Chapter 16
Orla struggled wildly as the unknown assailant pulled her down the corridor, one strong arm clamped around her waist and a foul-smelling hand across her mouth. From the sheer size and strength, it had to be a man. After they'd passed a few doorways, he barged one open with his shoulder and dragged her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
She bit down hard on his finger, which tasted just as putrid as it smelt. He swore, and released her, roughly shoving her away from him into the small room, which looked like some kind of medical store room for the infirmary, or perhaps some kind of filing room, as there was a wall of dusty, cobwebby record ledgers down one side.
Orla spun round, coming face to face with the gigantically tall Amycus Carrow, who was shaking the pain from his finger and approaching her with a face like thunder. He grabbed her around the neck, his thumb poking painfully into the side of her neck.
"A little midnight visit to the patient, Mudblood?"
"Get off me!"
Carrow grabbed one of her hands to stop her attempting to free herself.
"Tell me what you were doing in the hospital wing! If you don't, I'll kill you right here in this office."
"Let me go! I can't talk while you're choking me!"
The Death Eater seemed to realise that talking would be somewhat difficult, so he released her neck and throat, and backed her against the wall of leather-bound ledgers, holding her there by her shoulders.
"Start talking," he spat, breathing hideously close to her face.
"I went to see Madam Pomfrey about an injury I have. How did you know I was in there, anyway? Did you follow me through the halls? It's none of your business!"
"That's where you're wrong, scum. Everything in this school is my business, including dirty little Mudbloods that are out of bed in the middle of the night. Looking for trouble, no doubt. Well, you've certainly found it, little girl."
He leered at her, dropping a hand to paw one of her breasts through her dressing gown, and she slapped his hand away.
"You can't touch. I belong to Yaxley, remember?"
"What he doesn't know, won't hurt him," Carrow drawled, continuing to grope her.
"He put Malfoy in the hospital just for holding my hand. Are you so sure that the same or worse won't happen to you?"
Amycus slammed her head angrily against the wooden shelving, forcing dust to jump from the old, long-forgotten rows of ledgers, and causing her back to ache as the spines hit the damaged skin on her back. She felt the trickle of blood.
"You know nothing, you filthy slut. Nothing of the arrangements of the Death Eaters."
"Is Draco Malfoy not a Death Eater?"
Carrow sneered, evilly.
"Draco Malfoy's marking was nothing more than a punishment for his father. He is not deserving of the Dark Mark. The younger Malfoy draws no respect or comradeship from the rest of us. It is a wonder the boy is still alive."
Orla tried to breathe quietly, not wanting to interrupt him so that he would tell her more.
"Any excuse that can be made to eliminate the little shit will be used," he muttered.
"So, that's the real reason you're hanging around outside the infirmary like a bad smell in the middle of the night? You were going to try and attack Draco in his bed?"
A shadow of regret passed over Carrow's face as he seemed to realise just how much he had revealed to her, and this seemed to draw his attention away from her rudeness.
"One more night won't matter," he snarled. "Not when I've found something so tasty to play with instead."
He leaned towards her and sunk his teeth into the curve of her neck, and she screamed in pain. As a reflex action she drew her knee upwards, striking him firmly between the legs as hard as she could. He recoiled backwards, bent over double.
Orla didn't waste a second. Ripping her wand from the sleeve of her dressing gown, she fired a spell at the bookshelf as she reached the door, sending the heavy ledgers flying from the shelves and firing themselves directly at Carrow, thumping into his head and back, one after the other, and he roared in pain.
Flinging the door open, she set off at a run, for he would be on her tail in an instant. Thinking quickly, she realised that she would never make it all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room before he caught up with her, so she headed back the way she had come, running up the echoing corridor back to the infirmary, yanking open the tall door and calling for Madam Pomfrey as she continued to run towards the Medi-Witch's office.
The old witch was pulling her dressing gown around herself as Orla reached her office door.
