire. Soon they would be seeing these robes and cloaks around much more. The pub he entered was extremely loud. Men jostled each other around in a hysterical fashion. Draco had to swallow the bile that was tempted to spurt out of his mouth.

His contact had chosen to meet him here – deeming it safer to be seen here than anywhere else in the Wizarding world.

Across the room, he saw a short, thin man nod his way and motioned towards the bathrooms. He had sandy brown hair and curious sea green eyes. His nose was long and slightly ridiculous, as if it had been magic'd to be so. Draco sighed and hurried across the barroom floor, careful of the drunks sloshing around him.

When he reached the man, they entered the cubicle bathroom. The man locked it as Draco switched on the lights.

"Must you look like that?" Draco huffed and turned around to face the man

"What's wrong with it?" The man asked, baffled. His voice was curiously high-pitched.

Draco scoffed. "You look like a ponce!"

The man sighed, rolling his eyes. Draco watched slowly as the stranger's face turned into someone very familiar. Nymphadora Tonks …well, Lupin slowly transfigured into her usual self. Slightly tanned, which she most definitely got from her muggle-born father, brown eyed with dark golden brown hair. Her breasts filled out the shirt and she grew a bit taller.

"Is that better?" Tonks asked in exasperation.

Draco nodded. "Thanks." He paused and looked over his cousin. She looked tired. Before even uttering another word he pulled down his hood and hugged her. Caught unaware, it took Tonks a few seconds to adjust to this new bond that Draco felt for her. "How are you? Are you okay?"

Tonks pulled away and punched him teasingly in the arm. "I'm fine! Teddy's fine too. He's staying with my mum right now?"

"How is Auntie Andie?" Draco asked.

Tonks pulled some papers and envelopes out of a satchel hanging near her waist. "She's fine. She wants theses to be given to your mum. Don't let Auntie Bella get them."

Draco looked from Tonks' full hands to her face. "What's in them?" He took the parchments.

Tonks searched his face for treason. "Where's Harry?"

"We told you," Draco sighed. "Riddle Manor. But there is no way any of your people will be able to get inside. None of the Death Eaters are allowed within." He sounded exasperated.

Tonks turned around, positively fuming. When Hermione usually came with him to meet with Tonks, she would explain to their older cousin that Harry was under arrest. Yet his prison wasn't Azkaban. No one but the Dark Lord saw Harry. Everyone wondered when that would change.

"And Adhara?" Tonks questioned. Their eyes locked. "She hasn't written to me in three weeks."

Draco ran a hand through his dishelved hair. "She's moved to France …with her husband."

Tonks scoffed in disbelief. "Uncle Rodolphus went through with it? He actually married her off to Dolohov?" She shook her head. "I don't believe it. I mean I've read it in the papers, when we get the chance to get one. But I thought it was…"

"A ploy?" Draco chuckled darkly. "I told you the news, now tell me what I want to here? Can you get my mother and Hermione out of that house?" His face was serious now. He was devoted to getting the two out of the Malfoy Manor at the earliest time.

"And I told you! It would take us a while to smuggle them out – perhaps a year. We can barely get enough food for refugees, Draco. We're struggling to survive. The only thing you can do is watch them and keep them safe." Tonks looked worried. "I have to go," she paused to look at him closely. "Kingsley will send out people to look for me if I'm not back in thirty minutes. When shall we meet next?"

Draco tried to take in what Tonks was telling him. There was no hope. He wouldn't be able to get his mother and Hermione out. He'd have to protect them from inside the walls of Malfoy Manor. He had struggled to do so before. He remember once the war was over and the Dark was victorious. Death Eaters were drunk with power. They ransacked homes of Wizarding families – pureblood, half-blood, and muggle-born. They raped and destroyed half-breeds. But most important to Draco, they had come into the Malfoy Manor and pushed themselves upon his family. He promised that would never happen again.

"Once Hermione receives word from Adhara," he turned towards the door, pulling up his hood. Before reaching for the knob he pocketed the parchments. "I'll write to you. Take care, Dora." And with that, Draco turned away, leaving his cousin alone in the water closet.

Dolohov Château
Wednesday 26 August 1998

Adhara flipped through the textbook that rested on the bed near her crossed legs. Tanith, the horned viper, had wrapped herself in Adhara's curly locks – entwining around the hair. The witch nibbled on the tip of her quill as she read a passage upon dragons.

She felt Tanith slip her tongue out against her forehead.

"What in the world am I supposed to do with this egg?" She spoke to Tanith while pointing the quill towards the dragon egg across the room.

"Try hatching it," Tanith chuckled.

"With what? Do I look like I can breathe hot air?" Adhara rolled her eyes. Sometimes Tanith was no help. She slammed the book shut. Using both hands, Adhara gently untangled Tanith from her hair and placed her upon the book. The witch then got out of bed and headed over to Antonin's desk across the large room. Sifting through some of the papers, she grabbed the letter she had received from the Dark Lord a week ago. He had wanted Adhara to attend the next Death Eater meeting at the beginning of September. He also requested to speak with her privately afterwards.

Sighing, Adhara crumbled the parchment and placed it back on the desk. She then reached for another book on Antonin's desk.

Herpo's Guide to Basilisk Breeding.

Author's Notes: Please be patient with my French. I'm still learning the language and conjugating verbs are sometimes difficult. Also everything in italics when talking to Tanith is spoken in Parseltongue.

Please review. I would love feedback.

-Rosie