"You missed the wine stain."

Fleur grimaced but moved to scrub at the appointed spot. If she ignored it, she'd earn a kick in the ribs- not from her current watcher, but Bertha Jorkins would find someone else to do it for her. She didn't fear the pain, but she'd still prefer the absence of it once she was finally allowed to sleep. Her hands were crinkled from the wet sponge and her knees were aching from the constant crawling, but she made no noise of complaint. They'll have to kill me before I beg for relief, she thought, working her elbows even harder to scrub the blood from the floorboards- or, as Jorkins always called it, a 'wine stain.' Whoever their most recent guest had been, they had gotten a bit overzealous in the questioning.

She just hoped it wasn't from Lily.

"Well done!" Jorkins said, nodding in approval. "Come- you'll need to dust the rooms on the second floor. Can't have this wonderful home fall into disgust, can we?" She chuckled and led the way. "No, my dear husband would not like that, would he?"

Fleur used her forearm to wipe a bit of sweat from her forehead and tossed the sponge back into the soapy bucket. Then, she rose to follow. She found she couldn't hate Bertha Jorkins like she could the other residents of the manor. She'd seen the glassy look in the woman's eyes, and she'd recognized it for what it was: the Imperius Curse. If Fleur could, she would free the woman, if she ever got the chance.

That didn't excuse the others, though, and the limp in her leg as she stumbled along after Jorkins was a constant reminder of their cruelty. They'd healed her broken leg after that dreadful night, but not fully. They left her with the limp as a reminder of what would happen if she disobeyed, and she'd likely have it the rest of her life, unless she wanted to get a new one made- but that cost money and required an expert in Veela anatomy. She could bear with the limp, for now. It was the other part of their torment that bothered her more.

They had her dressed in little more than a large sack, as if she was a common house elf. It covered her important bits but left the rest of her bare to the chill of the manor, as well to the gazes of anyone she happened to come across. Bertha Jorkins never seemed to notice that she wasn't an elf at all- perhaps they even had her charmed to see her as one- but that didn't extend to the other frequent visitors to the manor. Fleur was just thankful Voldemort had commanded that no one but Jorkins be allowed alone with her. But she also wished he hadn't put her under the command of Lucius Malfoy.

"You are allowed to live," Lucius Malfoy had told her that first night, as he tossed the 'clothing' at her. "But blood as filthy as yours isn't even worthy of cleaning my floors. You may thank Black for this opportunity."

Jorkins continued watching her as she cleaned and worked through the long hours of the day. She was permitted no magic; she had to serve on hand and knees, as befit one of her lowly station. She was less than a house elf, in that regard. The only chore she wasn't set upon doing was the cooking, lest she find a way to poison it. That was left to the other servant of the house, and the only other one allowed alone with her.

Finally, they were done with her for the day- for the most part. She still had her final task ahead of her, but it was a short one, compared to the rest of it. With a mindless hum, Bertha Jorkins led her up towards the fourth floor. Lucius Malfoy's study was up at the top, right below the entrance to the attic. That was the one place Fleur wasn't allowed to go.

It was also where they'd taken Lily, when they were separated from each other a week ago- or, at least, she was almost sure it had been a week ago. The first few nights were hazy, and it was often hard to tell the time accurately. What she did know for sure was that she'd been put to work seven times total.

Lucius Malfoy's study was impeccably well-kempt, and Fleur took a strange sort of pride in that. It was the first and last chamber she was required to clean every day. In the morning, there was little to do, unless Lucius Malfoy was up into the late hours of the morning. In the night, she'd have to sort the shelves, dust, clean the rug, wash the curtains, fluff the cushions, burn some incense, and then, finally, kneel in front of her 'Master' and beg the courtesy to rest.

She'd yet to do that part, of course, but the pain was worth the act of defiance.

Lucius Malfoy would always arrive as she was finishing up. He was the only Death Eater that didn't wear a mask in her presence, and the only one whose name she knew. He would say nothing. He would stare at her expectantly, his hands perched on the long cane with the silver, serpent figurehead that contained his wand. His cruel, blue eyes would scan her figure, and his mouth would sneer in disgust when he saw the grime caking her.

The sneer would turn to blows when she didn't kneel, just as it did on this night, with Bertha Jorkins humming happily in the corner until he was done.