"Madam Pomfrey, please help me," she panted, desperately, "I have some wounds on my back, and I think they've split and are bleeding."
She desperately tried to calm her frantic breathing and sense of panic.
"Of course, dear," Pomfrey answered, and gestured towards an empty bed.
"Can we go down here, at the end of the ward?" she asked, thinking that she wanted to put as much distance between her and the main door as possible, and at the end of the ward she could be nearer to Draco, too.
"Is there a problem, Miss Roach?"
"There's … there is a Death Eater, Madam Pomfrey. He … chased me here when I was coming to see you. He was trying to hurt me and I hexed him. I think he will follow me in here."
It was only a slight twisting of the truth. She wasn't about to tell the Medi-Witch that she'd already been in here once this evening, sneaking past her sleeping form to covertly visit Draco Malfoy. The rest was true, and Pomfrey's mouth narrowed in disapproval.
"There will be no abuse of students in my hospital wing," she sniffed, and led Orla right to the end of the ward, next to the curtained bed that Draco was using.
Clearly, Malfoy had been placed at end of the ward for his own protection, too.
Orla pulled the waist tie on her dressing gown and removed it before sitting down on the bed, facing away from Pomfrey. She then pulled the Hufflepuff Quidditch tshirt she was wearing as a pyjama top over her head, baring her back to the Medi-Witch, who took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her flayed spine.
"Orla Roach! Who did this to you? Or can I presume?"
"You can presume, Madam Pomfrey," she replied, and she could not help the tears welling up behind her eyes.
She had not sought any medical help since Yaxley had begun abusing her, and as the old Healer gently touched her back to assess the damage, she wished she had. There was no reason to suffer any more than she needed to.
"Are there any other injuries you would like to me look at, Miss Roach?"
"I, um …"
"Have you been raped?"
"Yes."
"Were you a virgin?"
"I was not. Well, not in the normal sense, but there is more than one way to rape."
"You were anally raped?"
Orla was surprised to find she could not reply, but merely choke out a sob and nod her head. She had been so busy trying to be strong, that she hadn't realised how much the constant abuse was hurting her, physically and emotionally. She suddenly remembered the silencing charm she had accidentally left around Draco's bed, and hoped that he had not had the presence of mind to lift it. This was not a conversation she'd like anyone else to overhear.
Madam Pomfrey sighed heavily, pulling the curtain around the bed, and bidding Orla to lay on her stomach whilst she began to heal the welts on her back. She pronounced that they were not too deep, only surface damage, but were still unacceptable. There was a pleasant warming feeling as she ran her wand over the marks the lashes had left, and Orla wished again that she had sought medical help earlier. There were no prizes for suffering unnecessarily, it didn't make one any braver.
There was a far-away bang which must be the infirmary door opening, and Orla froze.
"I shall return. Stay here," Pomfrey instructed, and she left the cubicle, her feet pattering softly up the central aisle between the beds.
"I seek the Mudblood."
"Miss Roach is receiving medical treatment for a severe injury, Professor Carrow, inflicted by one of your own. I suggest that any business you have with her should be taken up with her Head of House, Professor Sprout."
"Get out of my way, you interfering old hag!"
"I believe I made myself quite clear, Professor Carrow. This is a place of healing and recovery, of which I am in full charge. If you wish to change the rules of the school infirmary, which dictates that the Medi-Witch decides whether a patient is, or is not, permitted visitors – then I suggest you take it up with the Headmaster, for it is only to him that I answer, as my Healing qualifications outrank every professor in this school, excepting the Head. My decision for tonight is that Miss Roach is not permitted to have visitors until her injuries are healed."
There was a long silence, and for a moment Orla was terrified that Carrow had simply struck the old woman down and was about to burst through the curtain to her bedside, but after a time there was a dull thud of the infirmary door opening and closing, and then Madam Pomfrey returned to her bedside as if nothing had happened.
