II.
"Come! Quickly – come!"
A sleeping toddler was ushered out of his bed and pulled over to a small cupboard, directly vertical to where his bed was. The woman, who had retrieved him, made no mention to his protests, but threw a cloak across his slight shoulders. It was too big, and folded passed his feet, onto the wooden floor beneath him, though she didn't seem to notice as she had already begun to carelessly throw robes and undergarments into a dark green satchel, by the time the fabric hit the floor. She clasped the bag shut with quivering hands and allowed one last look-over of the room, before grabbing onto her son and pulling him toward the only door out.
"Where is Papa?" The boy asked, rubbing moist eyes between two chubby hands. She turned at the mention of her husband.
Three weeks had passed between their last meeting. Not a single piece of correspondence had crossed between either, until, that night, when an owl had landed upon Isabel's window, hooting softly to announce its presence.
"Papa is waiting for us! Come, my sweet, come!"
They made their way from the small room, not bothering to close the door behind them and rushed down the long hallway. Thomas tripped under the length of his cloak, but his mother was there in an instant, catching him under the arms and pulling him upright once again. Chubby, cherub sized fingers clasped tightly onto thick folds of her violet cloak and they continued on.
It was dimly lit and no windows permeated the ancient walls, which were covered in dark wallpaper with bronze filigree. Their footsteps echoed, so that it sounded as though, not two, but a hundred feet were hurrying passed the row of doors on either side of them, down to where a single closed door marked the end of the corridor.
Suddenly, Thomas stopped, sharp enough to make Isabel catch her footing and she turn around to gawk at her son. His eyes were stained red with the tears that were threatening to spill over his familiar brown eyes – the same eyes as his father had.
"What about blankie?" his suddenly alarmed voice cried out, "I want my blankie!"
Chewing her lip, Isabel glanced back down to Thomas' room, and then up to where the door was stationed.
Pulling Thomas along, once again, she dashed onward, down the thin strip of floor, "We will come back for blankie, but for now we must move quickly. Do you understand, my love?"
"I don't want to go!" He howled in protest, pulling against his mother's hand, trying to dislodge his own. Readjusting her grip to his wrist, she only spared a quick glance down at him.
"Let's play the spell game, shall we?" She whispered in a rushed voice, taking on a smile that allowed her voice to soften, if only slightly. "Hm? Would you like that?" When he did not reply, she continued, "What does the engorio spell do? Hm?"
Dragging along behind his mother, he turned his face away from her, his lips pulling down and tears slowly leaking onto his scrunched up face.
"I don't know!" he said, tugging against her arm, "I don't want to play! I want Papa! Where is he!"
"You know it, my sweet. My wonderful, smart, boy. You know!" She stopped long enough to pull the child into her arms, and continued on, her pace faster now and the satchel slapped against her hip with each step. "Papa is waiting for us. We will see him soon. Now tell me, what does engorio do?"
The tears flowed freely and onto plump, reddened cheeks, and Isabel swallowed hard to behold the sight of her young son. Hugging him close to her chest, she threw open the last door, sliding into the drawing room. A still sniffling Thomas was set down in the middle of the space, and Isabel shuffled through an ancient desk, showering the room in a flurry of loose papers, where they settled to the floor, bathed in the moonlight, which seeped through long, crystal windows.
A loud crack sent her spinning around and she was met with the figure of a tall, thin man who was cloaked in shadows. The only thing that shown, were a set of long teeth from a mouth that had been curved into a crazed smile.
"Kayleb!" she cried out, pulling her son behind her cloak. He clasped onto her leg, peaking out at the man before them. "What are you doing here? We haven't called for you!"
"Have I frightened you, little sister?" He crooned, stepping into the light. He was lighter than her, in every way possible, as though the sun had not touched him in an age; but he held himself tall, covered by a thick cape that billowed as though caught in a storm, with each step. "But what should you be so weary of? You're not… running, are you?" His eyes darted from the scattered papers across the room, to her hands, which clasped securely around a dirtied jar.
"Floo Powder?" he asked, cocking his brow high.
Isabel did not answer him, but threw back a question herself, "Is it true? The rumors of which they speak? Is the Dark Lord truly gone?"
He nodded slightly. Sharp, curt.
The breath left her lungs softly, as if in relief, though her face did not betray any emotion. Thomas shuffled closer, with a whimper and buried his face within his mother's cloak.
The furrow left her brow line and she seemed to dance through her next question. "Then what are you doing here? I should have thought you'd leave the country. The aurors will be out in force with this news…"
Her brother, in comparison, was slow and methodical in his movements, and something stirred in his slim, skeletal face, which seemed to bite back the satisfaction behind his reply. "I've one last message to relay, from the Dark Lord."
"Marcus is not here," Isabel said; her voice commanding.
But then Kayleb scowled, grabbing the floo powder from his sister's hands and strewing it across the floor, where the glass jar shattered and then wafted up in great billows of dust. "Not for your husband," he sneered.
Looking taken aback, with her hand to her chest, she felt behind her body for Thomas. "What should he have to tell me? I am no death eater, not one of his minions to command!" she said with a haughty laugh and Kayleb stepped forward, his fists clenching tightly against his sides.
"You've grown bold since I've last seen you… I should quite like to clear the smirk off your face, sweet sister," he growled.
Her grin spread even wider.
"And I should like to see you try! You no longer scare me, brother."