"Your services will not be needed tomorrow," he said, wiping his glove off on her uniform. "I will be entertaining guests, and the sight of one such as you would offend them."

When he said something like that, she was supposed to apologize for having dirty, tainted blood. She'd yet to do so. She loved her grandmother, and she loved her heritage. She'd rather die than besmirch it. Usually, it earned her a taste of the Cruciatus. Today, though-

"Get out of my sight," Lucius said instead.

"Go to 'ell," Fleur said, spitting blood on the carpet as soon as he was out of sight. Bertha Jorkins didn't seem to notice that, either- she took her wand from her robes and aimed it at Lucius's large, exquisite desk, levitating it into the air. Underneath it was a small hatch with a small hole for a handle. In a few quick strides, wand still aimed at the hovering furniture, Jorkins crossed the room and pulled it open.

"There you are!" she said, voice still hollowly happy. "Have a wonderful night, darling, and enjoy your day off! You've earned it!"

Jorkins watched her as Fleur crawled towards the hatch and slipped into the dimness inside. As soon as it was closed above her, she heard the dull thud of the desk being set back above it.

The small room between floors was meant for house elves, so that, during their rest, they could always be close enough to their Master to attend to his needs. Lucius Malfoy had ordered it cleared out her first night here. Now, it was hers, and hers alone. The ceiling was too low for her to stand, although she could sit if she felt like it, and to move through it, she had to crawl. She had a small mattress in the corner with no pillow, but it at least had a blanket to go with it. It was scratchy and rough, but thick enough to keep the chill of the night out. She had to sleep curled in a ball, or her legs would rest on hard wood instead of fluff, and they'd poke out of her only source of warmth.

She also had a single lantern that she kept near the mattress, and she had to search with her hands extended into the darkness to find it. When she did, a simple turn of the key would light it. It needed no oil, but the light was barely enough to see what was around her. The last of her measly possessions was a small, wooden tub in the corner farthest from her bed. It was meant for house elves to bathe in it, but even if the tub was big enough, the room wasn't for her to climb in. She had to shed her woolen shift and scrub at her skin with a rag in order to wash. Her one visitor of the day would arrive when she began, and, when she was finished, he would return with the same sack, now washed and pressed.

Kreacher would say nothing to her, though he did mumble to himself when he came. She welcomed the sound of his voice none-the-less. At least it was something to focus on.

"Kreacher must wash the linen of a horrible creature," he said as he laid her shift near the tub and wandered towards her bed. "Oh, what would Mistress think of poor Kreacher and how far he has fallen?"

Fleur dried herself off as best she could and pulled her shift back over her legs, tying the ends of it tight around her neck. She considered saying something to Kreacher, but she'd learned better than that on his second visit. If she tried, Kreacher was supposed to take her blanket for the night, and she would have to beg Lucius Malfoy to return it to her. She was not going through that, so she listened to Kreacher's mumblings while he did his own work.

"A Veela is worse than a Mudblood, Mistress would say," Kreacher grumbled as he stripped her mattress. "The blood of a monster is worse than the blood of dirt, yes, yes it is. Poor, poor Kreacher."

Kreacher would wash her blanket in the same water Fleur used to bathe, only heating the stuff after she was done. She wasn't allowed that simple pleasure. Then, he'd leave to set it to dry, and bring her back a fresh one. Then, he'd leave again, and she wouldn't see him until the next time she was required to wash- and that was only after she was required to work. If she didn't have to work, she'd spend an unknown amount of time, waiting in silence and planning how to escape.

Only, this time, while she was crawling towards her mattress, she heard the sound of multiple footsteps above her.

Whatever Lucius Malfoy did or said inside of his study, she could hear as if she was in the same room, but whatever noise she made was silenced. "Servants are to obey, not to be heard," he'd said when, on the third night, she'd attempted to shout out when he was entertaining Ministry officials during the evening. Kreacher reported on her, and she didn't like to think about what happened once the guests were gone.

She wished she had her blanket, now, so she could curl up under it and try to sleep. She was so tired. She pulled her knees as tight as she could and squeezed her eyes closed. If she was lucky, she'd fall asleep before they began speaking. She couldn't stand knowing help was so close and she could do nothing to alert them.

Instead, she heard the desk being lifted from above them, followed by the sound of the hatch opening. A small pang of terror went through her, but then she heard someone being shoved down into the room. None of the Death Eaters would sully themselves by entering her chamber, they'd call her out if they wanted her. Fleur lifted her head to look just as the desk was set above their exit once more.

