Posted: 12/05/15
Beta: the artful scribbler
Philter
28th August, 1998
Afterward, though he tried his best not to remember it at all, Draco understood it was nothing like love. It was just filthy, unassailable obsession. Obviously he did not care about doing what was best for Jane, because he wanted to do a load of debauched things to her that no eighteen year old man should ever seriously contemplate doing to a twelve year old girl. Even was she a long-haired, Pure-blood beauty, instead of that frumpy freaky mudblood. But it was as though her name became his heartbeat in that twenty-four hour span of his life. Rather than pumping da-dum, da-dum, da-dum, it beat: Ja-Jane, Ja-Jane, Ja-Jane. Jane Wellington - every lungful of air that he inhaled, exhaled. Jane in, Jane out. In and then out. Her image completely dispersed through every last scintilla of his body; his blood; and muscles and sinews; in the bones. Jane, Jane, Jane to the ultimate power.
Jane was exquisite. Her big red mouth looked luscious, and he even thought those gigantic spectacles were sexy and made her seem - of all the ludicrous things - very intelligent. Jane was quite witty to him on the Love Potion day.
After it exited his body, Draco asked Mother when Poisson had last bathed, and Narcissa - instinctively understanding why he needed to know this - assured him that she had impelled Jane to wash herself up only the day before. Thank Merlin. Not that it had mattered to him while he was under the effects of that odious magic. Quite the reverse. While that liquescent deceiver was sinuating through his veins, her pungent effluvia would have presented like the most intoxicating, Parisian perfume.
Who could have guessed that that fat idiot, Professor Slughorn, could have been right about something? Amorentia seemed a darker and astronomically more dangerous magic than the Draught of Living Death to him - the next day. And everyday forever more.
Jane - that sly little voyeur - had taken prodigious advantage of his addled frame of mind, and spent a good portion of the afternoon having him play games with her. Mother and Father had not interfered, seeming to think it was the safest way to keep him occupied and within their much-needed vigilance; not that Draco had failed to do his best to lure her somewhere, anywhere else, so he could try to have his way with her in private. Uugh! He wanted to vomit when he remembered the vile fantasies he'd had about that deformed Muggle.
The Dark Lord really really despised Draco. This is what the entire experience had impressed on him, in the end. He had known that his family's master did not like or even respect him, thought him weak and utterly worthless - that was abundantly apparent. But until the day He made Draco drink the love potion, all in the name of "experimentation", Draco did not realize how much the Dark Lord…just hated him.
~x~}{~x~
The Malfoys' days fell into a routine that revolved around Jane. Every morning after breakfast they escorted her downstairs to the Brewery and gave her potions to drink. After this, they cast charms, hexes, jinxes, and curses at her in turn. The Dark Lord supplied them with lists of things to try on her and records were scrupulously made of all the unsuccessful magic - they also had to make notes for the marginalia about any side effects. Every once in a while Jane would sneeze, or giggle, or cough, or get a violent case of the hiccups. Most often, if she had to drink large amounts of potions, she would get a stomach-ache, and a few times she was sick. Luckily, Jane always seemed to know when this was about to happen, and lunged for a rubbish bin that they kept nearby specifically for these occasions.
For the spells, Draco borrowed Mother's wand first, and scanned his way down the parchment, scouting the ones he knew from school, or that had previously been taught him by Father and his auntie. Then, also with Mother's wand, Lucius or Bellatrix would take the list from him, and between the two of them they could make a much bigger dint in the catalog.
They often taught Draco the complicated curses, showing him the wrist movements and repeating the incantations to him. Draco could not decide who was a better mentor, Father or Aunt Bellatrix. Father would often explain the theory behind the spell, and frequently these tidbits of insight were all he needed to fully grasp it. On the other hand, if he didn't pick them up after couple of tries Father tended to get impatient and critical. Aunt Bella never bothered to explain anything, but she never grew impatient with him either. She actually had this useful knack for helping him memorize the wrist flicks. She would gently place her long fingers over his hand and wrist, and then she would carefully guide his motions with them. She would show him unwearyingly - as many times as Draco might need - without ever losing her head. It was odd how patient a teacher she could be, when the rest of the time she was so touchy and erratic. All in all, he picked them up fairly quickly, for which his father would sometimes praise him. These words of commendation pleased Draco in a way that nothing else could touch.
Lucius and Bellatrix had entered into an implicit competition. Every day they would each tally the number of spells they knew and announce it to the room. Draco tried to keep a running total of them in his head, but math was not exactly a strong suit of his. He was fairly certain from Father's sidelong grins that he was winning.