"I'm sorry for that interruption, dear. Now, if you could just slip your pyjama trousers down, and rise up on all fours so I can examine you, that's it, I'm sorry, I know this is terribly personal, especially after such an ordeal. I promise I will be as quick and gentle as I can."
Orla complied, not feeling half as humiliated as she'd done when Yaxley had forced her to assume the same position before thrusting an unknown object into her arse to 'prepare' her for his invading cock.
"You have a large tear, my love. I can heal it, but you'll need to stay very still."
"I will. Please, just do what you need to do."
-xxx-
Later, when Madam Pomfrey had finished her healing and helped Orla reclothe herself, she had tucked her into the hospital bed and left her with strict instructions to sleep for as long as she needed. Her pains were gone, and Orla was just chiding herself for the fifth time about how stupid she'd been not to have sought help sooner, when the curtain between their beds flipped open, and Draco was the other side, looking at her from his own bed, his eyes full of tears, and his face wet with the ones already shed.
"You removed the silencing charm, then?" she asked.
"I did."
"So now you know."
"Did you run into Carrow outside the infirmary when you left here?" Draco asked, angrily.
"Yes. He was on me even before I'd fully closed the door. He was coming here to get you, Draco. He just ran into me first and thought he'd try his luck, like everyone else."
"He raped you?"
"Not even close," she smirked. "My knee hit his bollocks so fast he didn't know which end was up."
"Nice one."
"Did you hear what I said, Malfoy? Ignore the bit about me. Carrow was coming here to attack you. He told me that it's only a matter of time that one of them kills you, that the Death Eaters don't see you as an equal."
"What do you think I've been trying to tell you?"
"I'm so sorry. I was so blind, I just didn't see the bigger picture outside of my own suffering."
"Your own suffering is only going to get worse."
"I know."
"Time to run?"
Orla looked at Draco, a steely determination in her ice-blue eyes.
"Time to run," she agreed.
-xxx-
Severus roughly scrubbed at his hair under the shower, contrary to popular belief, he did wash it regularly, and circled his neck to allow the heavy fall of the hot water to pound against his sore muscles. He had slept in a most uncomfortable position, not realising this until he had woken, of course.
He'd left Miss Granger sound asleep, managing to leave the bed without disturbing her, and this was probably a good thing, for he had no idea what to say to the girl. What did one say to a student that you had fucked four times within the preceding ten hours?
He had allowed himself to fall prey to the most disgusting lapse in concentration, focus and self-control, and shown the child his vulnerability, his neediness, and his insane desire for her that went way beyond the edicts of the compulsion. Why she had played along with it, he had no idea. Perhaps she, like him, was so fed up of being controlled like a puppet, that it had felt good to do something of her own volition for once. She'd clearly enjoyed it, physically speaking, but he wondered what level of regret she would be feeling this morning.
Stepping out of the shower and shrugging on his green towelling bathrobe, he cleaned his teeth and shaved his face, before magically drying his body and hair, and dressing in every stitch of his usual black armour that he had brought into the bathroom with him. It would not do to face Miss Granger in a bathrobe, or indeed in any state of undress. No, he would be fully clothed in his usual attire, and attempt to be completely professional.
Buttoning up his feelings one by one along with his coat, he chanced a quick look in the mirror, seeing his unlovely, austere face scowling back at him. Well, there was nothing he could do about that, this what was nature and his parents' crappy genetics had given him.
He re-entered the bedroom to find Granger almost fully dressed, her tie still undone around her neck as she brushed her hair, but everything else seemed to be in order.
"Good morning … Sir."
"Good morning, Miss Granger. I trust you slept well?"
She nodded.
"It is probably wise that we have a brief discussion before you leave. Please, go ahead and use the bathroom for your own ablutions, and I shall meet you in my office when you are ready."
He swept out with an air of arrogance that he could have kicked himself for. Why was he being such an arse?
