Five

The doors to the manor don't creak, they burst open, slamming against the walks like thunder. So much for an inconspicuous entrance.

Lorelei is still on Greyback's shoulders, still as a corpse, accepting the fact that she was probably going to die soon and that a spectacle would be made out of her death. She still couldn't believe it. She left these halls excited, full of life as she rushed towards the forest, towards freedom and comfort, and now she was back and she didn't feel anything at all.

Lorelei had her head down, watching Greyback's muddy boots dirty the pristine floor. Such stark contrast, like the floors of heaven were met with the steps of one that had just walked through hell. She wonders who'd clean up after them. She wonders if Draco has already been branded. Lorelei felt the anger begin simmering again.

Carrow was somewhere in front of them, leading the way as if she owned the place. They twist and turn through the manor, ascending steps for what felt like ages. Lorelei could feel her head begin to prickle and the lower half of her body begin to cramp. Yet, her heart beats into oblivion, never settling for rhythm.

They finally stop in front of a door. None of them speaking, not even the werewolf who had been huffing his breath made a sound. Lorelei held her breath as if the air would poison her if she inhaled any more of it. She didn't know where they were, she had abandoned her mental map long ago. On the other side, Lorelei could hear muffled voices conversing, tones and octaves overlapping one another.

They were there for one of Voldemort's infamous meetings. She couldn't imagine being in the same room as him, no longer being separated by paper and ink. He could kill her and she wouldn't even know.

Lorelei shifts, ready to leave. She had had enough. Voldemort had no use for her. She was a Squib, for Merlin's sake! What could a Squib possibly offer that the most dangerous wizard of her time didn't already have? As if on cue, the voices hush and Lorelei's limbs eyes dart around the hall, searching for something she would never find. No. Lorelei moves again, trying to push herself off her captor's shoulders. Greyback growls, but it doesn't stop her anymore. She couldn't let anything stop her.

Carrow appears beside her as Lorelei continues pushing and heaving, doing anything but staying still.

"Don't struggle, sweetheart," she whispers into Lorelei's ear. Lorelei flinches, not listening, not caring about some Death Eater's orders. She thrashes even more, kicking her feet, drumming fists against his back to make primitive music. Greyback rumbles beneath her, and she does not have the sense to stop. It was either his wrath or Voldemort's and Lorelei knew which one she'd rather have. Carrow clicks her tongue. "I warned you," she says in a song-like voice.

Lorelei squirms as her eyes gloss over. She only realises she's crying when the tears begin to fall. The rage boils even more, burning her body up like a plague. She doesn't bother fixing her glasses which are halfway down her nose.

"Please," she whispers, quiet enough for only herself to hear. It was a nightmare, and she was going to wake up soon. She'd wake up at home. Lorelei squeezes her eyes shut, her tears rolling down her skin, her fists batting for freedom.

"Alright," Carrow releases a sharp breath. The nightmare becoming reality. "Let's go,"

The doors swing open, there's silence and Lorelei feels herself falling.

Greyback had flung her to the floor.

Lorelei smashes into the marble tiles. Yet again, the air is knocked out of her lungs and it feels as if her spine has split into two. Draco was right. She was a rag doll. A sharp pain crawls its way up her back and rests around her neck. Lorelei doesn't open her eyes, she couldn't tell if it was fear or defiance that kept them shut. Either way, she curls into herself, as if her water-soaked clothes could protect her from the inevitable. She doesn't move, she can't. The blood rushes back to her limps and she starts to cramp again, the pain twisting her features. There is a ringing in her ears. It was better than listening to the silence.

With magic, Lorelei's body rises. Is this what a soul felt when it left its physical body? She dares to open her eyes and the entire world is upside down. She tries to move, only to find her limbs unresponsive. She's levitating. Not by her own will, but by his.

Voldemort doesn't seem real, Lorelei thinks as she watches from her suspended position. Faces, unmasked, watch her float above them. Lorelei recognises some through their sneering. Bellatrix Lestrange. Corban Yaxley. The Carrow Siblings. Narcissa.

Draco.

His eyes glue onto hers before flicking towards the corner of the room. Lorelei follows his gaze and she wants to scream, but she doesn't. Fear glues her lips shut and worry strips her voice away. Vivian and Daphne barely stand, shaking and clutching onto each other, hands over their mouths. Greyback is in front of them, guarding for whatever reason Lorelei did not know. She wanted to go to them, to tell them that everything would be okay, that they didn't need to be crying. That's when it hit her.

Astoria.

Astoria wasn't with them. They were crying and Astoria wasn't with them. There was no way. Voldemort couldn't have. They did nothing wrong— Astoria did nothing wrong! Lorelei's gaze snaps forwards and despite being upside down, she finally faces him. The man, if you could even call him that, who requested her presence in the first place.

