"It's good to see you, Silwen," said Mrs. Malfoy, trying to smile.
"I wish it was under happier circumstances," responded Silwen.
"So," continued Narcissa Malfoy, nodding, "Let's start making you gorgeous."
Kindly, Narcissa led Silwen to the bathroom and handed her a towel. "First, I want you to clean yourself off, then call me when you are ready." Silwen acquiesced her head, took the towel, and stepped into the bathroom. Already, a perfect bath had been prepared for her. A grateful smile crossed her lips. Lowering herself into the bath, strong smells of roses and violets greeted her warmly, enveloping her inside their scents.
"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," she whispered to the bath.
It was wretched that Narcissa could only stay an hour; Silwen would have liked to converse with her longer. Also, if Narcissa could have stayed longer, Silwen would have been able to spend more time in the bath. Alas. Silwen washed herself, inspecting every hair on her body for dirt and blemishes. When she was satisfied, and wrapped in a towel, she called out for Mrs. Malfoy who promptly came inside.
"Call me Narcissa, dear. After all, you are in love with my son." Pausing, Narcissa looked at Silwen, also inspecting, then gave her a slip and underthings to put on. Mrs. Malfoy then left again, and entered to find Silwen sitting before the mirror, ready for the beautification to begin. Standing behind Silwen, Narcissa murmured quietly to herself, "What are we going to do with your hair? Something simple, I think. After all, it's only keeping someone company. After your bath, you already look so much better, there really is little even I can do to help. But maybe..."
"I want this to be a surprise, so I'm going to blindfold you and take the blindfold off only when I am finished and you are in your dress." Whipping a sash from a pocket, Mrs. Malfoy put it around Silwen's eyes, causing Silwen to flinch slightly. Narcissa paid no attention and continued. Brush in hand, Narcissa tamed Silwen's slightly frizzy hair into an adorably curled, low side pony tail.
Patiently, Narcissa said, when her care had jumped for the umpteenth time, "I am not going to hurt you, Silwen. You're ok." Silwen nodded, taking a shaky breath. After that, Silwen stopped jolting at every touch, even though her back remained more rigid then an arrow. Inwardly, Narcissa sighed at the girl's trauma, but didn't comment or comfort.
Hair finished, Narcissa moved on to the make-up. For eyeshadow, Narcissa dabbed on a shadow of green, bringing out Silwen's foresty eyes, a hint of blush on her ivory cheeks, and a brush of lipstick so as to complete everything. Really, nothing more needed to be done than that. Into the bathwater, Narcissa had poured a skin-healing potion—which really was the source of Silwen's beauty. All Silwen really needed, Narcissa thought, was to be rid of the horrors that currently surrounded her.
"Wait here," Mrs. Malfoy said, when Silwen's make-up was finished. As Narcissa left, Silwen relaxed, inhaling deeply. No more contact. No more shadows of traumatizing memories. "Here is your dress," said Narcissa, returning. "Hold up your arms and stand up please. I'm going to help you put on your dress." Silwen did as she was told and felt exquisitely soft fabric slide over her head and around her body. Making a few tugs on the dress to straighten it out, Mrs. Malfoy stood back to look at her handiwork. Suitable, she deemed. Very suitable. Swiftly, Narcissa undid the blindfold.
Silwen did a sharp intake of breath. Her dress. It couldn't be. But it was. Her beautiful, tailored, softer than silk Yule Ball dress adorned her body in shimmering jade. Seeing the girl's amazement, Mrs. Malfoy said smiling genuinely, "I managed to salvage it, somehow, during all this chaos."
Fingering it reverently, Silwen responded, "Thank you, Narcissa."
"If only Draco could see you. He's doing fine, nothing to worry about with him." Silwen nodded, grateful for the news.
Suddenly, three sharp knocks banged on the door. "One hour is up, Madam Malfoy! Come out and let me escort you outside! You, girl, are supposed to go to the manor's largest drawing room!" Greyback snarled from outside.
Putting a hand on Silwen's shoulder as she left, Narcissa whispered directions to the parlor, whispered farewell, and followed Greyback out. Odd. Silwen knew how to get to the parlor, having been here before as Draco's guest many times. What was Narcissa doing, giving her new directions? Silwen let the thought go, and for a moment, let herself be content.