The man studied his hand, which was covered by a black glove and he rubbed two fingers together, clearing away the trace of Floo Powder that had clung to the simple fabric. "Oh, but I will not have to try hard," he assured, "Shall we reminisce of our younger years? You were not so quick tongued then; perhaps I can remind you of your place in this family," and then he caught her face in his hand and pinched her cheeks together, surveying her features as a butcher does his prized swine. "What a mess you have created."
Her eyes darkened as small hands on her leg tightened reflexively, and a small muzzle rubbed against her, issuing a wet sniff. "My only contribution to our lovely family," she spat out, lip curled and an ironic smile fluttering across her face
His pale eyes fluttered and he kissed her, with tight lips, against the forehead. "Do not take your achievement so lightly. It is your marriage and your marriage alone, which has insured our pure-blood heritage."
"We will never be true pure-bloods!" she said with disgust, her lip pulling back into a sneer that did not match her soft features, "No matter who you swap spells with!"
"But that is not for you to decide, sister, only for your ministry in-laws to shape. And so they have…" Turning her face in his hand, his finger ran down her cheek, "Our papers have come in today and you would be surprised of the immaculate blood that now runs through our veins. And all because of you, sweet girl. You should have guessed our surprise; after all our convincing, all of our long… discussions of the importance of maintaining your value – your virtue – when my only sister gets herself knocked up… but not to just any family, to the Makellos. None of us thought he'd stay, but he did… You see, your inability to keep those pretty little legs of yours shut has granted us ranks within the most powerful army this world has yet seen!"
"Is this the message you wished to deliver!" She cried against his grasp, "Is this your last great task! He is using you, brother! You are of no true importance to him! You have spoiled your soul for a master who would not piss on you, were you on fire!"
Squeezing, if at all possible, even tighter, he pulled her face up to meet his, so that she stood on tip-toes. "You dare to speak to me in such a way! I have worked tirelessly to ensure our family's future! Do you understand what had to be done! To gain my position in his inner most circle?" He pushed her face away her from him and gestured toward the room, "The power which I now command! What he has taught me!"
Grasping into her the pocket of her cloak, her fingers clasped tightly around something. "Only to pacify your cravings… he would not share power with you. You are a fool," she whispered, shaking her head.
With darting eyes he drew his own wand, pointing it first at his sister, and then, with a smirk, behind her, at her son, "Keep quite calm," he shook as he spoke, "You do not want to anger me further. As you have said, your husband is not home to protect you."
"You will not hurt us, not without the Dark Lord's orders. We are protected -"
His shrill laugh stopped her mid sentence. "By what? The love of your husband? Where is he now, sister? He does not command our respect. And you – you are not worth more than the womb which will conceive our heirs. Your only purpose was to capture the heart of a proper suitor, someone who could ensure our family's purity. And you have done so. You were bred for this exact role and we were so very pleased that it was not a wasted effort," he sneered, the mockery not lost from his voice, "But do not think for a moment that you are anything short of expendable. You may have captured his heart, but it is your cowardly soul which has ruined all our plans. You had to go and change his heart. You had to soften him. To convince him that breaking his blood oath is worth the comforts of a harlot! And now I am left to clean up your mess!"
"By the orders of your pseudo-god?" she spat, "He is dead!"
"BITE YOUR TREASONOUS TONGUE!" He roared, raising his hand as if he was going to strike her, but then lowered it slowly and instead straightened the brooch on his cloak, composing himself, "Or I will cut it out myself."
Suddenly, teeth bared, Thomas flung himself from behind his mother, toward Kayleb, shouting "NO!" as he went. Kayleb caught him by the collar before his tiny fists managed to make contact, tossing the child back.
"Get back, bastard!" He shouted as Thomas fell to the floor and then wheeled back to Isabel. "You idolize this child of wedlock? He is unclean! How dare you -"
And then a slap rang out and Kayleb stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. Thomas had fled to a corner, huddling as close to the wall as his small body would allow.
"Get. Back. Churl!" Isabel's hand was still raised, but now it held her wand and she spoke in a vicious growl, a mother defending her cub. "He is my son! And you will not touch him!" Her wand was pointed at his chest, but even so, Kayleb did not falter as he moved forward and soon his torso was pressed firmly against the wood.
"You have been ruined, sister," he said with contempt, pressing farther still, "You go as far as to put this nestling above your lord? You will pay for this treachery."
At this, her head fell back in a loud, shaking laugh and when she had finished, she slowly raised it up, lazily, to look at Kayleb. "Not my lord," she said, though her voice was quivering, "Yours. And he has fallen. Defeated by an infant! There is nothing left for you to protect! You have lost! Understand?" Her voice rose as it came out, her bottom lip shaking from the malice in her voice, "And I will testify to my last breathe against you, my brother. I will go to my grave swearing your guilt and you will rot in Azkaban for your crimes, and your bones will fill your chamber long after your black soul has gone."
Calmly, he stepped back a pace. "You seem to believe that the Dark Lord is nothing more than a simple man. He will return, more powerful before, but not before I've completed my final obligation..." A flurry of dark robes concealed him for a moment, as his heel twisted beneath the wooden floor, suddenly erratic, almost anticipatory in his movements. The demented smile once again twisting what should have been a handsome face.
"Your husband, is he still waiting for you?"
A muscle twitched in Isabel's cheek. "How do you know that?" She whispered.
And then he laughed.
"I told you, sister, my final obligation."