They usually spent a couple of hours in the Brewery and then Jane went to play in her room until dinner. Since they had purchased toys and paints for her in Diagon Alley, she tended not to wander off so much and managed to keep herself contently occupied. She loved these little figurines that wore decadent gowns and robes, and the replicates were enchanted to move around on their own. Jane did not go anywhere without at least of few of them stuffed in her pockets. The Malfoys endured many a teatime with the tiny witches and wizards caroming around the table, knocking over the salt and pepper shakers and their wide skirts sweeping silverware to the floor. Jane spent rainy afternoons lying on the floor of the sitting-room making up silent stories and moving her little people about, to act them out in soundless plays. She also spent a good deal of her spare time painting pictures and then having one of the Malfoys hang them in the alcove around the deep window seats in her room.
If Jane hadn't been able to slip away the evening before, then Narcissa had to send their master a message, using her patronus, letting him know. Then they usually wouldn't have to see the Dark Lord at all that day; for if he did come, he conducted his business downstairs and didn't bother to see them.
At supper, Bella always informed them whether or not He'd been in the house each day. She spent most of her free time in the parlor, taking and dispensing messages from other Death Eaters, and trying to seem as useful as she could to her Master. In fact, every Sunday evening would find her sitting outside the large dining room that he used for his weekly meetings. She was still prohibited from attending them, but she wanted to be as close to them, to Him, as possible.
If Jane had slipped away then the Dark Lord would show up in the early afternoon. He would often lead them to the Brewery for progress reports and to update their instructions. Then he would take Jane to her room, and there have her give reports about her phantom excursions into the lives and homes of his adversaries.
After the Dark Lord had done with her, they would usually go outside for a few hours until five o'clock, and then Jane would eat a large snack, before going to her room to lie down and try to spy. Whether she did or not, she usually stayed in there for at least an hour. When she rejoined them in the sitting-room she would often be hungry again and then either Rumpa or Narcissa - for by that late hour Martha had gone home - would fetch a plate for her of reheated food.
The Malfoys were quite amused by Jane's behavior toward Rumpa. It was as though she thought the elf was a proper person, and she always used the nicest manners with her, and often tried to engage her in conversation. They tried explaining to her about house-elves, how they preferred to be paid as little attention as possible, and how not doing so might give them ideas above their station. But Jane just didn't seem to get it. No surprise there. She continued to 'please' and 'thank' her, and would often ask Rumpa questions about her family and her life. The Malfoys didn't really think that Jane could destroy Rumpa's sense of her place in the world. After all, Jane was practically a house-elf herself.
Rumpa clearly didn't know what to make of Jane as her status within the household was so undefined. The first time Jane saw Rumpa, she held her hand out and introduced herself to it, for all the world as though they were meeting at a tea party or a picnic. Rumpa was so shocked she almost lost her magical grip on the pile of linens she was levitating. The mossy little elf had looked to the Malfoys for guidance. Should she ignore the Muggle? The Malfoys didn't say or do anything to indicate to her that she shouldn't accept this unusual offer of acquaintanceship, so she had lightly shaken Jane's hand, made a little bow to her, and told the child her name. Jane had giggled and clapped and, holding out either side of skirt, made a rather graceless bow right back to her, as though it were all a delightful game.
"You's gonna 'ave a baby?" Jane had asked. "Or you's just fat?
"Rumpa having a baby, miss," Rumpa had responded in her squeaky voice.
"Is you's wantin' a boy or girl?" Jane next wanted to know.
Her eyes darted to the Malfoys for a moment and she said, "A girl, miss."
"Wotcha gonna be namin' it?" Jane asked.
"Well, Rumpa think Domba, miss, fer a girl, and Rumby fer a boy," she told her.
"When you's be 'aving it, can I's 'olded it?" she'd implored.
The elf almost lost her hold on the clean sheets again. "Well," she hesitated. No human, to her knowledge, had ever asked a house-elf such a thing before. "Rumpa supposes miss can hold it. Miss…miss Jane will be careful with it, won't you?"
Jane had cryptically swiped an invisible X over her chest and said, "Cross my 'eart. I's only be 'olded it's whiles I sittin down like. So's I won't be falling over wif it."
Lame Jane had this hilarious tendency to trip over the thick rugs laid all around the manor. It made for a good laugh at least once a day.
That was the beginning of Jane's friendship with Mrs. Black's elf. They only admonished Jane for talking to her when they worried it might interfere with her work.
Martha was a completely different cauldron of cares. She, like the Malfoys, detested mudbloods. It was the only reason she'd stayed on to work for them after Lucius was revealed as a Death Eater. She thought he and his family had the right idea about joining up with the Dark Lord. Not that this endeared her to them in any way. Had the circumstances been different, they would have made a more concentrated effort to replace her years ago.
