I don't own Harry Potter or the characters, only this plot.
By five o'clock, all the shops were closed. Clara assumed it was because of the current safety of the wizarding world. Draco pulled her through the empty streets, quickly scanning for unwanted followers. They walked back to Knockturn Alley, to Clara's surprise, and ended up in front of Borgin and Burkes once again.
"What are we doing here, Draco?" She asked. He hadn't found out about her visit before, had he? He ignored her question. Three knocks on the door did the trick; Mr. Borgin opened it.
"Please, come in." He asked of the young couple. Mr. Borgin hardly glanced at Clara. Thank goodness, she thought. "The fireplace is ready for your departure, Mr. Malfoy." Borgin informed.
"Good." Draco replied shortly. "Not a word to anyone about this, you remember." The owner of the decrepit shop nodded affirmatively. Draco practically pushed Clara into the oversized fireplace.
"Floo yourself to Malfoy manor. I'll follow shortly." He tone was clipped, and nearly put Clara on edge, if it wasn't for her stark curiosity.
"Why are we going there?"
"Just go. Now." Draco commanded. Clara grabbed the floo powder obstinately and threw it onto the floor with force, shouting "Malfoy manor" quite viciously. The nerve of that wretched ferret! Thought Hermione. How dare he order me around like- Her body erupted into flames for the second time that day.
Clara arrived with a whoosh!, if anyone had been there to hear it. The flames left, just like her plight with Draco, and Clara was met with an eerie silence she wasn't akin to hearing unless something evil was lurking nearby. She stepped out from the slightly raised platform tentatively, flinching when her right heel clacked loudly against the marble. The hall was huge, obviously used for balls in the past, and was as deserted as Diagon Alley had been for most of the day. There were two large wooden doors at the other end that Clara could see by the faint light filtering through their cracks. She took another step and her heel echoed loudly in the quiet.
There was a burst of bright light behind her and she spun around, her hand jumping to her chest. It took her nerves a moment to recognize the arrival of Draco and his use of the floo network. She breathed deeply.
"What's wrong?" Draco quipped upon seeing her terrified state. "Never seen a floo before?" He hopped down and began an arrogant stride across the floor. She clacked behind him. Clara noticed an elaborate chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, grand in its unused fixture. Clara wondered how long it had been since it was lit.
As they approached the door, the sound of soft voices could be heard, even through her loud heels. The voices stopped when they were on the other side. Draco prepped himself, and, with no flourish whatsoever, opened the right door only enough for a single body to enter. Clara peeked in and saw that the room was lit by candles all over the place: On top of bookshelves, over the long table in the room, floating in mid-air, and even on the floor. Clara hoped there was a spell over those.
Clara entered smoothly after the Malfoy. She was nervous and didn't know what to expect. Was it dinner? Or were her parents here to relay some other deeply depressing news?
What was really waiting for her shut her system down.
It was odd how she saw him first, since he was at the other end of the table, but his presence commanded so much attention, that it was hard not to notice. Lord Voldemort offered a sinister smile.
"Welcome, Ms. Claret, to the Malfoy manor." He said. His high pitched tone chilled her insides. "Please, take a seat." He added. Clara couldn't move a muscle. All movement was suspended and readmission was pending in that brilliant mind of hers. No one moved. Something in the back of her mind told her to breathe, that she wasn't getting enough oxygen to her brain, but all action was impossible. The room was tilting threateningly, and she almost fell over, but not before the Dark Lord spoke again.
"I told you to sit." His voice was controlled and agitated. In the back of Clara Claret's mind, a thought sparked into life, alerting the rest of her senses and giving her that breath she so desperately needed. Her tendons flexed and the legs took shaky steps to the closest seat.
"Excellent." He hissed. Clara hid a shiver. "Now, Mary, John, I do hope you understand your folly. We must not revisit your… punishment." Clara looked at her parents for the first time. They were in horrible shape, their faces paler than Draco's with eyes sunken in. Her father's hair was disheveled and her mother's doo seemed only worse. They nodded expressionlessly.
"You are marrying Draco Malfoy?" Voldemort asked Clara.
"Yes." She squeaked.
"Then you will have to be informed." Silence. "As everyone knows, I marked the boy a short time ago. When I did this, I gave him a task. His job is to get rid of the old dragon, Albus Dumbledore."
This information didn't hit Clara as hard as seeing Voldemort had, but it still did wonders to shake her up. Killing Dumbledore? What nonsense was this…? The Dark Lord had a sneer on his face.
"Since the two of you will soon be joined in union, you will be aware of Draco's actions, but you are not to help him. Draco must… prove himself. You will be given the dark mark also." These words were met with more silence, but caused an uproar in the depths of Clara's head. This was it… I have to marry Draco… Draco has to kill Dumbledore… I have to get the mark! Finally, after the exhausting news of her life to come, Clara collapsed upon the floor in an ungraceful heap.
When Clara rose from her deep slumber, her surroundings were… comfy. In fact, they felt a lot like her sheets from her room… She gasped, bolted upright, and then gasped again from the pain. Her head throbbed and ached. She centered herself for a moment, and after the room stopped spinning, she looked down at her body. It looked fine underneath her short sleeved nightgown; no missing limbs or broken bones from what she could tell. The fast beating of her heart calmed as she let out a breath of relieved air. But as soon as she relaxed her shoulders, she spotted the inside of her left forearm.
Cleanly raw and horrifically gut wrenching, the tattoo of a snake erupting from the depths of a demented skull head marred her skin. The Dark Mark, in all its monstrous glory, was imprinted there.
How was it?
I already have my outline for the next chapter mapped out in my head, so that shouldn't take too long to write.
In the mean time, I have to say, I'm really excited about the amount of people who have voted so far in the Blaise Zabini poll. I know 'nine' isn't necessarily a lot, but I'm glad people are interested. Just remember, by this Sunday – wherever you are in the world – the poll will be closed and the results final. Happy voting!
Coming up: A talk with cousin Blaise and quite possibly a train ride to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.