Chapter 26

Voldemort hissed an order in Parseltongue to the snake, and Nagini slithered towards where the errant pair stood, hand-in-hand and clearly terrified. Her hefty reptilian body arranged itself in a circle around the young witch and wizard, not touching them, but forming a ring on the floor with her head raised up next to Draco, flickering her forked tongue in a threatening manner.

The boy was wearing a black Muggle rock band t-shirt and tight jeans, his short hair was styled neatly, as if he had recently visited the barber's, and his eyes had lost much of that haughty, Malfoy glare that usually defined them and instead they looked open and honest, much like the girl standing next to him.

His left arm was covered in a quite stunning tattoo of a Romanian Longhorn dragon, with curls of smoke and flame around it, leeching up the pale white skin of his arm. Severus couldn't help but think of Charles Weasley's pet, Garth, the miniature Longhorn, which was much more appealing than the fully-grown, dangerous-looking one with golden horns that Draco now had indelibly inked on his arm.

So, that was what had happened to Draco's Dark Mark. He had concealed it beneath the tattoo, and somehow managed to block the Protean charm that signalled his whereabouts to Voldemort, and the other Death Eaters that had been searching for him.

Where the hell had they been, how had they escaped from Hogwarts, and most importantly, how had they been found and brought here? Where had the Death Eaters known where to begin looking?

A hush fell across the messily assembled rabble as Voldemort held up a bony hand for silence, his silky black robe slipping down his skinny arm as he did so.

"Loyal followers! I have summoned you in the middle of the night to expose before you the traitor and fugitive in our pack – Draco Malfoy!"

His pronouncement was met by jeers and catcalls, and Severus watched Miss Roach put her arms around Draco, protectively. Were they a couple now, or simply close friends, forced closer by their time on the run together?

"Your pathetic embrace cannot help him now, Mudblood! Malfoy is a disgrace to everyone in this room, everyone who bears their Dark Mark with pride and follows my orders, whatever they may be. Look! Look how this boy has defaced the brand that I placed upon him, marking him in place of his father, who was at that time incarcerated in Azkaban!"

All eyes swivelled to Lucius, who looked stricken with fear and trepidation, his ice-blue eyes a little more alert than usual, but still dulled with the magical opiates that Snape knew him to be addicted to. Voldemort gave a soft command in Parseltongue, and Nagini raised her fearsome head to where the Draco's Dark Mark should be, under the tattoo.

Running her head along Draco's forearm, whilst the boy shook with fear, the snake appeared to be assessing the tattoo. Then, to Severus' surprise, Nagini turned without attacking, hissing a reply to her master, who replied with yet more Parseltongue. What they were discussing was anyone's guess, as the only person apart from Tom Riddle that he'd known to speak Parseltongue had been Harry Potter.

"How did this heinous filth block the connecting charm of the Dark Mark, boy?" Voldemort demanded, his face furious. "I warn you to speak the truth, since Nagini is most … agitated."

"I cursed the inks before they were used on my skin," Draco replied, his voice full of hatred.

The Dark Lord paused, as if considering the veracity of Malfoy's answer, before appearing satisfied, and once again addressed the room.

"I advised all of you previously, that the follower who brought me Draco Malfoy and the escaped Mudblood would be elevated to the place by my side. This loyal brother used his brain! He did not search fruitlessly, as so many of you have been doing. He wanted my reward, he wanted to see me pleased, and he sought a way of doing that."

Voldemort waved his wand again, and removed another Disillusionment charm, this time on the platform next to him, revealing the proud and smirking face of Rodolphus Lestrange, holding his wand to the temple of Narcissa Malfoy, who was clearly under his Imperius curse as her eyes were strangely blank, but streaming with tears, for she would have been aware of everything she'd no doubt been forced to do.

-xxx-

Orla clutched tighter to Draco as the two people on the platform were revealed. The tall man with the straggly black hair and filthy beard was the same one who had approached them in the pub, where they had met for a Friday night drink after Draco had finished work, along with many of the other regulars they often met there. They had been sitting at a corner table, enjoying a beer, when the man had slunk into the chair beside Draco, nearly causing him to fall off his own seat in fright, for he'd obviously recognised the unwanted visitor straight away.

"No sudden moves, Malfoy," he'd hissed. "We have your mother over there, on the end of Travers' wand, and if you do even one stupid thing, we'll blast her head off, understand?"

Draco had looked across the moderately crowded pub to see the blonde head of his mother, who was sitting at a table surrounded by three malevolent looking wizards, all wearing black Muggle clothing in an attempt to blend in to their environment.

"How did you find us?" Draco muttered, angrily.