She seemed to really enjoy working in the Dark Lord's headquarters, though she wasn't so fond of cleaning up after the disgusting Snatchers, and even some of the Death Eaters, that spoiled the rugs and furniture. She'd flirt and jibe and mess about with the disheveled Snatchers, and have a jolly time of it. All of the Dark Lord's low-class servants enjoyed gadding about with the Malfoys' maid. But once the party was over, and they had all departed, she would grumble and sulk while she had to clean up the cigarette butts and the food and alcohol stains they left over every surface of the drawing room, dining room, and the parlor where they congregated. For the life of her, Narcissa couldn't understand how Martha could stand around, making her tawdry innuendos with a yellow-toothed, greasy-haired wizard, who was half her age, all the while watching as he flicked the ashes off of his cigar into a priceless antique vase, and then complain about washing it out afterward.
When Martha had realized that Jane was a Muggle, she had tried to tender her resignation. Fortunately, Lucius had managed to convince her to stay.
"I sure as 'Ades ent staying to wait on no damn Muggle!" she had cried, storming into the sitting-room.
It only took her a few days to figure it out. The Malfoys never discussed anything significant around Martha. Even if she was wise enough to keep her loud mouth shut when it came to the Dark Lord's affairs, she wouldn't scruple to spread rumors about her employers' personal lives. If one of them so much as accidentally broke wind in front of her, which they luckily did not often do, they could be sure that Martha would announce it high and low. Servants, human servants that is, gossiped.
"She's here on the Dark Lord's orders," Lucius calmly informed the loud-mouthed wench.
"I don't care!" she had erupted. "I sure as shite won' be cleaning 'er dirty linens, or cleaning 'er toilets! The day I'm being asked to serve a mudblood is my last day in your service!"
Then she'd stomped out of the room.
Narcissa was quite alarmed by this development. Without Martha, she would wind up doing the cleaning and cooking. The chances of them coming across another maid who didn't mind waiting in a manor that the Dark Lord frequented were zero to nil.
"Lucius!" she had exclaimed through her teeth in a constricted hiss. "Do something!"
Lucius hesitated for a moment before asking Cissa for her wand. As soon as she handed it to him, he'd dashed after the dumpy witch.
He caught up with her on one of the second-floor landings, located closer to the kitchens.
"Wait Martha," he had commanded.
She didn't stop. A wandless wizard had little authority in her opinion.
He had to reach out and grab her by the arm, spin her around to face him, and he decided to keep a firm grip on her.
Martha, for the five years she had attended Hogwarts, was in Slytherin. She'd had to drop out of school when, at sixteen, she became pregnant with her oldest child. It was one of the reasons that she loved working for the Malfoys, and the reason she'd always hated them so much. The recent reduction in their status, with virtually everybody, made Martha enjoy her work for them in ways she never thought she'd live to see.
Despite her hatred of her persnickety employers, and her glee with their current loss of stature, Lucius Malfoy's hand around her arm sent tingling waves of pleasure coursing under her skin. Her mouth parted as she looked up at the rich, careworn, but nevertheless still-handsome man standing over her. She hadn't been touched by anybody of his distinguished class, not purposefully, since she was young and fresh, with clear skin and good teeth. Under usual circumstances, Lucius didn't bother looking at her, unless it couldn't be helped.
If Lucius had realized that Martha's even ruddier complexion and heavy panting were due to lascivious notions, he would have released her immediately and hastily retreated a pace or two away from the nasty witch, despite the fact that it was a form of power over her. However, he mistook these physical changes as manifestations of her fear of him.
Lucius looked down at the florid-faced witch, trying for once to disguise his contempt.
"We're willing to offer you a generous raise," he said without preamble.
"You couldn't pay me enough," she said with a wry expression which turned her miniscule lips and chunky cheeks to mismatched whorls. Then she added, sardonically, "Sir."
"I doubt that," Lucius said with complete confidence. In his experience everybody had a price.
"Mr. Malfoy, servants like me are in 'igh demand. No amount of gold's going to persuade me to clean up after a filthy Muggle," she spat at him.
"We'll double your pay," he retorted, quickly deciding this wasn't a situation that warranted haggling.
She just shook her head slowly and narrowed her small, piggy eyes. "You could offer me every galleon in your fat vault, and I wouldn't touch it."
Lucius couldn't believe that Martha was as principled as this. Of course, if he was honest, no amount of gold would ever propel him to house a mudblood. He was only doing it on pain of death. But he couldn't imagine someone as near-destitute as Martha would ever turn her nose up at such an offer.
Martha could have supported a moderate-sized family comfortably with the wages she earned from her position with the Malfoys, but every year or so she was in childbed again. Narcissa had once confessed to Lucius that she had generously offered to supply Martha with as much contraceptive potions as she'd liked. But Martha had, less than politely, declined her assistance. Other than an occasional gardening job for the Malfoys, her husband, as far as Lucius knew, didn't work much, drank a great deal, and mostly depended on his wife's income.
However, it was true that if she left the Malfoys, now that the world knew they were consorting with You-Know-Who, she could easily obtain a new position, with or without a good reference. If money wouldn't work, then Lucius decided he would have to give her a good dose of fear, and perhaps a drop or two of the truth.
