Between the bloodstain on her gown and the broken champagne flute, it was safe to assume the evening had gone down hill.
Cassia stared out into the expansive gardens that surrounded Malfoy Manor. A gentle breeze carried the scent of roses as she sat alone, stretching her aching feet within the confines of her stilettos. The sparkling wine kissed her mind, convincing her the body she had left behind was no big deal. Cassia pinched her thigh, as if the small pain would make her infinitely more sober. She swore, discovering she had guzzled so much shimmering champagne that her thigh was, in fact, numb. The thick air of early June only heightened her intoxication.
"Cassia Ambrose!"
She turned, head swirling, to find Mira Zabini. Not an ounce of beauty had escaped her since she had last seen her, five years ago, when Cassia had last stepped foot inside the Malfoy Manor. Truthfully, she had hoped to never find herself here again. She had hoped the graduation party would have been the nail in her high-society coffin.
"My darling girl! Why are you sitting alone on the garden stairs?" She twirled sparkling champagne within her coupe glass and laughed lyrically to the sky.
"I just needed a breath of fresh air. I'm more than well!" Cassia lied. She quickly stood and adjusted her dress, pulling up on the strapless, boned bodice. Layers of pale pink silk chiffon draped tightly to her figure and cascaded to her feet. She walked up a few steps of the grand staircase carved of grey stone, revealing the high slit of her dress. Cassia plastered a wondrous smile upon her face as she reached the landing. Marvelous, towering French doors of the gilded manor showcased the party beyond. The laugh of strangers and old friends hummed sweetly under the light of a waxing moon.
Mira gasped dramatically with a hand on her bosom. She snapped her fingers high in the air as she gandered over her shoulder, calling for Cassia's mother. Mira Zabini then motion for Cassia to spin. "Dagna! What a beautiful woman she's metamorphosed into!" Mira yelled vivaciously to her mother.
Cassia compared herself to a hideous bug instead of a graceful butterfly as she stumbled around in a circle drunkenly. Halfway through her shuffle, she noticed Mira's son, Blaise, and Theodore Nott howling with uncivilized laughter at her expense. Cassia grimaced. She had hoped to spend the majority of the party unnoticed. She had attended all seven years of schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry alongside them. She had worn the Slytherin crest proudly, as she was both ambitious and quite resourceful. she also held an additional, rare yet beautifully hideous trait — murderous.
Cassia was a black-flame born witch. She was destined from her dark birth as she was pulled from the womb with black fingertips to take three male lives — one for the maiden, one for the mother, and one for the crone. The Triple Goddess had blessed her coven over a millennia ago with the touch of immortality, but the blacker shade of magic came with costs — prices Cassia wasn't too hung up about. A small cost was currently slumped in the bushes as she smiled brightly.
Dagna Ambrose, both her mother and The Matron of their coven, sauntered over and linked elbows with Mira wearing a proud smile as she eyed Cassia. Dagna had admired how Mira had managed to successfully kill seven husbands in the pursuit of wealth and power. She had decided two decades ago that while Mira was only a regular witch, she would make a fantastic friend. The widows were knit tightly, gossiping at the ballet between the annoyed hushes of strangers and running up bar tabs at the Midnight Menagerie.
"When I was at the ripe age of twenty-three, I was already in the midst of my first marriage, you know." Mira tapped the center of Cassia's forehead, urging her to think more wisely ,to wed a wealthy man to murder already. She fought an eye roll with the clenching of her teeth. While not wedded, Cassia already had two down and one to go. She only needed the lives of three men to complete the immortality ritual.
"I am working on it, aunt Mira. I assure you!" Cassia wore a sweet, yet devious grin. Who knows, maybe she would marry her third sacrifice if it didn't raise too many suspicions.
Her mother's eyes drifted to the bloodstain on her dress. "Cassia, darling, are you hurt?" She asked, brows furrowing with worry. A slight note of vengeance carried in her tone.