"Mother's magic, little boy. The genetic mother can always locate their child with almost precise accuracy, if they know the right incantations for maternal sorcery. No doubt your doting, overprotective, wet-blanket of a mother has been able to do this since you were a mewling baby."

"You are lying," he spat. "My mother would never expose me. Ever!"

Lestrange had shaken his head in a patronising, faux-sympathetic manner.

"Draco, Draco, Draco. A little Imperio was all she needed to persuade her."

Draco looked as if he was about to throw up in his pint, and Orla had grabbed hold of his hand, pulling him to his feet. Lestrange drew his wand under the table and poked it into Draco's thigh.

"Sit down now, you little fools. It has taken a hell of a lot of work to locate you, and a lot of wasted time sitting around waiting for you to show yourselves together. You're both coming with me, and this will be the night I shall seek my reward for delivering you both to the Dark Lord."

In that instant, he had forced them outside the Muggle pub in the ordinary York high street, and Apparated them away with little care to who might have seen them. They had landed here, in the cold cellar of a house that Orla presumed must belong to Voldemort, for the giant snake that she'd seen with him at the battle of Hogwarts was coiled on the floor, moving about the stone floor as if taking a peculiar form of exercise.

Then, all hell had broken loose.

Three other Death Eaters had Apparated in, a defeated-looking Narcissa Malfoy at the end of their wands, and Voldemort had been summoned, filling the already chilly cellar with an icy cold blast. He looked around at the assembled Death Eaters, Draco and his mother, and herself, and smiled, actually smiled with obscene pleasure at their distress, before using his wand to cast an unknown incantation, that Draco explained was to call the rest of the Death Eaters before him. He had then Disillusioned and silenced them all with charms, and freezing their bodies so they could not escape.

The room began to fill up as Death Eaters Apparated in the room, increasing her terror with every new crack that brought another person, another enemy to flee from.

"I think you can release Madam Malfoy from your Imperius curse now, Rodolphus," Voldemort instructed, in his strangely soft voice. "We have no further need of her services."

Lestrange released the curse, and Draco's mother ran towards him, weeping, begging his forgiveness, crying that she had not been able to resist the pull of the curse. The snake reared up to block her path, to prevent her from reaching her son, and they both screamed.

"Stop, mother!" Draco had warned, holding up his hand to insist that she did not come any nearer. "I know! I know you would never have done this yourself."

Narcissa was crying, and Draco was too, pulling Orla into his arms and holding her tightly against him, sobbing into her hair, which was tied in a messy plait that hung over one shoulder. Rodolphus Lestrange dragged Narcissa to her feet and thrust her in the direction of Lucius Malfoy.

"Here you are, husband. Deal with your wife, for it is she who has surrendered your son's life before the Dark Lord, not that you hadn't dispensed with the child's life years ago to save your own measly skin," Lestrange goaded.

Draco's mother made to embrace his father, but the blond man stood impassive, his arms folded, a cold fury emanating from every pore. He did not offer her words of comfort, nor physical reassurance.

"Rodolphus," continued Voldemort, "you have done well. Lord Voldemort always keeps his promises, and you will stand here by my side, a fitting replacement for your dearly departed wife, Bella."

He stroked Lestrange's arm in such a creepy and unsettling manner that it made Orla wonder if the Dark Lord was a closeted homosexual, and then he turned swiftly to face the two of them, fixing them with his red-eyed stare. She was so frightened that she felt she might piss herself right here, right now, and was thankful for Draco's arms around her trembling body. She was more frightened than she had ever been when alone with Yaxley, more frightened than when her parents were murdered.

A quick glance around the room made her wish she hadn't bothered, for all she could see was Death Eaters, robed in black, some wearing their masks, whilest others had removed them, although their faces were just as terrifying as the masks. Hermione Granger stuck out like a sore thumb in a red Gryffindor dressing gown, barefooted and next to Professor Snape, who was unmasked. What was she doing here? Was she in trouble too? Why wasn't she dressed? Orla had no idea what would happen next, nor what their fate would be.

"How did the two of you manage to escape Hogwarts? Do not presume to lie to me, as I am sure you are aware that I can compel you to answer me truthfully. Now speak!"

Orla opened her mouth to reply, but Draco stopped her.

"You can't speak to him, not unless he requests it," he whispered, under his breath, before turning to Voldemort. "We escaped through the Room of Requirement, My Lord."

"My Lord, is it, Draco? My Lord, after you have defaced my Mark, concealed yourself from me, and taken your brother's boon from him? How dare you? Crucio!"

The white-faced madman cast the Cruciatus curse upon Draco, and her lover fell to the ground in pain, falling on the snake and causing her to lurch wildly, her vicious jaws open and eyes wild, only called to heel by a command in Parseltongue from her master when he had released the Crucio. Orla knelt next to Draco, wiping his brow and kissing his face, urging him to open his eyes.