He pulled out Cissa's wand, which he had kept concealed in his sleeve until that point. He held it casually by his side, and watched Martha silently taking it in.
She returned her eyes to his and said, "Even if you was to curse me, wouldn't do you much good. Not fer what you're wanting me fer."
He smiled a bit and took a deep breath through his nose. "I know that Martha. I'm not going to curse you. Or hex you. My aim is simply to warn you."
He paused and let the silence stretch out, tautly, while the message sank in.
"Warn me 'bout what?" she asked, a note of caution in her voice now.
"Well, you see," he started, lowering his voice and leaning in a bit, "over the past year of your service with us, you've been privy to many of the comings and goings of certain dark witches and wizards, and most especially He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. I'm sure you've overheard a great deal that was never meant for your ears."
"So?"
"I don't think the Dark Lord would be pleased to discover that anyone such as yourself, with as much information about his business as you've likely gleaned, has decided to take up employment elsewhere."
"'E ent gonna care if you and your wife 'as to scrub your own toilets," she told him scornfully.
"Of course he won't, you fool," he snapped, losing his patience with the daft cow. He collected himself, and decided to try again, with plainer language. "If I tell the Dark Lord you've gone to work for someone else, I might let slip that you've suffered some…problems with his agenda."
"I 'ave not!" she bellowed.
"He'll believe me, though."
"I don't know about that now, see. 'E might just see right through you," was her cool return. "After all, Mr. Malfoy," she didn't dare call him Lucius, not while he held a wand, though she longed to, "you ent exactly 'is 'ighest ranked servant no more, is ya?"
That stung. Lucius could no longer deceive himself into believing that Martha was oblivious to his depleted standing within the chain of command, feeble hope though it had been. But remaining composed was, he knew, the key to this bluff. It might not even be a bluff. Every word he was speaking to her could be completely true. There was just no telling when it came to his master.
"Perhaps," he pretended to concede. "He still won't like the idea of you trading kitchen gossip with the servants in other households, once I've planted the idea in his mind."
"I do that anyway," she was foolish enough to admit.
Lucius grinned, broadly. And she seemed to shrink a bit, once the recklessness of her concession had the chance to reverberate around her half-empty head for a few moments.
"Exactly," he stated succinctly. "Now then, I suggest that you not only accept my more than generous offer of a doubled salary, but also that you resign yourself to the idea that the little mudblood might be with us for quite a while."
"Might?" she asked. "You saying she might not?"
Lucius eyes clouded over a bit before he decided to reply with, "He could, even now, be looking for a…more appropriate situation for her."
"What's she doing 'ere anyway," Martha wanted to know. She couldn't conceive of anything to explain Jane's presence.
"My master has…recruited her, in a manner of speaking. She," he hesitated then, not liking to admit the truth about Jane, but knowing that Martha needed a solid reason to stay if she was expected to do anything as base as wait on a mudblood. "She has a...power."
"Tosh!" she spouted in disbelief.
Lucius narrowed his eyes and looked down his nose at Martha. "It's the truth. The Dark Lord believes she'll be useful to him."
"I 'eard about 'er spanking, Mr. Malfoy. And 'ow you think I can believe a Muggle got a power can 'elp the Dark Lord makes me think yer trying to take the piss."
"I assure you, I'd never 'take the piss' with you," Lucius informed her, his tone rife with his asperity. "And she was beaten because she deserved it. She got off much too lightly in my opinion. In everyone's opinion, probably. Nevertheless, it's up to the Dark Lord how she's dealt with, and, for now, she's to be left in our care. So, for you to wait on the Muggle, is, indirectly, a way that you can serve him." He could see in her eyes that Martha was trying to process this information, so he added, "You don't have to be polite to her."
Finally, Martha surprised Lucius when she said, "I'll stay, but I don't want no double salary. I want ya ta hire me daughter, Agnes."
Lucius considered this for a moment before asking, "Why?"
"I've been telling you and the missus fer years that I need some 'elp round 'ere. It's too big fer just me and the occasional 'ouse-elf. Agnes is a good girl, and she'll work 'ard. I want you to match my salary fer 'er."
"How old is she?"
"Sixteen."
"Why isn't she at Hogwarts then?"
Martha sighed, clearly annoyed. "My 'usband and I don' think book learning's her…vocation."
Lucius pretended to mull this over a moment, and then said, "You mean she doesn't make good marks."
Martha's eyelids lowered to baleful slits. "No, she don't make good marks, sir. But she's more than capable of emptying rubbish bins and dusting and polishing furniture." She looked him up and down. "That's my final offer. Take it or leave it."
Lucius backed up and shrugged apathetically. "Bring her here Monday. We'll see how she works out."
Martha gave him a fake, rather rubbery smile and started to walk off.