"Draco," Voldemort calls despite his eyes still being on Lorelei's figure. She was hovering above the table, the perfect centrepiece. All eyes turn to the boy with blonde hair, who even with his stone-cold mask, Lorelei could tell was scared shitless. She couldn't blame him. It's happening, Lorelei thinks while she shakes. Voldemort sighs. "Come to my side and stand,"

Draco wastes no time moving, his steps silent as he obeys Voldemort's orders. Voldemort mutters a few more things, things Lorelei can't hear as the fear in her head deafens her.

It seems to happen in slow-motion.

Voldemort digs his wand into Draco's forearm, eyebrows furrowing the spell into his skin. Pain twists the features on Draco's face as he clutches his wrist, his arm seems to be engulfed in an invisible flame only he can feel. He does not scream, however, only wincing as darkness moves against his flesh. The black grows and grows, shifting, taking shape and melting in a cycle until it sits, tauntingly staring back: a snake, bearing its fangs, ready to attack. Lorelei watches, carefully, as Draco retreats to his seat clutching his forearm. He grips it as if he is embarrassed — as if he isn't in a room with people flaunting their own Dark Marks proudly.

Draco Malfoy, Pureblood, Slytherin, and Death Eater at last.

After a moment of chatter, Voldemort continues again and this time, Lorelei hears him. "We have trolls, goblins, werewolves and giants on our side, so, I ask you, what is another monster worth?" Voldemort questions as muffled laughter erupts from all around the table. It's fake, more terrified than amused.

Even when no one looks at her, Lorelei knows Voldemort could as well have screamed her name. The Dark Lord flicks his wand and Lorelei floats towards him. In the single act, the room silences and watches as Lorelei's squirming could stop what was about to happen. No eyes turn into all eyes.

No.

The room falls into silent whispers. It seems as though they all have the same idea.

The Squib: closer to a monster than a murderer was.

Draco watches Lorelei's figure from where he sits, still clutching his forearm. Her eyes, as empty as they seem, masked behind her glasses, show shame and disgust for herself. He didn't even dare to entertain the idea in his head; there was no way Voldemort was turning her into a—

"Lorelei Greengrass, that is your name, am I correct?" Voldemort hisses. He did not need someone to tell him twice. The laughter was long dead and all that remained was the stone-cold gaze of an audience who expected death.

Death, nothing else.

"Yes…" Lorelei breaths, her voice so faint that any slight movement in the room could have dispersed it. Voldemort expects more. She swallows her pride and tests the phrase on her lips, "My Lord." Sour. Wrong.

"The Squib."

"Yes… my Lord," Lorelei repeats slowly, her voice catching in her throat.

"Tonight," he starts and a thousand beats pass until he continues. Lorelei doesn't want to hear it. She wants to reject his voice. Lorelei feels the world shift off its axis when he speaks again. "Tonight, the Squib becomes… a Death Eater,"

Outrage.

There was no laughter this time for the room erupts with outroar. Blasphemy. It was completely unthinkable!

"My Lord!" Bellatrix. "You can't possibly—!"

"The Squib?!" Others cry.

The shouting does not cease.

"Magicless scum!"

"Blood traitor—!"

"SILENCE!" Voldemort bellows, his eyes darkening. "Have you forgotten whose presence you currently indulge yourselves in?"

A pause.

Something about the expression on Voldemort's face is nostalgic, vulnerable — if it was even possible. Lorelei dismisses it, it was the blood getting to her head, making her see things that weren't there. Her eyes travel to the corner of the room, Vivian and Daphne still remain, watching. Lorelei would rather die than let the Dark Mark curse her skin.

"This girl, the Squib, Lorelei Greengrass, will become the first and only, magicless, Death Eater to exist," No one speaks, no one believes. No one wants to believe."Unless, of course, she happens to… die," Voldemort adds, smiling like a dog, displaying black teeth.

"No," Lorelei mutters, surprised by her voice. The Death Eaters stare between her and Voldemort, wondering what the dark wizard's reaction would be to her. She was as good as dead, but at least the dead were free from his control.

Voldemort cocks his head. "No?" He taunts.

Lorelei releases a shaky breath. She hated being upside down. "No," Lorelei assures, more to herself than anyone. She wasn't trying to become a Death Eater, she didn't want that title, the restriction that came with it. She was trying to become something else, mean something else, and being one of the Dark Lord's minions certainly was not it. "I will not… allow you… to turn me into a Death Eater," she says, curling her lip, taking her time. The blood rushing to her head makes her dizzy. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Voldemort is amused. No one had ever dared to challenge him as such, in all his years of living. Yet, there she was: a teenage girl, nearly a third his age and a Squib no less, telling him what he could and couldn't do. He wondered if she was a witch, would he finally have a worthy opponent?

"Greengrass child," Voldemort calls. Lorelei's eyes snap open, facing him without meaning to. The act was almost instinctual — as if he had called a pet, a servant, a slave. She bites her cheeks and tastes the iron in her mouth. Lorelei glides closer and closer until she's right below him. She sinks, onto the table and still, she doesn't move. She knows what he is demanding, and no matter how much she desires not to give it to him, she knows she wouldn't have a choice either way.