"How touching," ridiculed Voldemort, looking in disgust at the scene of affection before him, before a spark of interest flared in his evil eyes. "And yet … you look alike, you favour one another, the two of you. Are you sure you are truly a Mudblood? Do you not have some Malfoy ancestry inside you? Speak, for Lord Voldemort gives you permission!"

Orla looked up from her position on the floor, kneeling beside her boyfriend, her lover, her saviour, her best friend; who had opened his eyes and was now holding her hand.

"As if I would pretend to be a Muggle-born," she answered, insolently, her face filled with loathing for this awful wizard, who seemed barely human, let alone capable of compassion.

"I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head when you have been given permission to speak, Mudblood, else I shall remove it. Who are your parents?"

"Gerard and Angela Roach. They are both Muggles."

"Where are they now?"

"They are dead. Killed by Death Eaters," she replied, unable to keep the reproach from her voice, which he ignored without a trace of guilt or remorse.

"And from where do you come from? I hear Irish in you."

"From Narraghmore. It is a very small village in Southern Ireland."

"Narraghmore?" exclaimed Narcissa Malfoy. "Why, that is the village where Lucius spent the summer holidays, just a couple of months before we discovered that we were finally expecting Draco."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, a look of excitement within them that Orla did not like one bit.

"What is your date of birth, witch?" he asked, slowly, and she noticed that for the first time, he had not addressed her as Mudblood.

"The second of April, 1980."

"And Draco, yours?"

"The fifth of June, 1980," Draco croaked, his voice still shaky from the Crucio he'd received, and screamed himself hoarse through as he endured it, although he was sitting up now, and the tremor had stopped wreaking through his body.

"Not twins, then," Voldemort mused, as Narcissa scoffed.

"I think I would know if I'd given birth to twins," she muttered to Lucius, who was looking pained. "My Lord, I can confirm that we have no Roach in either the Malfoy or the Black ancestry."

Silence fell across the room, and it appeared the bizarre line of questioning was over.

"But, perhaps … what was your mother's maiden name?"

Why he needed to know that, Orla had no idea, but now didn't seem a great time to start calling someone a nosey fucking git, when they held your life in their scaly hands.

"Clairvhelly," she replied, truthfully. "She was Angela Clairvhelly, before she married my father."

"No!"

The voice had come from Lucius Malfoy, who was now covering his face with his hands and shaking his head.

"Speak, Lucius!" Voldemort commanded. "Do not hide from me. Are you acquainted with the Muggle woman whom she describes?"

Every eye in the room turned towards the elder Malfoy, and Orla's heart began to thump against her chest, so hard that she thought it might burst out and spill all over Draco like a disgusting potion explosion. Guilt was written all over Lucius' pale face as he began to speak.

"Angela Clairvhelly was my … was my lover. For a short time, in the summer of 1979, which I spent in Narraghmore, Ireland, away from my wife. We were, at the time, struggling to conceive a child, and therefore took some time apart to refresh ourselves before attempting to try again."

Narcissa dropped to the stone floor as if her knees had buckled beneath her, grasping either side of her head and screaming in anguish.

"Lucius! How could you? How could you?"

The smile on the slit that passed for Voldemort's mouth became wider and happier and nastier, as if he had been given a particularly salacious piece of gossip. He raised his wand and cast a complicated spell between herself and Draco's father, joining them together with strands of glistening magic, sparking yellow and green as they coiled between them, turning this way and that, joining then splitting, joining again until every strand was like an unbroken, undulating circle. What the hell had he cast upon them? It didn't hurt, but she was still terrified.

Lucius, and every Death Eater in the room, appeared aware of what the unbroken circle meant, as uproar broke out, shouting and screaming, and Draco's father stared at her with abject terror upon his face. Scared, she chanced a look at Hermione, who was the only one who seemed to be as bemused as she was.

"Silence!" Voldemort called, and the hush was immediate and absolute at his command. "Well, Lucius, it appears that you left more than memories with Miss Clairvhelly after your summer dalliance. The paternity charm proves irrevocably that this girl is of half-Malfoy blood, and that you are her natural father."

Draco struggled to his feet, pulling Orla towards him and breaking the sparking coils of magic that bound her to his father.

"No! She is not my sister! There is no way she can be – father, tell me that this is a mistake, tell me that the charm is wrong. Please, father … I love her."

His voice was cracking with fear and emotion, anger and despair. Draco's beautiful face, the one she gazed at every morning as he slept, was crestfallen, his ice-blue eyes, those eyes that were identical to hers … spilled with hot, furious tears. His father – their father, looked as guilty as absolute hell, and said nothing, just continued to look between the two of them in horror.