"Martha," he called.
This time she stopped and turned for him.
"You're responsible for her," he said vigorously. "You know that some of the Dark Lord's servants have special… appetites. Don't let your young daughter wander around unattended, or she's sure to get…snatched."
His conscious clear on that score, Lucius had returned to the sitting-room to tell his wife about their new employee. From then on he had a newfound respect for Martha. Uneducated, poor, and ugly she may be, but her intransigence went a long way with him.
Agnes turned out to be…not pretty really, but rather buxom and extremely well-proportioned. Agnes had lots of blondish-ginger hair that popped out of her buns like tight, coppery corkscrews. She was slim-waisted and bosomy, and her milky skin was freckled terribly over her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her slightly upturned nose. She had hazel eyes, one of which had a tendency to wander, that were set very close to together and immediately gave the impression of an airy space between her ears. Draco found the overall shape of face rather equestrian. Her teeth were incredibly crooked and she exposed them often - along with a great deal of her pink gums - with her easy smiles. So Agnes was definitely not pretty.
Draco remembered her from school. She was in Hufflepuff, and rumors floated around that she was easy. None of the boys actually claimed to have had sex with her, but some had said that, if paid a little attention, she'd do things. Things every teenaged male dreamed a girl might do, whether she was pretty or not; for she had be on her knees to do them, so it wasn't as if he'd have to see much of her face. Just the top of her head.
On the Love Potion Day, Draco realized afterwards, he had come quite close to seeing Jane naked again.
On her first evening at the manor, when the Dark Lord had ordered Father and Rowle to take off Jane's clothes, Draco had been sitting at a table directly across from Mother. He had kept his eyes down the entire time she was nude, until Cissa had conjured a wrapping for her and then informed him that Jane was completely covered. He hadn't been desperate to see her naked or anything, but he was a little curious. Draco had never seen a woman naked in real life, only in a few pictures that some of his housemates had nicked from their fathers. Jane didn't count as a woman, not by a long shot, but she was female, and she did have, in the vicinity of her torso, a little something or two. So if Mother hadn't been sitting right in front of him, he probably would have at least peeked.
But on the Love Potion Day, Draco had almost seen her naked once more.
The Dark Lord had come earlier than usual that day. As soon as they were in the Brewery, he'd brought out an Invisibility Cloak. He was about to throw it over Jane, but she had literally screamed for him to stop.
She backed quickly away from it, almost tripping over the leg of a table in the process, and said, sounding stricken, "Please, don' be's doing it!"
"Why ever not, Jane? It can't hurt you," the Dark Lord said, surprised and irritated by her reaction.
She crossed her arms over her chest and, her eyes round as cauldrons, said, "I's ent fancy showin' me bubbies."
"Your bubbies? What, pray tell, are bubbies?"
Jane's dark skin began to darken. Before she met Jane, Narcissa would never have thought that ethnic people could blush. But she would have thought wrong.
"Dumbledore's putting one on me's afore," she told him. "And then 'e's goin' red and turnin' 'round, like. 'E's telled me to take it off, but afore I's doin it, I's turnded round and see in a mirror sitted there that I's naked. See, all my stitches go inviserable, but not me's!"
The Dark Lord began to quietly, slowly pace, as he thought about what she said. Jane's hands began to tremble a bit, and Narcissa assumed she was worried that he might want to see it for himself. After all, he had no problem exposing her naked flesh on a prior occasion, so he might very well decide to do so again.
However, the Dark Lord didn't want to upset her. She'd been providing him with some extremely helpful snippets of information of late, and after the incident with the spider she'd proven as delicate as she had presented herself from the beginning. The magical spider's venom was a rare ingredient that was quite useful in many potions, so the introduction of it into her bloodstream had been innocuous. But the pain of its fangs penetrating her flesh, combined with the trauma of being tied up while it had scaled and bitten her, had subsequently prevented her from spying for five days afterward. He'd been quite annoyed by this, but had tried not to show this in her presence, instinctively knowing that fear of his wrath wouldn't go anywhere towards helping her achieve the calm frame of mind she needed to relax and slip away.
After a moment he halted and then threw the cloak over himself.
"Can you see me, Jane?" he asked.
Jane nodded. No one else could see him, so they watched her as she watched him, her head pivoting as he silently skirted the edges of the room. Then he took off the cloak, and her eyes were fixed on the corner where he swept off the watery covering. Next, he held his wand above his head and cast a thorough Disillusionment Charm on himself, and once more asked whether she could see him. She nodded, and then he wanted her to tell him how many fingers he was holding up. A small crease formed over the center of her uni-brow, and after a minute she decided to simply mimic his display. She held up all the fingers on one hand, and three on the other. Bellatrix released a sound, half amused and half exasperated, at Jane's inability to tot up eight fingers.