Cassia smiled and shook her head. She only needed Mira to buy into her foolish act. "No! I found a splendid bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon stashed in the-"
"No! Darling, you're bleeding!" Mira reached for her arm. She took it and with a twist, revealed a long cut by her elbow. It dribbled crimson blood towards her wrist.
"Blaise! Come quickly!" Mira called. As she stepped away to call for her son, Cassia took the opportunity to pull her own mother close. Dagna stumbled as Cassia tugged on her elbow harshly.
"I've killed another man," she whispered into her ear. Cassia's lips pressed into a thin line of concern. Her mother eased from her grasp and swirled her half-empty wine glass as her eyes alighted with joy.
"How fabulous!" Dagna exclaimed, placing a hand over her heart. She lifted her chin proudly. It was a grand show of strength that the future Matron was on track to complete the ritual before the sweet age of twenty-five.
"No. Mum, I've killed him — just now," she murmured swiftly. She held up her bleeding arm as proof. Dagna narrowed her eyes in confusion, trying to piece together why this wasn't a celebratory occasion. Cassia puffed out her cheeks in frustration.
"It wasn't planned! I stuffed the body in the rose bushes!" Cassia gripped the skin of her forehead before pointing wildly. "Over there!" Dagna covered her mouth as a drunken cackle threatened to escape.
"Mum! This is serious! I think he might have been important! What do I do?" She screamed in a panicked whisper.
Her mother straightened her posture as her exuberant smile slipped. She grinned politely as Mira strolled back to them, dragging her son along. Cassia still wore a weary expression as Blaise eyed her curiously. He had aged nicely over the years. His high cheek bones had always made him attractive but the hollowing of his cheeks had accentuated them further. He was particularly handsome under the moonlight, as well. It casted deliciously upon his dark skin and complimented the touch of gold in his eyes.
"I'll handle it," her mother quickly whispered as they approached.
Mira reached for her injured arm once again to show her son. "Please, take her to be healed," Mira ordered to Blaise. He sighed with annoyance and reached for Cassia's arm to escort her inside She slapped his hand away before pushing past him, heading towards the French doors. He quickly fell into step with her.
"Cassia," he sang in her ear. She ignored his jest with a small grin. He strode in front of her and halted before they reached the doors. He looked down upon her wounded arm and flashed his gaze to meet her eyes. "I don't believe it would be in your best interest to parade through the party in such a state." He tilted his head with a lopsided smirk. "Shall we take the scenic route? Much more private, Doll."
Cassia hesitated, stepping back but holding his gaze as he extended his arm to her. She couldn't be sure what his exact intentions were, but either nothing good or something spectacular usually happened when a man wore his current expression. She would either end up running for her life or find herself naked tumbling within a man's sheets — she was willing to bet the odds tonight.
She took Blaise's arm with steeled eyes. He nodded and led her to a more private entrance on the far right of the manor. Blaise held open the glass door. The sound of the party beyond no longer reached her ears as Blaise led her through a small hall and into a expansive drawing room with an endless table carved of black wood. Unlike the rest of the manor, this room was dark, forgotten. The dust collected high above on the silver serpentine chandeliers. She swallowed hard in the somber air. She couldn't be sure, but she wondered if Voldemort had once condemned countless lives to death in this decaying room and that's why the Malfoys had chosen to neglect it.
"Come," Blaise whispered, his sullen eyes confirming the worst. He swung open an ornately carved wooden door and held it with his back for her to enter the servant's quarters beyond. The soft glow of the nearly empty kitchen put Cassia at ease, washing away the thoughts of the distant war. A few house elve's lingered in the back, folding napkins. Blaise paid them no mind as he reached up to grab a healing kit from the endless stack of wooden shelves. Cassia quickly inspected her surroundings, although she wasn't worried. She could steal his life with the brush of a hand if it came to blows. The kitchen was built efficaciously for the finest chefs. It was curious that this kitchen was empty with a raging party down the halls.