"Oh, this is even better than I had thought!" Voldemort called, gleefully. "Do you mean to tell me that the two of you are lovers, Draco? Have you been fucking your own sister? How delightfully … grotesque. Perhaps we can make a Death Eater out of you, yet."

"Never!" Draco roared. "Never will I follow you, not while I have my own free will! You have ruined my life, every step of the way, Tom Riddle. You broke my parents, destroyed my family, and forced me to bear your vile Mark. Now you want to take from me the only witch who has ever loved me, and who I love in return!"

"Silence, stupid boy! There is no such thing as your pathetic love! Witches are easily gained, easily fucked, easily lost. We must return your sister to her true parentage, for she is a half-blood, not a Mudblood, and will be treated as such. Yaxley! You can expect severe retribution for your abuse of the daughter of Lucius Malfoy, and I shall allow him to punish you as he sees fit."

At least there was some sliver of positive in this whole damn mess, Orla thought, fleetingly, remembering all the times the vile wizard had raped, injured and humiliated her.

"What, and that's just it?" shouted Draco.

His entire body was shaking in her arms. This wizard she loved, this boy she had such a contented, easy life with, her biological brother? How could it be? But the verification spell did not lie, and neither did the mirror they looked in every day, laughing about how similar they looked, and how beautiful their hypothetical future children would be. For how many years had she been teased by her school friends about being a secret Malfoy?

Because she was.

She had been sleeping with her half-brother, inadvertently and unaware, yes, but the crime was the same.

"Oh no, Draco," sneered Voldemort. "That is most certainly not, it. You will be punished severely for your transgressions. Your dereliction from the Death Eaters, your defacing of the Dark Mark, and your kidnap of your sister, Miss Malfoy …"

"Orla is not, and never will be, Miss Malfoy! She is not my sister, you bastard arsehole from the depths of hell!"

-xxx-

Hermione gulped as Draco threw years of repressed vitriol directly in the face of the Dark Lord, drawing his wand and lurching out of Orla's arms, towards his tormentor, fury and immense hurt upon his face.

What the hell was he doing? Was he attempting to take on Voldemort, one-on-one?

Whatever he was planning, he got no further. Nagini reared up in defence of her master, wrapping her heavy body around Draco, forcing him to the floor before opening her huge jaws and sinking her fangs into his throat, just as Hermione had watched her do to Neville Longbottom in the Hogwarts courtyard.

Orla screamed, and the noise was terrifying; a primal, raw, guttural sound that caused every Death Eater in the room to draw back, away from the murder scene and the sheer anguish that was being played out right in front of them.

Hermione suddenly felt something heavy in her hand, inserting itself into her grasp, and she looked down.

It was the Sword of Gryffindor.

The Sword of Godric Gryffindor may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor during their time of greatest need.

It had presented itself to her, and she knew what she was meant to do with it. She could not hesitate for a second, as Death Eaters were all around her, ready to take her down. There was one chance, and one chance alone, to get this right.

Hermione ran forwards, the sword held in front of her, and without hesitation she plunged the long blade right through the neck of the enormous snake who had not even seen her approach, being so preoccupied with devouring Draco Malfoy.

Leaving the blade embedded in the snake's throat, not risking the time to take a second stroke, she grabbed a tight hold of Orla's arm, and Apparated them both away.

-xxx-

Surveying the scene of utter devastation around him, Severus stood his ground. He could not follow Granger, despite having guessed where she would have gone and wanting desperately to be there with her. The Sword had presented itself, and his little witch had thrown herself into the fray with the foolish bravery of a true Gryffindor, killing the snake and the Horcrux within, with the blade that was impregnated with Basilisk venom.

Even now, he saw the sword shimmer and disappear, its work done, as the snake fell to the floor, taking Draco's lifeless body, clamped in her frozen jaws, down with her.

Voldemort had fallen to his knees, screaming at the loss of his final Horcrux.

Narcissa had run to her son's side, stroking his arm and wailing; although surely she must know that he was lost to her?

Lucius stood as if in an enchanted trance, his eyes wide but unblinking, his face as deathly pale as the Dark Lord's. He had just gained a daughter and lost a son, all in the space of a few minutes.

The Death Eaters were in disarray, the noise level cacophonous, the disbelief evident on everyone's faces and on everyone's lips.

Soon, all eyes would turn to him, for it had been his Mudblood that had just taken the life of the Dark Lord's precious snake. He began to Occlude, frantically, shutting away any memories of Granger that could prove his guilt or his complicity.

She had played an absolute blinder in destroying the final Horcrux and escaping with Miss Roach. Severus just hoped he'd be alive to congratulate her.