He cast the counter charm over himself and then wanted to know, "Did Dumbledore ever ask to you for a strand of your hair?"
She nodded.
"Did you ever see him mix it into a thick, brownish green potion?"
She nodded, and brought a small finger to rest in the cleft of her chin for a moment before she told him, "'E's calleded it the Rolypoly Juice.'
"Polyjuice potion," he amended. "Did you watch him drink it?"
"Nah. 'E ent bovverin'. Say 'e knowed ent do nuffink."
Everyone in the room understood that when Dumbledore had added a piece of her essence into the potion, the concoction hadn't frothed and fused, signaling that the potion had undergone the alteration required in order for the transformation to be completed.
"Did he ever ask you to drink some Polyjuice Potion?"
She nodded.
"And what happened?"
She leaned over the table she stood beside, bringing her elbow up to rest on the surface of it and cupping her chin in her hand. When she answered him, her voice, as it sometimes did, lost the high-pitched, plaintive tone she usually spoke with, and she seemed so grown-up in these rare moments.
Sounding bored and ancient, Jane heaved a stark sigh and absent-mindedly said, "Nuffink." She raised her narrow shoulders in a shrug of indifferent defeat. Puncuating each 'k' with a drawn out kiss, she said, "Nuffink never didded nuffink."
He was silent for a few minutes and simply raked his ruby eyes over the dirty-faced, fractious child that grew ever more intriguing to him. Everyone watched him quietly - the tall, albino snake, licking his thin, almost non-existent mouth, as he lingeringly watched his unwitting, cagey prey. Jane had taken up a small glass phial, and, crooning a quiet, breathy tune, was idly caressing it with her small middle finger, and then began maneuvering it to refract the sunlight and cast multi-hued reflections over the worn surface of the workbench. She seemed unaware of the Dark Lord's scrutiny.
Who is she? The question came wholly formed in Cissa's mind and was then, before she'd quite consented to acknowledge the spectral query, completely gone.
"Did Dumbledore ever give you a love potion, Jane?"
Without waiting for her to answer, the Dark Lord joined her at the table and pulled a thin glass bottle from the depths of his black robes. He conjured two glasses and, uncorking the phial, poured an equal draught into each one.
Did he think having her swallow a double dose might be more effective than a mere single?
"Tell me what you smell." He offered her one of the glasses.
She brought the creamy liquid up and inhaled deeply. She shrugged. "Nuffink."
The Dark Lord brought the glass to his slits and took his own whiff. Bella and the Malfoys wondered what he smelled, but none had the courage to ask.
"What's it be smell to you?" Jane asked.
One side of his mouth flicked up and he said, "I smell magic and power and eternity."
He set the glass down beside its twin and began to whisper incantations over them. When he was finished he pushed one of them to Jane and told her to drink it.
She didn't immediately comply, though usually she drank everything they set before her without hesitating. "What's it?"
"Amorentia."
"Iffin it be worked on me, what's it doin'?"
"If you can't smell anything, then I doubt it will work. But, if by some extraordinary reason this magic manages to ensnare you, you will spend…oh, I'd say, approximately the next twenty-four hours deeply infatuated with the dashing young Draco here." And, cackling wickedly, he swept his arm toward the young man, who was skulking far in the background.
Draco flushed a deep red, and moved his eyes to his feet, scared the Dark Lord might see his vexation, and be angered by it.
Jane's skin darkened again, as well.
"Drink it, my child," he told her.
But she didn't take up the glass and mind him. She backed away instead and muttered, "Please, don' be makin' me's do that."
"Jane." It was simply her name that he said. He was looking shocked and disbelieving that she meant to eschew her typical acquiescence, and his breath began to come faster.
She looked scared, but took another step away from him, the possible infatuation, and the potential humiliation.
"Drink. It." He was speaking through clenched teeth now. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix were all watching in silent relief that he was directing this look at the mudblood and not them.
A small tear slipped down her face and her aquatic, gibbous eyes met his in a useless petition for a leniency, a minute mercy. Through quivering lips she whispered, "Please."
Bella's eyes were backlit with a manic ecstasy at Jane's disobedience. For Bellatrix Lestrange hated Jane Wellington more with each passing day. She was an ugly, lame ignoramus, not to mention a Muggle, but this wasn't what bothered Bella. Indeed, these abhorrent characteristics were not only trifling, but the only things that were saving the child from Bella's wrath. The apex of her world constantly had His eyes on Jane. He found her immunity to magic captivating, and He was finding her uses as his private spy more and more helpful as Jane's time in His service progressed. Bella wasn't looked at, sought after, made useful to him, or praised. She was nothing to Him since Potter's escape, and she was incubating her thoughts and feelings for Jane. A good portion of Bella's days were spent sifting through the girl's inner and outer being, her mannerisms and what exactly she represented to magical peoples everywhere. Bella was sorting through it all, discarding the extraneous, condensing the pertinent, and distilling her ideas and her loathing for the girl that the Dark Lord often referred to as 'My dear.' She wanted to kill her, badly. Even though Jane's presence with them afforded Bella a daily propinquity to her Master that she couldn't have achieved on her own, not at this point, she had an overwhelming need to end Jane.