"This kitchen is only for dinner parties," Blaise mumbled, reading the question on her face as he set down the healing kit.
"Up," he ordered, snapping his fingers.
The cold metal sent a spiral of ice up her spine as she pushed herself onto the kitchen island. She said nothing as Blaise wiped her blood away with a cloth. He had warmed it using magic casted with a whisper.
"You seem to know your way around," Cassia remarked quietly, needing to break the awkward air. He didn't smile.
"I've spent a lot of time here, with Draco." His eyes reached hers with a mischievous gleam. "Have you seen the birthday boy yet?" A grin finally broke as Cassia snorted.
"No," she answered. It was a ridiculous notion. She was only here due to unfortunate timing. Her and her mother had ran into Narcissa Malfoy at the seamstress, Madam Malkin. Narcissa had insisted she accompany her mother to her son's birthday celebration. He was twenty-three, but Narcissa was privy to find any cause to celebrate nowadays according to her mother.
"I'm sure he would love for you to wish him well," Blaise chuckled as he took out his wand.
"We hardly spoke in school." Cassia rolled her eyes as Blaise healed her gash with the stroke of his wand. It glided smoothly down her arm. Pink skin was left in its wake.
"I know." Blaise casted his eyes upwards to her champagne-kissed cheeks. "You look disastrous in that dress — his walking nightmare. I might chuck you at him myself when he violates the law with an improper use of magic once again. Makes my life fucking hell with the paperwork.," Blaise mumbled, shaking his head.
"You work for the ministry now?" Cassia asked as if it was incredulous.
Blaise nodded his head and slammed the healing kit shut. "Indeed." He threw it back on the shelf and turned. He leaned against the opposite counter, casually throwing his hands in his pockets as if they were meant to stay a while. "And what are you doing these days?"
Cassia sighed, knowing the truth was off the table. "Sticking around it seems. Bought a cute place in London." She held up her hands and wriggled her fingers as to insinuate a cheerful sparkle. "You're looking at a soon-to-be auror — auroress?"
Blaise threw his head back and cackled. "Unbelievable, my luck." He was nearly devilish as he rubbed his hands down his cheeks. "Should I have Draco pack an extra lunch?" He laughed at his own joke. Cassia angled her head with a raised brow in confusion.
"He's an auror, doll." Blaise winked with an appetite for torment.
— — — — — — — — — — —
Gwen Wolfgrove always carried a shovel within her enchanted handbag for emergencies. And this — she wiped the sweat off her brow — was a worst case scenario.
She eyed the body slumped against the wide trunk of a tree. She had dragged it out of the rose bushes, through the maze of a garden, and across the meadow into the sleeping forest.
Where Cassia had gone was a complete mystery, but it was better this way. If Cassia was missing for the majority of the evening, it would only raise suspicion if the body was eventually found.
Gwen through the shovel to the side. She breathed a heavy breath as she inspected her work. The grave was perfectly circular, representing the fullest of moons. It was more shallow than she preferred, but she was also short on time. She needed to return to the party within a reasonable window.
She rolled the body across the dirt and into the grave. It landed with a harsh thud. Gwen always worried irrationally that they might come back to life in a sudden fit of rage. She peered down the hole just to make sure he was still good as dead.
Gwen sighed, shaking her head at the hack job. Cassia had been sloppy — panicked. He was properly emaciated of soul but the blood letting had been grisly. Cassia had managed to carve the sacrificial symbol upon his neck but it was jagged, almost imperfect. It was less than ideal, but it would have to do. Gwen just hoped for Cassia's sake that the goddess would accept the kill. It was growing difficult to get away with multiple murders in the modern age.
With the final pat of dirt on the grave, Gwen placed the shovel back inside her purse. She came to kneel before the raw mound of earth. She prayed to the moon as to summon its goddess. Her eyes glowed silver with the necromantic chant and the tips of her fingers blackened as she channelled life and death in perfect balance.