Knowing that she, too, had to go, Silwen still lingered in front of the mirror, gazing at her appearance. The make up had embellished her features, but so subtly that everything looked almost natural. And the dress enhanced her eyes to perfection, drawing every attention to them. It was a Medieval style dress of velvet jade hues, long and elegant—it kissed the floor but allowed her feet to peek through—with a silky creamy sash tied lightly around her waist. Looking like this, she couldn't help but smile, letting her dimples show. It had been a year now, since she had felt as happy as she did now. Reveling in the feeling for a few more seconds—she knew that as soon as she started walking to meet the vampire, most of her happiness would evaporate.
She admired herself for a minute more, then, her happiness already wishing her goodbye, she departed from the bathroom. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she thought. The absence of the Dark Lord was welcome, but entertaining a vampire felt like stepping into another danger.
"Silwen," croaked a hoarse voice. A voice that hadn't received water in perhaps days. A voice that belonged to family. Severus was here. She began to babble, to wrap her arms around him, to jump up and down in joy, but he put up his hand, his signal for silence and attention. "They are only cleaning out my cell. When they are finished, I will be thrown in there again." Tears threatened to ruin all of Narcissa's hard work, but Silwen caught them just before they spilled over. Holding them back, she waited for her uncle to keep on going, content just to be with him once more. Face ragged, robes shattered into tatters, Snape looked like he had met Death—and Death thought it would be crueler to let him continue living instead of taking Severus with him.
"The vampire you are going to meet is highly volatile. There is a wand Lucie gave Narcissa on the table inside the parlor, before she met you. Use it to defend yourself. When you can, run." Silwen gasped. How did Lucie do it? How did she get the wand to Narcissa? But these questions couldn't be answered now. Especially since Voldemort visited her so often. The more she knew, the more Voldemort knew when he asked questions.
Reaching out to him, Silwen said, her tears now flowing, "I can't leave you here. Not a second time."
"You must. Now go," he said roughly, firmly pushing her towards her direction. Slowly, she started to walk again towards her destination.
"I love you, Silwen." Severus didn't even look at her as he said those words, and certainly didn't let her go back and hug him. Tears now coming to a close, Silwen nodded, unable to speak, feeling her uncle's eyes on her back, watching over her, giving her the only protection he was currently capable of—love. So that was why Narcissa had had her go a different way. She smiled, and saw herself in a mirror. Miraculously, nothing was ruined, not even a microscopic smudge.
"Narcissa must have known I would cry and put on impervious make up," she murmured to herself as she walked on.
All too soon, she stood in front of the door. Not shaking, not in the slightest, she pushed on the gold handle and opened the door, letting herself in. Taking deep breaths, she looked for the vampire. In all the shadows—the blinds were shut tightly to block out any sunlight. It was day, she realized. Funny. In the room, she had thought it was only night. An eternal, terrifying night.
"No one said my meal was going to take so long," drawled an English voice. Her head swiveled to its owner. Bleached white hair. Long, black leather jacket. Tall, black leather boots. Red shirt. White skin. Despite the pallor, he looked human. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was human.
"You're not American," she said, bewildered. The man coughed, seemed offended, and retorted.
"No, I bloody well am not!"
"Then why did the Dark Lord say you were from America?" her confusion still plain on her face.
"I had business in America," he scoffed. He was lounging on a sofa, shoes and everything, eying her neck hungrily. Self consciously, Silwen's hands wrapped around her neck, futilely trying to hide it from view.
"That's not going to work. I've already seen your pretty little neck," he sneered. Silwen nodded, now searching the room for a table—there. Right in front of the vampire. And in the flower bouquet on top of the table, nestled deeply inside, was the promised wand. Shoot.
"Who are you?" asked Silwen, daring to approach him with tiny footsteps.
"Name's Spike."
Coughing to hide a laugh, she said, "Spike? Like a railroad spike?"
"You got a problem with my name?"
"N-no. I-it's just...unusual."
"Whatever."
"So, Spike, why did you visit?" Scoffing, he didn't bother to answer, just look at her.
Taking larger steps towards the table, Silwen looked at him and then gasped, realizing something. "You don't have soul, do you?"
"No."
"But, you act almost completely normally? A Dementor—"
"A Dementor isn't a vampire, love. A vampire sires you—turns you into one of us. A Dementor just sucks your memories dry."
"O-oh," she said edgily now that they were talking about feeding.
The wand was in her reach. "Voldie, didn't say that my snack was going to be so attractive," He said, scrutinizing her.
Silwen took a step back, going into a shadow, almost hoping that it would devour before he did. Then she remembered that she still needed the wand. Shuddering, she took two steps forwards, snatched the Wand, and held it. Looking at the wand she clutched, Spike chuckled.
"Do you really think a magical stick is going to protect you?," he said sarcastically, jumping onto the table.