Bella's strong emotion toward Jane was no secret among the Malfoys. Lucius harbored a secret hope, and fear, that Bella might lose her temper one day and kill Jane in a psychotic rage. As it was possible that he and Cissa and Draco could be blamed for such an incident, he wasn't hoping for it too fondly. On the other hand, if the Dark Lord didn't blame them, he would most likely kill Bella for her mistake, and then two of Lucius's banes would be synchronously eliminated with one fell curse. Lucius had lately considered mentioning to his master his "fears" of Bella's destructive sentiment, devoid of a tempering logic as it likely was, and suggesting her removal from his household as the most sensible recourse. But all of the easy intercourse he had been privy to in his youth had suffered a discouraging surcease since the evening his master discovered that Lucius had been careless with the book he'd been charged with safeguarding. Since then, every attempt on Lucius's part to take up a genial dialogue with him had been abruptly rebuffed with vicious insinuations and thwarting dismissals. Lucius was still trying to work out the safest method of broaching the subject as nothing he said to him, these days, seemed taken well or at face value.
"For the sake of your spying, I'm going to give you one more chance to obey me without any repercussions, my dear. But you must know that without absolute obedience I shall, spying aside, have to punish you." He held the glass out to her, but when she shook her head and took another step away from his demand and his threat, the Dark Lord pointed his wand at her. It was a visceral reaction, nothing more, and when he realized what he'd done he lowered it again, feeling rather foolish.
"Bella!"
"My Lord!" she exclaimed, bounding to him with an unrestrained show of gladness. She frequently dreamed of hurting Jane, and woke from them with a swollen labia and damp knickers.
Her eagerness was her undoing.
The Dark Lord, catching sight of her unchecked grin and her chest heaving with elated anticipation, immediately decided he needed someone with a better balance of their faculties.
He looked around the Brewery. Narcissa wasn't even an option. It would have to be either Lucius or Draco. Lucius, he knew, would be the most obvious choice, but the Dark Lord thought he should train up Draco to take a more active role in his duties as a Death Eater.
"Draco, come here."
Bella's entire countenance sagged with dashed happiness. "My Lord, please allow me to assist you," she exhorted.
"Quiet," he calmly warned her.
Her eyes now shining with repressed tears of anger and disappointment, Bella retreated to the window and turned her back on the scene in which she wouldn't be allowed to participate.
Draco, while he often hoped that Jane might drink a poison and die, or fall down a set of stairs and die, had no personal desire whatsoever to hurt a twelve year old girl.
He went to his master and then awaited further instructions.
The Dark Lord really didn't want to have to hurt her, but this insubordination couldn't pass without reprisal. It set the wrong sort of tone for all future dealings. Jane needed to understand that, without total compliance, she was worthless.
He turned his eyes on young Malfoy and said, "Don't lose control. Now slap her."
Narcissa felt that she would be sick. She also turned away from the unfolding prospect, not wanting to watch her son beating a little girl - not even Jane, whom she frequently thought needed a beating.
As Draco advanced, Jane retreated.
"Please!"
Draco took careful aim and unleashed his palm at her. She somehow managed to dodge the blow by swiftly ducking. Draco hesitated.
"Lucius, get her from behind and hold her still for him," the Dark Lord commanded impatiently. There was much he needed to get done, and Jane's little rebellion was cutting into his tight schedule.
"My lord, perhaps I should just take care of this for you," Lucius offered. The idea of slapping Jane around didn't hold a shred of appeal for him, but the idea of his son doing it didn't sit well with him, either. He thought perhaps if the Dark Lord were to leave, he and his wife could persuade the child to drink it, without resorting to pugilism.
"Just hold her! Draco needs to learn how to inflict pain, since you've obviously failed to teach him this."
"Yes, my lord," he responded resignedly, almost meekly. The Dark Lord was perfectly right. He knew this, but as he watched each piece of innocence being chipped off his son, Lucius felt that he and his wife were both losing something ineffable.
As Lucius came toward her, Jane was looking wildly around, obviously on the hunt for a place to bolt. She made a dash for the door, but Lucius easily caught her. She swung back her heavy boot and planted a hefty wallop to his shin. And damn did it hurt! He raised his hand to issue a retaliatory slap but managed to check the impulse, knowing that she would be in plenty of pain soon enough.
"Please! Please don'!" she pleaded.
Lucius held firmly to each of her scrawny arms, turned her around and managed to push her closer into the room and closer to his son.
Lucius couldn't bear the look in Draco's eyes. He was trying to look steely and apathetic, but around the edges of his dissimulation his loathing and reluctance were still discernable.