You're scared, you stupid bastard. You showed her too much.
Ignoring the nagging voice at the back of his mind, he walked over to the fireplace in his office, ordering breakfast through the Floo connection to the kitchens, for he certainly did not wish to face the Great Hall this morning. He could not help but let his gaze drift to the blank wall beside the mantelpiece as he stood up, the wall that he had pressed her against and taken her so forcefully last night.
That had been the compulsion, of course, for them both, but it had been no less spectacular for that. When was the last time he had taken a willing witch up against a wall? Fucking years ago, that was how long. This girl was rejuvenating feelings and desires in him that he thought had been condemned to the depths two decades ago.
He heard the creak of his bedchamber door, and she came through, her hair pulled back from her face, neat and ready for the day's lessons. Her Gryffindor house tie was now correctly tied, and her bookbag was over her shoulder. She had prepared, this time, so that she was not forced to creep down the corridors in her nightwear. That such a student had been forced into doing what she was, and yet still have enough intelligence to prepare for the inevitable, was completely commendable. He felt like a pervert of the highest degree.
Gesturing for her to sit in one of the armchairs on the hearth, she did so, and he seated himself in the other one, watching her as she looked at him expectantly.
"Firstly, Miss Granger, I must ask if you are feeling any effects of the compulsion this morning?"
"None at all. What about you?"
"Likewise. My compulsion is completely silent."
"Why is that?"
Trust her to go straight for the difficult questions. He coughed, embarrassed, before mentally scolding himself to get a fucking grip and answer her perfectly reasonable question.
"I believe that since we engaged in full intercourse on three occasions last night, whilst under the compulsion, that it would have been satisfied. From what I can deduce, full mutual intercourse buys the longest period of relief from curse-related symptoms."
"Almost like banking credits for future use?"
"That is a rather Muggle way of describing it, but yes, I suppose so."
"I see. We did it three times?"
"Four," he replied, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers under his chin. "The final time was not under the influence of the compulsion."
"Four?"
"Over my desk, then again in the bed – thus making us late for Grimmauld Place, against that wall next to the fire when we returned, and then … the last time."
He was absolutely certain that he was blushing, thinking how fucking unmanly that was.
"Oh. You're right. It was four. That's quite a lot. It didn't feel like … a lot. You know, I didn't feel like it was a big effort, or an imposition. But have you ever had sex four times in one night before? Shit, that was personal, I'm sorry. And I'm making this sound all wrong. I'm sorry."
"It was certainly not a chore, Miss Granger," he confirmed, allowing the corner of his mouth to curl up in what he hoped was a reassuring smile, rather than a predatory shark.
"Should we talk about the last time, you know, when we had sex when we didn't have to?"
"I would suggest that we write it up as a temporary aberration of our usually excellent judgement."
"Oh. Okay. Let's do that."
"I would also like to apologise."
"You have no reason to. I … enjoyed it."
"As did I. But I have reason to apologise because I will not need to conjure any markings on you, today."
She looked at him in confusion, and so he summoned a hand mirror from his bedchamber, which came floating through the open door and into his hand, and he passed it to her.
"I believe I was a little over-enthusiastic upon your neck. I am sorry."
He watched her look in the small mirror and locate the large, dark bruise on the side of her neck and examine it, which he remembered making with his greedy mouth as he had pounded her against the wall not three feet from where they were sitting.
"It doesn't matter. You were going to have to conjure marks on me anyway."
She handed the mirror back to him, and he sent it back to where it had come from.
"Well them. I suggest that we go about our day. If my suspicions are correct, we should have earned ourselves a long period of respite from the curse, so I should not have need to call on you for assistance today, perhaps even tomorrow. I am not entirely sure."
"Well, that's good then, I suppose?"
"It is, indeed. Of course, should you have need of my assistance, it goes without saying that you may attend this office at any time. You are unrestricted, do you understand? The password is mozzarella."