A Death Eater was on the ground, pushing themselves up onto their elbows. Their hood was lowered, revealing a bald head, but the skull mask still covered their face. Even so, Fleur could tell they were covered in a sweat, and, judging by the shaking in their body and limbs, they were also deathly ill. Fleur could hear them grunt as the strength in their limbs gave out again and sent them back to the floor, and only then did she realize it was a woman.

"Lily?" Fleur said, her mind racing.

It can't be, she thought, crawling off her bed and towards the struggling girl. The Death Eater looked up when she noticed the noise coming towards her. Fleur couldn't see her face, but she could sense the fear in her posture. And then her muscles relaxed, and Fleur could hear the relief in her voice.

"Fleur," Lily said, pulling her mask off her face. "Thank Merlin you're alright."

Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but Kreacher spoke first.

"The filth servant isn't allowed to speak, Lucius Malfoy said so," Kreacher said, wringing water from Fleur's blanket. "Oh, what would Mistress would think, Kreacher serving these wretches- but Narcissa Black demands it, and she is Kreacher's new Mistress, he mustn't forget that, no."

"Kreacher?" Lily asked, her head slowly turning towards him, her voice raspy and tired. "What are you doing here?" She tried to sit up, this time with Fleur's help, only for her head to hit the ceiling.

She's gotten taller, Fleur realized. She'll have more trouble moving down here than I do.

"Narcissa Malfoy's son is here," Kreacher said, his little chest puffing out proudly. "And Kreacher must serve him as if the Malfoy were a Black, because Mistress demands it."

Lily looked like she wanted to question it further, but she said nothing. She just kept staring at him as sweat crept down her forehead and neck. She flinched away when Fleur reached out to run a hand over the top of her head. It was rough with stubble, but it had clearly been shaved away recently. Likely their first night here, if Fleur had to guess.

"Your hair," she said in French, deciding the next day's punishment would be worth speaking to Lily tonight. "What did they do to you?"

Lily blinked at her slowly, a delirious fuzziness in her eyes. For a moment, Fleur thought she had no idea what was even happening.

"Oh, it's nothing," Lily said, smiling sadly. "It's just hair. It'll grow back, watch." She ran a hand over her scalp and, true to her word, Fleur watched as red locks sprang from her head and flowed down to her shoulders. "There. Nice and pretty again."

That much was true. Aside from the sickness that seemed to be running its course, it was clear to Fleur that Lily had been treated much better than herself. Her face was full and well fed, and Fleur could smell the hint of perfume. It was different from the usual kind Lily wore, always full of fruit and citrus and with a sporty energy. This was more elegant, like a true pureblood, well-bred woman, all soft flowers and regality.

"Lily," Fleur whispered, leaning in closer to her. "What happened? What did they do to you?"

"I don't know," Lily said slowly, her hand clutching at the scar on her forehead. "I- everything's hazy, after I- after I took the Mark."

As she said it, Lily grabbed at her left forearm, a look of defeat on her face.

"How long has it been?" she asked. Her voice was drowsy and thick, like she was barely maintaining her consciousness. Fleur ran another hand over her face and forehead. Lily almost flinched again, but she held steady.

She is too hot, Fleur thought. How is she still alive?

"A week," Fleur answered. She glanced around, finding that the room was empty, and Kreacher had gone with her blanket. "You should get some rest. Take off your robe."

Fleur had to help her out of it. She'd almost been expecting Lily to be wearing her uniform from the Third Task under it, but, instead, it was a plain, dark dress, all made of silk. Lily look disgusted by it, but she said nothing, and Fleur didn't ask. She didn't believe that Lily truly remembered nothing, but if the girl wanted to pretend, Fleur was happy to let her. There was one thing that bothered her, though.

The brace that had once been on her knee was gone, leaving only pale, white skin. Fleur remembered the Umbridge woman forcing her to remove it before the First Task, and, when she asked later, she was told Lily had suffered a catastrophic injury in her third year that required her to wear the magically supportive medical item at all times. So why was it gone?

Once she noticed, it occurred to her that that was what had Lily so disgusted, and that theory was only reinforced when Lily poked at the joint, mumbling something to herself that Fleur couldn't quite catch. Still, she said nothing- and Fleur continued to allow her silence.