As Draco took another swipe at her, Jane began to scream and thrash. Lucius was doing his best to keep her still for him, but Draco was bewildered as to where to direct his hands. He was scared to hit her too hard, for he couldn't forget what the Dark Lord had done to Macnair when he'd punched her. Most of his blows were falling far short of their mark.
Bella was utterly disgusted by her nephew's maladroit attempts to hit the crusty mudblood. She went and stood beside the Dark Lord, crossed her arms in a simulation of boredom, and released a derisive sigh of impatience.
The Dark Lord - noticing that Lestrange had collected her emotions, and growing more and more keen to have this done with - finally told Draco to stop.
Draco retreated from the frantic child so quickly it was almost as though he had Apparated himself to the opposite side of the room. Narcissa resisted the urge to go and comfort him, knowing her solicitations would be unwanted and only make him feel worse.
The Dark Lord looked at Bella and nodded.
As she headed for the place where Lucius was holding Jane, he cautioned her, "Don't lose your control, Bellatrix, or I'll turn my wand on you."
"Yes, My Lord," she answered without pausing.
Lucius saw that his sister-in-law was unable to conceal a little smile as she came toward them. Without qualm or hesitation, she roughly grabbed the flailing Jane by the back of her hair. "Plea-!"
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
"Stop!"
She stopped.
Jane was sobbing unrestrainedly, her lips pulled back in a grimace that exposed all the metal and wires connected to her teeth.
The Dark Lord came to them with the tumbler of love potion. "Will you drink it now?"
Though her cheeks were drenched in her tears, and snot was running into her open mouth, still she shook her head.
"Again, Lestrange."
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
"Stop! Drink it!"
She shook her head again.
The Dark Lord used his wand to draw a chair in the air. It materialized, rotated mid-air a few times, and landed gently on the floor.
"Set her in it."
Lucius and Bella managed to get the struggling mudblood into it, as commanded, and the Dark Lord conjured some rope. It slithered carefully across the ground, wrapped itself gracefully around Jane's arms and legs, without capturing Lucius' and Bella's hands. Once she was bound he told them to hold her mouth open.
Why she was making such a fuss, Narcissa couldn't fathom. Of all the deadly brews she'd willingly consumed, of all the dark objects she'd almost lovingly fondled, why was the simple love potion like poison to her?
Bella and Lucius together succeeded in prying apart her jaws and the Dark Lord poured most of the Amorentia into her little maw. Some of the viscous, pearly liquid ran down her cheeks and chin as she cried and sputtered.
After a moment, seeming to realize it was all over, Jane went limp.
"Can I's go to the loo?" she asked.
"In a moment." Instead of untying her, the Dark Lord returned to the workbench where the second glass patiently awaited. "Come here Draco."
Draco, thinking that their master wanted him to pour the second glass down her throat, and not possessing a single compunction about it, stepped to the Dark Lord's side.
"Drink this," he told him, brandishing the Amorentia at him.
Draco didn't blush, didn't blink, didn't breathe.
Narcissa came towards the table where they stood. "My lord?"
"I want to see if an incantation of Jane will work on someone else."
"Surely there are more suitable people you could test it with," she countered. Lucius feared for his wife and admired her bravery.
"Perhaps Lucius?" he asked. When two patches of pink appeared over her lactescent cheeks, he chuckled.
"Drink it, Draco," he commanded.
Draco, very slowly, reached for the glass, but once it was in his hand he simply held it. He eyes darted toward where Father was standing. Just as the Dark Lord raising his wand to the wayward Jane had been a gut response, so was Draco's looking to Father. It wasn't a rational reaction; hadn't been for a long time now. But Father had always represented the epitome of Draco's safekeeping, and in this moment, he couldn't help hoping that his once-almighty father could figure out some way to save him from the mortification this was going to bring.
Lucius saw Draco glance at him and decided that, like Narcissa, he should at least make some exertion toward helping his son avoid this embarrassment. "My lord," Lucius said, "Amorentia doesn't need any infusion of the child's essence in order to be activated like Polyjuice Potion. Surely this isn't a necessary experiment."
"Surely you aren't presuming to tell me what's necessary, Lucius," the Dark Lord said coldly. At the end of his allotted tolerance for the whole trial, he used his wand to give Malfoy a magical blow.
Lucius, caught off his guard, knocked into a table and had to grab at it to keep from falling to the floor. He groaned and pulled his hand up to his cheek. It felt quite hot and it was already pulsating painfully.
"Do you need some of the same, Draco?" the Dark Lord inquired.
"Can I's go to the loo now, please?" Jane called from the chair where she remained tied.
"In a minute," the Dark Lord told her.
Realizing there was nothing else to be done, Draco brought the Amorentia to his mouth and downed the syrupy, cloying philter.