When she finished the devoted prayer, she stood amongst the sudden of rot of a tree and blackened grass. She wiped away the dirt from her new dress. Realizing it was a lost cause, she took out her wand and casted a cleaning spell to erase the stains. Satisfied with her work, she headed back to the party to tell The Matron it was done. She hummed in the sweet light of her ruler.
"Good riddance, bitch," she muttered with a wave behind her.
Somewhere in the maze of pristine hedges, trickling fountains and endless rose bushes, Gwen had taken a wrong turn. She hurried along the gravel pathways, shoes in hand, eager to find her way back to the party so she could show her face. The uneven ground was the lesser of evil compared to her pinching heels. She would slip them on once she returned to civilization again. She took a right turn then cut left, focusing on star to lead her out of the maze.
"Fuck," she mumbled in irritation as the hedges spat her out to the edge of the pond. Luckily, she could cut right and walk alongside the shore until she came to the long straight center, where the grand staircase into the manor was located. She couldn't be paid to put her heels on just yet with the trek ahead of her. She kept her head down, focusing on the ground to ensure she didn't step on any rocks.
"You look like shit," a voice called.
She stilled. Her head shot up as if the goddess herself had spoken, but it was only a man. The shadow of the moon kept him concealed as he blew smoke through his lips, head upturned. He turned to her as the silence continued. He laughed as if pleased that he had made her nervous or uncomfortable. He stepped forward into the light that casted her brilliantly.
"You burying a body, love?" Theodore Nott asked with a teasing smile.
He was only jesting, but the remark had goosebumps rising. Gwen stumbled to find words. Theo's smile widened and his brow lowered in curiosity.
What exactly are you doing out here?" He stepped forward, on the brink of a polite distance. He towered over her as he removed the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke to the moon.
Gwen composed herself and set her shoulders back. "Something like that," she quipped. She reminded herself that she still carried the touch of death even if she could never be immortal like her sisters. She couldn't be so easily intimated, but she was nervous. He made her nerves light with the promise of trouble.
He raised a brow curiously, pushing for a true answer, not realizing he had just received it. Gwen tilted her head, ready for the lie to leave her lips with ease.
"Just out for a walk. Had a light quarrel, with my boyfriend." She shrugged casually, heels still in hand. He stepped closer, dropping his eyes to her lips and letting his smile fall. Gwen stopped breathing as his cologne drifted to the edge of her mouth. His dark waves shone black as smoke from a raging fire in the dark.
"Your boyfriend?" He asked lowly, voice like silk. She almost believed that he knew she was lying. She had used the same tactic before. His hooded eyes bore into her. She pushed the flash of a thought quickly from her mind — the one that beckoned the question of what shade of blue his eyes might be in proper lighting.
Gwen stepped back. "My boyfriend," she stated sharply, doubling down on the lie with a nod.
He grinned widely with delight as if wondering if he should believe her, as well. As if contemplating if like truly called to like. Takes one to know one — this was dangerous. She shrugged innocently. "I should be heading back now," Gwen blurted dismissively. He nodded as she turned, ready to walk as quickly as possible.
"Gwen," he called, reaching for her arm. Electricity found new currents as he gripped her shoulder gently. She fought the urge to touch him with the death magic that coursed through her veins, or worse, slap him.
He leaned down behind her and she froze, panicked. Theodore Nott was the last wizard the coven needed sniffing around. He was brutal, clever, and had enough men at his disposal to potentially harm her sisters.
"Tell your boyfriend, that I quite like you," he murmured above her ear. She didn't have to turn to see his smirk. He pushed a hand against her bare lower back, sending her forward, back to the party. She swayed back towards the party, masking her inner hysteria.
Gwen refused to look back until she was a safe distance away. She hurried up the stairs, She stole a glance through the waterfall of her hair as she leaned over to put her heels on.
He was gone. In his absence, Gwen realized in all the years she had known of him at school, she hadn't once introduced herself — told him her name.