Fleur took her by the hand and helped her crawl towards the bed in the corner. They might be able to both fit on it, but it would be tight and uncomfortable, and, right now, Fleur was certain the other girl needed rest far more than she did. Lily didn't seem to notice that Fleur placed her and her alone onto it. She was too busy grimacing at her right hand, the one that Fleur was holding on to, and the same one she'd used to prod at her knee. Fleur gave her a little squeeze for reassurance, and then ran another hand over her face, smiling as kindly as she could.

"Sleep," she said, kissing her on her blazing forehead. Far too hot, she thought again. It almost hurt her lips to touch her skin. It is like a fire is burning inside of her. Just being around her made Fleur uncomfortably warm- at the very least, she supposed, she wouldn't need that blanket tonight, so long as she laid near Lily's vicinity.

She almost expected Lily to argue, but the girl clearly needed it. As soon as Fleur moved away, leaving her alone on the mattress, the strength seemed to go from her. Her head drooped to the side, and she was snoring before Fleur could drape the thick, dark robe over her.

We will speak tomorrow, Fleur thought. For now, she should rest. Fleur would use this time to figure out a method for them both to escape.

But Lily kept sleeping. Fleur sat at her side, briefly listening to the sound of Lucius Malfoy conversing with his guests (Americans, by the sound of it, but they didn't linger in the room long enough for Fleur to determine their business). Occasionally, she would make noises in her sleep, or thrash around in some nightmare, and Fleur would whisper soothing words to her, hold her hands, kiss her forehead or cheek, or do anything she could think of to calm the girl down. The only thing that seemed to work fully was when Fleur laid on as much of the mattress as she could and just held the other girl in her arms, while the fire inside Lily burnt itself out. Once, for a terrible, nauseating moment, Fleur could have sworn she stopped breathing, but just a couple seconds later, Lily was gasping for air and mumbling something that Fleur didn't understand.

Fleur had no idea how long they were left alone. Kreacher didn't come with a meal, or even so much as a glass of water for the ill girl, and the only way Fleur had to guess at the time were the increased rumblings in her stomach. Fleur supposed that was to be her punishment for speaking with Lily.

She was wrong, as she found out when Lucius Malfoy himself arrived untold hours later to call her from their chamber. The beating was worth it, though, even if she'd wished she could have gotten more information from Lily to earn it. She didn't wake up until late that night, when Fleur was eating a bit of stale bread, another loaf and tankard of water sitting by her, in case Lily became well enough to eat.

"What did they do to you?" Lily asked, her voice full of fury. She was still coated in sweat from her fever, but the exhaustion, at least, was gone from her eyes.

"Nothing I did not earn," Fleur said proudly.

"Fleur-"

"I will gladly take all they give me," Fleur interrupted sharply. "I do not fear them, Lily- where did they take you?"

"I don't know," Lily said, rubbing at her scar again. "Somewhere- the attic, I think? There were- I don't know."

Fleur didn't want to push her too hard, although she was certain Lily was hiding the truth from her. She could hear her muttering again, could swear she heard the words 'shut up.' If that was meant for her, though, Lily was foolish to think she'd sit here wallowing in silence.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asked, taking another bite of her bread. "During your fever, you were-"

"Nothing," Lily said quickly, a panicked look in her eyes. "Just a nightmare."

"But what was it-"

"Nothing!" Lily insisted again. "I- I never remember my dreams. Never have. Could have been anything."

A lie, Fleur knew, but she had no idea why. Why would she want to hide her dreams? She wanted to say more, to get more information out of her, but Lily wouldn't respond to her next few questions, and Fleur gave up and settled into a restless sleep instead, once she'd made sure Lily had eaten and drank.

The next morning, she was back to work, and Lily was gone when Fleur returned to their shared little chamber near the attic. It was days before Fleur saw her again- collapsed in the middle of the floor, delirious and mumbling and burning with fire once more. Fleur tried to keep her cool, then, using her linen shift as a makeshift rag and dipping it into the tub water.

"It's alright," Fleur told the fretful, slumbering girl. "I will get us out of here." She still had no idea how, though, and, the next day, Lily was gone again, despite not even having the strength to speak.

She was back that night, though, blessedly, although someone shoved her down into the entrance far after Fleur had been let in.

"Lily!" Fleur said, immediately moving to her side. "Are you alright?" She was still burning with fever, and, based on the look on the girl's face, it seemed that even the slightest movement for her was agony.