The little chit actually laughed at him. A full snort-laugh.
"Mozzarella? That's brilliant. Reflects the Muggle side of your heritage and isn't something anyone would ever guess. I would have presumed something like ragwort or nightshade or pustule or …"
"Yes, thank you, Miss Granger. Maybe I am not so dark as you might think? A Muggle pizza, dripping with melting mozzarella is a treat in which I am very rarely able to indulge."
"Your secret is safe with me," she grinned, clearly in a better mood with the change to a more light-hearted subject, and he could not help but return it, just a little.
"Go. The breakfast bell has already rung, and you have a busy day ahead of you, as do I."
She nodded, and got up from the chair, picking up her bookbag and heading towards the main door of his office. He pointed his wand towards it as she reached it, releasing the security ward and opening it for her.
"Why, thank you, Professor Snape. How very chivalrous of you."
She left with a final smile, closing the door behind her, and he finally allowed himself to release the tightly-held breath that had been threatening to close the back of his throat since she had asked that question.
"Have you ever had sex four times in one night before, Professor Snape?"
Not like that, he thought. Not with anyone as sublime as you.
-xxx-
Hermione wanted to curse her own stupidity as the revolving spiral staircase brought her back down to Gargoyle Corridor from the Headmasters' office. Snape had been mortified this morning, all fully-dressed and formal, and she was grateful that she'd had the presence of mind to get dressed herself whilst he'd been in the bathroom for such an eternity, to save them both the embarrassment of her still being naked in his bed.
He was just a human wizard, after all, the fact that he was sexually excited by a witch in his bed wasn't any solid evidence that he had deeper feelings for her. She had just been taken in by the passion of the encounters they'd had whilst compelled. This was not a relationship, there were no hidden feelings.
They were doing what needed to be done, just as she had so sensibly suggested right at the beginning, not that she felt very sensible at present.
Professor McGonagall was walking up Gargoyle Corridor as Hermione was walking down it.
"Miss Granger, I was just coming to find you. Are you well?" McGonagall asked, somewhat awkwardly, which was strange, considering they'd spent hours together at Grimmauld.
"Er, yes, professor, I am fine?"
"I heard the news from your dormitory mate that you had been summoned to the Headmaster's office. She was quite beside herself with worry. As your Head of House, I am here to provide you with pastoral care when you need it. What is this bruising on your neck?"
Hermione blushed, and was about to reply when Walden Macnair materialised next to McGonagall. He must have been walking with her, under a Disillusionment charm.
Ah. That made sense.
"It seems that one of your cubs has run into a spot of trouble, Minerva," he smirked, looking lasciviously at the huge love bite on Hermione's neck.
"As I told you, Professor Macnair," McGonagall spat, "as Head of House my duty is to provide pastoral care to all Gryffindor students, of which Miss Granger is clearly one. Whatever fate has befallen her under the dubious leadership of your … organisation, does not exempt her from her rights as my student. Miss Granger, please come with me to my office, I shall arrange for us to have breakfast there."
"Make sure she's not late for her first lesson, Minerva. She wouldn't want any more punishment today."
McGonagall wisely ignored him, and began to escort Hermione through the corridors to her private office, a round room with drapes of red, a cherry wood desk and squashy crimson sofas that Hermione adored. As she ushered her inside and set a privacy ward on the door, both their shoulders relaxed.
"Hermione! I am sorry to alarm you, my dear, but as you can see I was being tailed by that dreadful man. Of course, I am not checking up on you, I am sure that Severus ensured that you passed a pleasant night, but we all must be seen to play the game, hideous as it is."
"I know, Professor. Do not worry."
"I have already taken the liberty of ordering breakfast, so that you may be spared the indignity of the Great Hall this morning. I have advised Miss Patil and Mr Finnigan that you will be with me, so that they are not caused further worry. My, your neck is a piece of work. I can see that Severus was quite creative, this time."