Taking several steps back once more, she said, "No, but it will delay you for a bit. Redactum Skullus!" Breathing in relief as Spike's head shrunk, now his fangs would be ineffective.
"Hey! That wasn't nice!"
With speed she didn't know Spike had, he lunged from the table on top of her, pinning her to the ground. "Take the bloody spell off!"
Silwen had read about vampires, their superhuman strength and speed. Why didn't she remember that two moments ago? But now, the knowledge was almost useless.
"Get off me and I will."
"I will not!" His arms gripped her tighter, and he banged her head against the harsh floor.
Pop! Unnervingly quickly, Spike's head inflated to its normal size. "Well, I might as well have a sip now." One of his arms gripped Silwen's pony tail, forcing her head to tilt sideways., giving Spike a wide range to bite.
Suddenly, Spike's face changed; his forehead protruded in grooves, his eyes turned yellow, and his fangs emerged.
"Please," whispered Silwen, petrified.
"Sorry, love," he smirked before he bit into her. Instinctively, Silwen screamed and struggled, desperately trying to escape the vampire. When he started to suck, the bite burned worse than the Cruciatus Curse ever did. At least it was only her blood—not her soul. One second passed. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then abruptly, Spike withdrew, chocking, his grip relenting.
Scrambling up, Silwen started to run for the door, only to have her right arm yanked back Spike's grip again.
"What is wrong with your blood?" Standing stock still, Silwen looked at him.
"Something. Why? What does it taste like?"
"Bloody disgusting! What did you do to it?" She almost drowned in a truth serum. Of course. That is why Voldemort wanted her to be Spike's meal.
"Something. Take another sip, Spike, and I'll tell you." She might as well get a few answers, too, that she could send to the Order of the Phoenix.
"Not bloody likely! What's wrong with your bloody blood?"
"It has a truth serum running through it. What did you want to tell Voldemort?"
"His army in the United States is ready. His army is ready," responded Spike, his eyes turning blank. Good, it was working.
"What is in his army? How large is it?"
"Vamps, werewolves, Dementors, magic folk. 10 000 thousand."
"What is its goal?"
"Put President Snow and Voldemort in charge."
"Where are the headquarters?"
"Sunnydale, California."
"Why—"
"Enough," called a voice. Voldemort had returned, walking swiftly to Spike's side. "Spike, let go of the girl." Still dull-eyed, Spike obeyed. To Silwen, the Dark Lord asked softly, "How much did he drink?"
Not looking at him, she said, "Whatever he could in five seconds."
His eyes roved over Silwen. "Narcissa did well, little Sl—What are you holding in your hand?" he demanded.
Trembling, Silwen whispered, barely audible, "The Elder Wand."
Though the Vow was null, Silwen's Veritesrum-filled blood held her true to her promise. She handed Voldemort the wand, terrified at the power she was giving to him. "Well done, little Slytherin. You will be well rewarded for this," he whispered, fingering her mussed pony tail.
Flinching away, she pleaded, "You have what you want. Let my uncle go."
"Very well." He went back to the door, grabbing hold of Silwen, dragging her along with him. "I will set your uncle free," he cackled.
He had the Elder Wand. The Death Stick. The most powerful weapon a wizard could have. And it was his. Because of her. And she had given it to him without a fight. Whatever he did withe the wand would be because of her.
"Severus!" he called into the hall. Footsteps approached, quickening until Severus stood before them, proud and tall.
"What is it, my Lord?"
Holding Silwen like a dying pirate holding to his treasure, he said, "Your little niece has given me the Elder Wand. You are free to leave."
Bowing Snape said, "Thank you, my Lord." Inconspicuously, Snape motioned his pocket at Silwen.
Voldemort laughed cruelly, raised his wand arm, pointing it at Snape, and murmured, "Here is your freedom!Avada Kedavra!"
"Uncle Severus!"
Crash. An empty body fell to the floor. But the little Slytherin didn't collapse crying over him. Seeing that Voldemort's fingers had laxed around her and the wand, she snatched it from his fingers. SNAP! Snap! Snap! In seconds what was the most powerful weapon became nothing more than broken wood with thestral hair inside. There. Now, she allowed herself to sink beside her uncle.
"I fixed it," she said, her voice breaking, tears splashing and soaking into his robes. "It's better now." Her sight blurred with tears, Silwen closed her beloved uncle's eyes and put his hands at his sides. "I love you, Uncle Severus," she said, tears soaking the robes over his heart. Pretending to put his robes in order, she put her hands in her uncle's pocket, storing whatever was inside into her own pockets to read for later. "I love you."