"He left me," she mumbled, and Fleur wondered if Lily even knew where she was.

"Who did?" Fleur asked, starting to drag Lily towards the mattress. "Lily? Who left you?"

"He left me," was all she said in response, and she kept repeating it as she fell asleep.

Lily was conscious again when Fleur returned the next day, but she still refused to answer any questions Fleur posed at her. And when Fleur proposed the idea of escaping-

"There is no escape," she'd mumbled, eating a spoonful of the porridge Kreacher had brought for them that night.

"We must at least try," Fleur argued, her own meal already finished.

"Nobody is coming for us," Lily said, still speaking in English, her eyes kept low to her bowl of sustenance. "We're stuck here."

"If nobody is coming, then that means we must do it ourselves," Fleur said. She'd hoped it'd bring Lily some much needed confidence- instead, it made the other girl refuse to speak to her any further, although Fleur could hear her still whispering to herself in the corner.

The next time she saw her, she was with Him.

The Dark Lord was at table with Lucius Malfoy and his clone of a son, the Imperiused wife sitting next to them and humming as if she was completely alone. Neither blond man was saying a thing, but that seemed to suit Lord Voldemort well. Fleur kept her own eyes to the floor and kept scrubbing at the tiles with her little sponge. Lily was sitting at Voldemort's side, but the courtesy of silence that the rest were given did not seem to extend to her. She had stacks of books and papers in front of her, and she had to read them out loud. Occasionally, Voldemort would ask a question, to test her understanding of something. Lily would answer, her voice shaking each time.

It is like he is teaching her, Fleur thought. Like he is a professor at her school. But why?

She didn't ask, and she found out what made Lily so fearful when she finally got an answer wrong, as well as why she was forced to serve in the same room.

"Lorraine the Strange was named such because of her fondness for other women, Black," Voldemort said in a cold, emotionless voice. "Something you should know all about- the 1400s were not exactly an accepting time, even in our society. She even fathered several children, supposedly: Geoffrey the Brazen, Linda the Spinner, Gwendoline the Merciless, and many other individuals who failed to leave their own name on history. You would do well to remember that in the future. Lucius."

"Please," Lily said suddenly, chewing at her lip, her eyes glancing at Fleur. "I'm sorry, I'll-"

"Do better next time," Voldemort said with a nod. "Lucius. Do it."

Fleur didn't get the time to process that Lucius Malfoy was aiming his wand at her before she was writhing on the ground, screaming in pain as the Cruciatus wracked through her.

"Make another error," Voldemort said during the second wave of screams, "and we will tie the harlot down to a chair and allow you to watch as Creepers grow up her legs and suck the lifeforce from her bloodstream. Now, come- our Snakeweed needs pruning, and you are in dire need of an Herbology lesson."

Fleur couldn't move the next day, she was in so much pain, but she was in luck, as the Minister of Magic was visiting his good friend Lucius Malfoy, and they had no need of her. She spent the time sleeping and trying to move as little as possible. It wasn't until well into the night that she realized Lily wasn't with her.

She was gone for a long time before Fleur next saw her, when she was shoved into her room in the middle of the night, burning of another fever. Fleur had to drag her over to the mattress once more, listening to her muttering and crying.

"The cup," she muttered, over and over again, as if she was trying desperately not to forget something. "The cup. She died for the cup. The cup."

She was still burning with a fever when Fleur returned the next night, this time repeating the word "please" and "shut up" constantly. She went silent in the middle of the night, and, briefly, Fleur worried that she'd passed in her sleep. Instead, her fever was finally broken, and she was breathing quietly, although her face still occasionally twitched from whatever nightmare she was experiencing.Fleur sat by her, gently stroking the clammy hair on her forehead, and singing an old song her mother had used for her when she was a child. That seemed to calm her; her breathing became steadier so long as Fleur was near.

Soon, Fleur thought. I'll find a way to get us out of here soon, Lily. I promise.

The next day, Lily was back at her History lessons. The Malfoys were gone, with Quirinius Quirrell in their place in case Lily needed correction. He was no longer as sickly and pale as he had been on that dreadful night, and he even had the beginnings of hair on the top of his head. His eyes, though- they glinted with an eagerness that made Fleur feel sick every time they came upon her. Fleur thanked the gods that Lily managed to get through her lesson with no mistakes.