Hermione's head jerked up in surprise, before remembering that McGonagall would of course be thinking that Snape had conjured the love bite, rather than put it there himself with his own lips and teeth. Her face burned at the memory, and she turned away, pretending to be fascinated with a painting that was on the office wall.
Their breakfast arrived, and the attending house-elf set it upon a small table that was set for two. The smell of the delicious Hogwarts food was enough to tempt her to the table, and she sat happily down with her Head of House.
"You know, Hermione, that we cannot freely discuss the happenings at Grimmauld Place whilst within the castle? My office is secure, but one can never be too sure."
"I understand," she replied, inelegantly eating a piece of crispy bacon with her fingers.
"But you should be aware that I am always here for you, if you need me. Do you understand that? Severus and I will have to be exceptionally careful to maintain our current working relationship, if I were seen to be openly supportive of him, it would create suspicion and undermine what we are trying to do."
"I know. But I really am alright, I promise. Professor Snape has been very kind to me, and his quick thinking saved me from a far worse ordeal."
"That man," she mused, indulgently. "I will never understand him, I'm sure. I hope when all this is over, he can find some peace."
The older witch did not elaborate further, leading Hermione to wonder exactly what she might have meant.
-xxx-
Madam Pomfrey pulled back the curtain, and entered quickly, noting the open curtain between their two beds.
"You two are both on the list that I have given to the teaching staff as not being well enough to attend lessons today. I suggest that whatever you need to do, you do it soon, whilst all staff and their … assistants, are otherwise engaged in classes. The day's first lesson has already started. From what I heard, you may not get a chance at a second night in here, either of you."
Both Orla and Draco looked at the old Medi-Witch in surprise. How much had she heard last night? Neither of them had recast the silencing charm once Orla had been admitted herself. But it seemed like she was firmly on their side.
"Draco is not fully healed, Madam Pomfrey," she began. "Is there anything you can do to speed the process?"
"There is, but it will hurt," she warned.
"I don't care," Draco replied, barely letting her finish her sentence. "Do it."
Pomfrey pointed her wand at his healing ribs and cast an incantation, and he grimaced in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow and clenching his teeth until she had finished, and replaced the wand in the waistband of her apron.
"I need to get to my common room," Orla told her. "I have a bag there with the things we will need."
"I will open the Floo connection for you. Hufflepuff? That was my house, when I was a student here, years ago. Give my regards to the Fat Friar, will you?"
Orla hopped out of her bed, her injured body now feeling a million times better after the treatment she had received during the night, and walked towards the large fireplace at the end of the ward, just near their beds. Pomfrey handed her the Floo powder and she scooped up a handful, throwing it into the flames and calling out, "Hufflepuff common room!"
It was deserted, as of course it would be, for everyone was in their first lesson of the day. Orla ran through the winding passages of the common room, heading for her dormitory that she shared with three other girls. She threw off her nightclothes and put on some underwear, loving that she could now fasten her bra without wincing from the pain in her back. Rifling in her drawer, she pulled out a pair of Muggle jeans, a tshirt, a jacket and a pair of trainers. She also grabbed a second pair for Draco, as she doubted he had any shoes in the hospital wing, and they could be transfigured to fit him.
Hidden under her bed was a small rucksack containing all the things that she had brought to Hogwarts on the night of the battle, the night that the illicit wizarding radio she listened to relentlessly had put out an urgent call for more fighters, more helpers, anyone - they had begged, could be put to good use in their reinforcements. Orla had heard their call and could not stand by, so she'd followed their directions to Apparate to the Hogs Head and enter the school from there.
The rest was largely a blur. She had not fought, but had been helping the injured and dying in the Great Hall, doing what she could. She'd also assisted McGonagall to evacuate the majority of the stranded Muggle-borns.
There was no time to think about it now, though. Throwing the rucksack over one shoulder, she took a last look at her familiar dormitory, knowing it was certainly the last time she would see this room, but pressed on back to the common room, heading for the fire and back to the infirmary, where she found Draco standing and wearing actual clothes.
