Author's notes:

Sorry! This chapter is really long, and perhaps, really boring too. It's all massages. Bare with me. This note isn't really helping the length either... You can skip this, no major plot points happen because Silwen was forced to block out all of the discussion so she really has no idea what they are talking about around her... But maybe Draco will tell her what happened in the next chapter...If you stay and read this, I'll be eternally grateful! And if you reviewed, I think I'd faint in pleasure! and in my mind buy you all chocolates and flowers and autographed copies of your favorite books (fiction/non fiction)!

In case any of you were wondering, the human guests ate a feast similar to one at Hogwarts.

From this chapter you might think that Silwen has some sort of special power. But no. She is cursed to tell the truth for her entire life. Her uncle started to teach her magic when she was five, so she entered Hogwarts as an already super-accomplished witch with strong magical ability, but not a super power...

A note about Dumbledore. When Severus taught, he took Silwen with him to Hogwarts. But since he was teaching all day, he took her to Dumbledore's office and Dumbledore took care of her. That's when he taught her a perfect Disillusionment Charm, and all his wonderful massaging techniques. When Silwen turned ten in April, the following September she started going to classes (with special permission from Dumbledore to start a year early) and no longer needed a nanny. She still visited him often though. She continued to study massage from books checked out from the library, sharing what she learned with her Dumbledore, her beloved nanny.

Oh, if you ever notice any inconsistencies, please tell me! And also, are there any villains you'd like to add? I am simply at a loss of who else is at the table. It feels like it's a rather large table with mostly Death Eaters on one side and "guests" on the other. I just can't think of any more guests to put in...Suggestions are welcomed! Thank you!

:)

Silwen shuddered then let the new back consume her attention, even if it belonged to an anonymous Death Eater. Tense with contained excitement. Little knots dotted over her back like hills on a prairie. Hands starting to sting, she moved on to the next back when another ten minutes had passed. And then the next next, her hands cramping painfully. On the new back, she started to use her elbow and wrists to let her sore fingers and palms have some reprieve. Because of the scarce amounts of food she had received, her elbows were nearly as skinny as her fingers, and for once she was glad; they still let her preform massages to the best of her ability.

Tired, but forced to press on, Silwen finished one side of the table. Lucius was next. She waited a moment while he lifted his cloak off, flexing her fingers and shaking them out. This was a back she cared about. Even if its owner wanted to turn Potter in. Silently, she forgave him for that. Her hands began to diagnose his back, starting on his shoulders and slowly working down. Little knots like anthills ebbed away under her touch. The minutes were too short; Silwen had only reached half-way down when she had to switch. Parting, she squeezed his shoulder in farwell and moved on to his wife's back, which was just as tense as her husband's.

Narcissa had perfect composure if you looked at how she sat and stood. But no one saw the bunched up shoulder muscles holding her chest high, no one kneaded them. When Silwen felt them relax, she finally able to breathe. Helping Narcissa meant much to her. Narcissa, too, was silently forgiven for trying to give Potter to the Dark Lord. Narcissa merely wanted to ensure her son's and husband's safety and life. Much like Silwen wanted to do with her family. Ten minutes over, Silwen drew a heart on Narcissa's back then switched to Dolohov's.

Recalling all of the atrocities he had preformed, she harshly dug her nails into him, relishing his grunts of pain. Indeed, she preformed her best to heal, but none too gently. She looked up to see the next back after the time was up and froze. Oh no. Not him.

Eyes gleaming, the Master nodded as if to say, "Oh yes." He took off his suit jacket, revealing a thin cotten shirt. Trembling, she began. The anger she had emitted towards Dolohov fled, leaving unadulterated fear. She looked at the next back. Draco's. Hold on. Just hold on. Only one more. A tear dripped onto his shirt and Silwen heard a soft snort. "Little coward," he gloated in a whisper, "Perfect for me because I won't have time to tame you when I claim you." It seemed like time was deliberately slowing down. Of course. While massaging a Time Lord's back, time would behave abnormally. Silwen felt the man's gloat on his back as he leaned forward, giving her more work. She remained on his shoulders, and smiled as she felt him tense for a moment. Angrily, perhaps? His back had more knots than everyone else's combined, but she refused to let herself feel any sympathy for him. She shuddered to think what would happen to her if he won, if she was "given" to him. ... Finally, his time was over and Silwen escpaed from him and leapt over to Draco.