"Why is he teaching you?" she finally asked that night, when she found Lily already in their chamber upon her return. She was reading from a thick book, of all things, although Fleur couldn't quite catch the title of it in the dimness of their room.

"I don't know," Lily said. Again, Fleur didn't believe it, when Lily failed to meet her eyes, but she didn't press the issue.

"What are you reading?" Fleur said instead, sitting next to her on the mattress.

"History," Lily said, not looking up from her book. "He- he wants me to learn about Gellert Grindelwald."

Grindelwald? Fleur thought. She didn't mean to laugh- but that seemed to surprise Lily enough to make her look up.

"What?" she asked in English, a curious look in her eyes.

"It seems 'e is jealous," Fleur said in the same language, brushing a lock of hair from Lily's eyes. "Grindelwald almost won his war, no? While zis 'Lord Voldemor'' has accompleeshed nozing of ze sort. Our leettle 'Dark Lord' wants to learn from a real one."

Lily didn't seem to think it was quite as funny as Fleur did, but perhaps she was explaining it poorly- her English was limited, after all- but when Fleur laughed again, this time, Lily's lips threatened to curl into a smile.

That is enough, Fleur thought, laughing again, if only to improve the mood of the room further.

"I'm sorry," Lily said quietly, once the laughter had died, her eyes turning back to her book. "It's my fault you're here."

"It is your fault I am still alive, yes," Fleur agreed, patting her on the hand. "And, for that, I am thankful- and to show my thanks, I will be getting us out of here."

"Fleur," Lily said slowly, the fingers of her right hand playing with the corner of the page, "I don't think we're getting out of here."

"Trust me," Fleur said, kissing her on the cheek and taking the book from her, spreading it open across her own lap. "I will figure something out. For now, what say we do a bit of light reading together, no? I, for one, am sick of our only entertainment being that foul little elf."

This time, Lily did smile- but only when Fleur started reading from the book in her best impression of Professor Binns (which, to be quite frank, was downright terrible, considering her own accent).

The next day, Fleur was left alone to her usual cleaning duties, aside from her usual leering bodyguard. The only time Fleur saw Lily that day was as the girl was leaving the manor with Lucius Malfoy, blank expression on her face. She had no idea where they went, but they were gone for three days. Lily spent another one in a delirious fever, upon her return, and then was gone the next day again, this time for two. When she was returned to Fleur again, this time she was sobbing.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she said as Fleur wrapped her Death Eater robe around them. Her blanket had never been returned, as she'd refused to beg for it.

Is she apologizing to me? Fleur wondered, or to somebody else? She didn't ask, but she didn't think Lily was in any condition to tell her. Fleur read to her from the book again, this time in a more soothing voice. Lily seemed to enjoy it, at least- Fleur, personally, found the ponderous tome a bit too dry, for her tastes.

The next day, Fleur was cleaning the suits of armour on the third floor, when she happened to walk by an open room. In it, Lord Voldemort was giving Lily her newest lesson, but there was another man kneeling on the ground. He had a sort of mousy face, and his head was quickly balding. The skin hung loose around his jowls, and his clothing looked aged, his fingernails long and yellow. Fleur had no idea who he was, but she thought she might have seen him on the night it all went wrong. That wasn't what concerned her, though.

Lily had a wand in her hand, and she was aiming it at the strange man's face. Both were staring at each other, unmoving and silent, while the Dark Lord watched on. When Fleur took a closer look, she realized that Lily was wielding her wand.

Thank God, she thought. At least that meant they hadn't destroyed it. She didn't get to see what they were up to, though, because as soon as Bertha Jorkins noticed she wasn't working, she was moved along to the next task.

Lily was in the room before her that night, and she offered a tired smile while Fleur began her bathing ritual. Lucius Malfoy would accept no filthy servants, and their little room offered her no privacy, but Lily was kind enough to avert her eyes as she scrubbed at her bare skin. Fleur wanted to speak with her, but she couldn't until Kreacher was finished with his own duties, and that couldn't happen until she was done bathing.

"Kreacher," Lily said, breaking the silence. Fleur turned and saw her worrying at her lip with her front teeth. Her book was in her lap, and she was playing with the page again, but, rather than reading, she was staring straight at the House Elf.