"I transfigured his pyjamas," Pomfrey explained. "I doubted that he could go on the run wearing hospital stripes."
Orla passed her the trainers, which Pomfrey duly expanded to fit Draco – he must have flippers for feet, because her trainers now looked huge.
"Do you know what you are doing from here?" she asked, looking anxiously between the two of them. "It is likely you will only have one chance at this."
"We do," Draco replied, with surprising confidence.
"I am going to ask just one thing of you. I am going to return to my office, and I ask you to cast a Stupefy upon me, followed by an Obliviate. I cannot risk remaining here and being the holder of this information, and I will be found unconscious, which will lend credence to my story. Now, of course you will both be blamed for this, but would I be correct in thinking that the pair of you are in enough trouble already that knocking out the school Medi-Witch is not a major crime to add to your list?"
"We'll do it," Draco assured, taking his wand out of the sleeve of his transfigured jumper, and looking pointedly at the large clock that was on the hospital wall, indicating that there was half an hour left before the end of the first lesson, after which the school would be on the move.
-xxx-
They had managed to get all the way across the school without meeting a single soul. Peeves had floated past them, and they were both terrified he was going to open his loud, annoying mouth and expose them, but the poltergeist seemed pre-occupied and didn't even raise a comment that two students were out of uniform and out of lessons. Perhaps he was still in some kind of magical shell-shock after the battle, in which he had played a major part.
Orla realised that they were on the seventh floor, heading towards the Room of Requirement, although there was no portrait of dancing trolls to indicate the entrance since all portraits had been removed from the castle and destroyed by the Death Eaters, but Draco seemed to know exactly where he was.
"You know what you are doing?" she whispered, and he nodded, putting his finger to his lips and walking towards the wall until he was right up close to where the doorway would appear.
"I need the room where all things are hidden," he said, in an undertone, as loud as he dared.
The wall began to shiver, and the door to the Room of Requirement rippled into view. Draco grabbed the handle impatiently and pulled it open, ushering her through first and then stepping through behind, closing the door immediately.
"Fuck," he said, looking around the room in sheer horror. "Fucking hell."
The huge room gaped before them like a yawning chasm, with what looked like a black tidal wave that had become solid, looming high above. Draco's eyes shot around the room, fear clearly visible. It was as if an enormous volcano had erupted, spilling lava across the entirety of the room, before solidifying into a hard, black mass that was everywhere the eye could see.
"The vanishing cabinet was in here," he muttered.
"The what?"
"The vanishing cabinet. It was how I let the Death Eaters into the castle last year. You step into it, and it takes you to wherever the other cabinet is kept. This other half of this one is in Borgin and Burkes. I was going to take us there using the cabinet, Stupefy the cretin that works in there, and get you to Apparate us to your flat."
"What happened in here?" she asked, looking around at the intimidating room.
"Crabbe used Fiendfyre to take down Potter, the stupid fucking idiot. He killed himself doing it, and it was only due to Potter and Weasley grabbing Goyle and I on their broomsticks that we didn't die alongside him. I didn't even think I'd find the room like this. I suppose I just thought it would … repair itself."
"If you return to the same room, it will be exactly as you left it," she explained, gently.
He turned to her, his face full of panic.
"But what the fuck do we do now, Orla? This was my part of the plan, and its fucked. How do we get outside the castle wards?"
Malfoy looked as horrifyingly desperate as she felt.
Shit.
-xxx-
A/N – Loving it, liking it, loathing it? Let me know! It would be so great to know how many people are actually reading this story, as it unfolds. We have a loooong way to go, so get comfortable and buckle in for the long haul - your comments, thoughts and insights are invaluable to me. Plus, they make me so happy, I'm not gonna lie! (and a happy writer updates faster!)
Yours, Pouf xx