An idea sparked inside her. Hey, she traced on his back with a finger, the other fingers and hand searching for and making knots disappear. Draco was smart enough to act as if nothing had happened. I'm surprised you were allowed to come. Her left hand cured one knot and began on another. Draco shrugged as if saying, I'm a Death Eater, why wouldn't I come? For a moment, both hands ran up and down Draco, letting him feel how much she had missed him. It's good to talk to you even if it's only a one sided conversation. It was lucky her hands were used to writing quickly with quills or else she could have said little in the given time span that suddenly felt like it was too short. If you can, stop by my room tonight and wait for me. We'll be able to talk better. That written, she concentrated on comforting him, smoothly tracing his muscles, working gently with his shoulders. As a parting gift, she drew a heart on his back and left him, not daring to linger in case her next patient saw. Spike. Well, if she had to then she might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

Spike chuckled as she started without waiting for him to take off his leather jacket. Thinking to irritate, he took off his jacket while she was massaging. However, she preferred it. The less contact she had with Spike the better. Plus, it let her swelling hands rest for a few moments by hovering. When Silwen began in earnest, she was astounded to see how smooth his back was. Since he seemed so calm, she relented, saving her strength for the last few backs. Ironically, it was Spike's back that let her rest the most, not Draco's.

Moving on again at last, her fingers met exquisite silk and a tiny back. Drusilla turned to look at her and smiled. "Little bird is going to visit my room later," she sing-sang, turning back to the meeting. Under the table, Silwen noticed Drusilla's hand reach and hold onto Spike's hand. Drusilla's back, too, was simple. Like dough that had already been kneaded. Here too, she focused on the back's surface, healing scarce and tiny knots, feeling Drusilla exhale when her turn was over. Before Silwen moved on, Drusilla whispered in the same sing-song voice, "Little birdy did well, she did. But little bird has so many secrets inside." She shuddered and stepped behind Angelus' chair.

"Skip me," said Angelus.

Gladly. However, that wasn't possible. "I can't. Not unless the Dark Lord allows me to skip you," she whispered, one finger tentatively massaging his neck. Angelus reached back and held her hand still.

"Tom, let the girl skip me," he spat, interrupting Bellatrix mid-sentence.

"Shut up!" she snapped. "How-how dare you-"

Angelus ignored Bellatrix. "Let the girl skip me, Tom."

His face deliberately emotionless, Voldemort said, "Bellatrix, be silent! Silwen, move to the next back. Angel, any comments on our new subject? How do they fit with your master's plans?"

The next back. She had to move on. But she moved as slowly as possible. Mr. Edward's back. A back she hated more than Spike's. He turned to her, reached out, and pulled her behind him, darkly chuckling under his breath. Fine. If he wants to play cat and mouse, then I'll play cat and let him figure out who he is, she thought to herself, her fingers vindictively finding a sore spot to attack. Touching his back was like touching an iceberg, even through the thick wool sweater he was wearing. Instinctively, she drew away. A movement occurred in less than a second; suddenly, Edward's sweater was gone, revealing a thin, well-cut, short-sleeved shirt. She had ten minutes. Let's see what I can learn. One hand viciously prodding a rather large knot, she tried to scratch with her nail, You can read minds. Imperceptibly to anyone who wasn't hyperaware of him, he nodded. Why? she thought, now focusing only on trying to hurt him with both hands. No response. You aren't planning to 'win' me, are you? she thought, anxiety taking hold for a minute. He shook his head, chuckling again. Another idea hit her. Do you have a soul? His shoulders tensed. She continued, or don't you, like Spike? Laughing soundlessly, he shook his head. Then he had a soul. So why are you irritating me so? And why is your back exactly like marble in the Antarctic? Edward merely chuckled. "I can actually feel you trying to help my muscles, you know. And you are the first human to come so close," came an almost noiseless murmur followed by another chuckle. Let's see...There. Gathering all of her strength, fury and adrenaline, she drove her fingernail as hard as she could into a tiny nerve ending that was close to the epidermis. To her exhausted delight, he jumped, turned to her and scowled. 3.2.1. Only the muggle left (who still had a bit of melted yogurt left).