"The blood traitor is talking to Kreacher," Kreacher said, not looking over to her. "Oh, what would Mistress think of poor, old-"

"How did you get out of the cave?" Lily asked.

Cave? Fleur thought. She had no idea what Lily was talking about, but it was apparent that Kreacher did. He stared at Lily in abject terror, his bat-like ears dropping almost below his chin.

"Kreacher cannot speak of it," Kreacher said quickly. "Kreacher cannot- Kreacher promised Master Regulus he wouldn't."

"Regulus?" Lily repeated eagerly, closing her book and leaning forward. "Sirius's brother? Kreacher, what did he-"

"No, no, no!" Kreacher said, squeezing his eyes closed and shoving his little hands into his ears. "Kreacher cannot! Kreacher cannot!"

And, just like that, he was gone with a loud crack, leaving the only sound that of Lily's swearing, followed by her book thudding against the far wall after she threw it.

"Lily?" Fleur said softly, dropping the rag into the tub. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lily said, eyes flicking away from Fleur's nakedness as she pulled her shift over her legs.

"Who is-"

"Don't ask, Fleur," Lily said, her voice suddenly stern. "I can't tell you. It'll get you killed. I- I don't think I'm supposed to know, either."

"Then how do you?"

Lily worried at her lip again, and Fleur thought she wasn't going to get any answer.

"A dream," Lily said in a quiet voice, her eyes darting to Fleur and then back to the ground. "It was just a dream. That's all."

"Lily-"

"Don't," Lily asked, shaking her head.

Fleur tried something else, then.

"What were you doing with that man earlier?" she asked. "What was Voldemort teaching you?"

"Nothing," Lily said too quickly.

"Lily, you were-"

"Nothing!" Lily said again. "He was- he offered me revenge, didn't he? He was just- he was just giving me a chance to kill him, for what he did to my parents. That's all."

Another lie, Fleur thought, recognizing the signs. But why?

Why would murder be preferable to the truth? Fleur dropped her rag in the tub.

"Lily," she said softly, awkwardly shambling towards her in the cramped confines of the room. Lily didn't avert her eyes, this time. "You can trust me. Kreacher is gone. No one is here to-"

"Stop! I can't-"

"Please," Fleur said, laying a warm, wet hand over one of Lily's own. "We are all we have, Lily. We have to trust each other."

Lily looked away, chewing on her lip again, and Fleur trailed her hand up Lily's arm, slowly and carefully- and they didn't stop until they reached Lily's face, where they cupped her cheek and turned her chin, forcing her to meet Fleur's eyes.

Green, Fleur thought, holding the stare. Green, scared- and hope? There was a flicker of that, too. But hope for what?

"Please," Fleur said, her voice a whisper. "Trust me."

Lily swallowed, and Fleur could see the decision in her eyes- she was going to tell her everything.

But Fleur didn't get to hear it. As the other girl opened her mouth to speak, they both heard the desk above them be lifted- and then, just a moment later, the door to their little room opened, and a familiar voice called from the entrance.

"Potter," Snape called out. "Come."

Fleur squeezed tighter onto Lily's hand, but the other girl and pulled it away.

"I'll tell you when I get back," she promised with a sad smile.

But she never did come back- at least, not in the next few days. Fleur was more worried than ever, this time, but for a very different reason. This time, and for the first time ever, Bertha Jorkins led her to the kitchen.

"You deserve a little reward for all the hard work you've been doing," the Imperiused woman said.

Fleur did all her usual chores- sweeping, mopping, dusting, the whole works- but one new task was added to her list on this morning, and she didn't know if she'd ever get another chance like this one. While watching the dishes, she slipped a silver knife into her clothing, tucked between arm and chest. Jorkins had never searched her before, and Fleur had to pray that remained true.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt Jorkins grab her arm.

"Come," she said gently, hauling Fleur's towards the door. "We must get you back to your room while my husband is out."

Out? Fleur thought. She only got a brief view of a gathered crowd as they passed by an open doorway.

Two dozen masked and robed Death Eaters stood in the foyer, formed ranks in front of two individuals. One, she recognized as Lucius Malfoy; even with the mask on, that hair of his stood out when it wasn't covered by a hood. The other, though- she was a stranger, but, even so, there was something very familiar about her and the way she coldly surveyed the gathered soldiers. Where are they going? She wondered. She didn't get the chance to process it before they were out of her vision.

And, when she got back to the room, Lily was still gone.