"Here. Let me take me lab coat off," he whispered. Patiently, almost collapsing, she waited. When he had taken if off, she began her last massage, despite the furious protests of her finger muscles. Gently, she started with his neck muscles, helping the blood rush down, wishing he'd take off the silly goggles. To her surprise, he lifted them off his head and put them in his lap. After several minutes, something began to tug her away from him. But she ignored it. Dr. Horrible's back was even worse than the Master's. However, his knots and clenched up muscles seemed to originate from grief. The way he hunched over slightly, yet with tight shoulders made her think of him putting his chest high even though he might barely be able to face each day. What had happened to Dr. Horrible? Only one thing that devastating could have. She knew that pain. Knew that her back must be similar.

Every part of him was tight. Silwen's feet started to walk over to the chair next to Dr. Horrible's. But she fought and stayed. What was going on? The next chair contained someone who was not to be disturbed. ... Perhaps Dr. Horrible was a kinder villain. More sincere, She thought since most of the tightness came from presenting the right face and posture to people. She was exuberant to feel some of the strain and tenseness ebb away, to feel his muscles relax, and to watch the knots fade. For much longer than ten minutes she stayed there until she couldn't feel a single not, or bunched up muscle left, despite the forceful pulling of her body. "Your massage is over," she whispered, her voice filled with empathetic emotion.

He turned to face her and, with very bright eyes, like a sun before a rainstorm, and whispered, "Thank you, um, Silwen, right?" She nodded, her knees going weak and folding. Quickly, he stood, catching her and setting her on the ground. Then he returned to his seat and put the goggles back on. Moaning, Silwen realized she had to go back to her post. Maybe that's what the tugging was. Exhausted, she crawled there, and ever so slowly, stood once more, her legs trembling visibly with the effort. Dr. Horrible and Draco looked at her, but said nothing. Spike and Cullen stared too, smirking. Gits. Cullen's smirk widened. Her knees trembled harder. To stop from collapsing, Silwen desperately locked her them.

Minutes passed and she realized she hadn't finished the table. That's why she felt the pull. One more back remained. No. S-she couldn't do it. What would he do? Obviously, he didn't realize that he was part of the table. ... Or did he? Was this a test? Her legs took her to the back of his chair. Futilely, she hid her hands and clenched them together. She wouldn't let herself. But she had no choice. No. But yes. Shaking from fear she rose her hands to his shoulder. In moments, the room grew silent, all eyes on her red, blistered fingers. Silwen felt his presence in her mind. Voldemort was using legilimency on her. And she let him in, begging to let her stop, for him to command her back to her post. He didn't.

Her hands began to find knots. And she loosened them, loosened the knots of the Dark Lord. Healed the man who had murdered her uncle. A cold chuckle rang around the room.

"Where were we, Alecto?" he asked, continuing the meeting. The silence fell away and the conversation continued as Silwen continued to cure Voldemort's back aches. Shoulders of ice, inhumanly narrow, sharper than any dagger on Earth. Every ounce of humanity was ripped out of him. Whoever Voldemort was, he wasn't human. But she didn't dare think more about it; she was scared enough just touching him, let alone wonder about what he was touching. With every touch, her stamina lessened much quicker than on any back, a tear spilling every so often. Then, at last, ten minutes of horror ended. Crawling to her post, she collapsed and asleep.

Sleep protected her from the jeers and jests, shielded her from the vicious prods and pokes, saved her from the threats, and even orders of Voldemort; she was too far gone. Asleep. Her body simply couldn't move any more. She didn't hear the bark telling Draco to take her to her room. Yet somewhere, she felt her slight body being lifted off the ground by protective arms that wrapped warmly around her. Dimly, she felt her body being lowered to her bed, lips brush against her forehead, and blankets cover her, a hand tucking her inside them. Soon after, her mind shut down completely, and for the entire night, didn't even have the energy to conjure up a dream.

The words, "I love you, Sil," floated away, unheard in the privacy of her room. All through the night, Draco held her. He didn't sleep a wink, but rubbed essence of Dittany into her hands, wrists, and elbows, whispered romantic and frightfully silly ditties into her hear. "Please, Sil! W-wake u-up." Before dawn, before she woke, he was ordered to leave. "I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry." A couple tears fell onto her face, into her slightly agape mouth, and onto her eyelids. That woke her. Eyelashes fluttering, she saw him.

"Draco?" she murmured, but before she could see clearly, he had left.