Lorelei holds her breath as she moves to sit up, her figure displayed on the edge of the table. With her wet hair and soiled clothes, the Death Eaters burn holes through her body with their gazes. She tries her best to be unafraid. Lorelei's eyes search for Draco's.

He is the only one who isn't looking.

He's staring at his arm in front of him, eyebrows furrowed, eyes blank. She wants to ask him what he's thinking.

Do you love him? Voldemort's raspy voice asks. It didn't take long for Lorelei to realise that he had asked her that in her mind. Voldemort was speaking through her thoughts. It was a question he did not want the others to hear. Lorelei doesn't flinch despite the goosebumps' chill down her neck. She never imagined she'd live to see the day when she was talking about her boy problems with Lord fucking Voldemort.

No. Lorelei answers. She hesitates. I could never love him.

But you did.

And he left me for magic.

When Lorelei thinks Voldemort won't say anything else, she is wrong.

My father left my mother because she was a witch.

Lorelei's eyes widen. She was sure Voldemort hadn't meant to tell her that.

"You will become a Death Eater," he says aloud. The sound of Voldemort standing behind her makes the world crumble.

Lorelei shakes her head, she doesn't turn around to face him. She can't. "No," she denies the Dark Lord yet again. "Kill me, I don't care. Just… don't turn me into a Death Eater, I'd— I'd rather die."

There's a strangled scream from the corner of the room. Lorelei's head snaps in the direction of her mother and sister. It was Daphne. She was shaking her head. They're crying, they have been for a while now.

Lorelei's eyes are still on them when Voldemort speaks. "You would… rather die than bear the Dark Mark on your arm?" There's a hint of misbelief in his voice.

"Just kill me," Lorelei whispers. She tore her eyes away from her family and glares at the people in front of her. "They all want me dead anyways."

Draco stands, causing all eyes to turn to him. From beside him, Narcissa is desperately trying to yank him down.

"No," he speaks, his voice hard. Lorelei furrows her eyebrows. Draco doesn't have a plan. He doesn't even know what the fuck he's doing trying to defend her, all he knows is that she couldn't die. She couldn't. Not yet, not before he got his answers — before they fixed what they both had a part in breaking.

Lorelei scoffs and the tears pool in the corner of her eyes. "Don't do this to me," she hisses in his direction.

Don't leave me again.

Without a word, Draco gets out of the chair and makes his way towards her, towards Voldemort. His steps are heavy, uncontrolled, and rushed. Quite the opposite of what they were before.

Before Lorelei can even begin to comprehend what was happening around her, two men are pulling her legs straight. She's back in her lying position, stretched out across the end of the table. Lorelei struggles as they hold the lower half of her body in place.

Filled with rage, she faces Voldemort above her. "Get— get off! Stop—!" She screams to the people trapping her legs. Her voice breaks. The Dark Lord does not regard her, no one does. Draco's figure blurs through the tears. "Please! Please, just kill me! Just kill me! I don't want this! I don't want this!"

As she begs in silent prayer, Draco finds her arms, keeping her left one still in particular. He rests on her, pinning her down. Lorelei sobs into his ear. He hurt her without inflicting any physical pain, the reason her soul was being torn apart. Draco's jaw is clenched, his eyes dark. He hates himself.

"I hate you," Lorelei whispers into his ear. Draco pretends not to care, but she's close enough to see the goosebumps rise on his neck. Draco doesn't look at her, he can't. He's afraid to look into her eyes, afraid that she'd convince him somehow that she was right — that she was better off dead. He holds her hand and Lorelei sneers, "Let go."

Yet, she squeezes his hand as tightly as she could.

"Forgive me," Draco whispers against her forearm, even if she couldn't hear him. She can feel his warm breath tickle her skin. They hold each other's hands as if there was no such thing as letting go.

I hate you.

Forgive me.

Voldemort grips his wand psychotically, an expression pulling his lips into a demented grin. His eyes widen at the sight of Lorelei's porcelain skin, an empty canvas where he would paint her worst nightmare. He was already in her mind, corrupting her soul. Getting branded was a process that started long before the mark arrived. Was this what Draco felt?

Voldemort brings his mouth to her skin as Draco watches, feeling the bile rise up his throat. Lorelei could feel Voldemort's scorching breath against her flesh and then his tongue, licking the area the Dark Mark would soon appear on, saliva leaving an icy trail. Draco turns away, squeezing Lorelei's hand even more. She sobs, jerking her arm, trying to escape the grasp of the Dark Lord despite knowing there was no way she could.

She wants to burn her hand off. Surely dying was better than whatever this was.

Lorelei limbs slacken. She's no longer fighting, no longer tense — but that peace does not last long.

Voldemort's wand digs into her arm like a nail and that's when it all happens. The pain swarms her body like a hive of bees, stinging into every inch of her skin while her muscles cramp. She shivers and convulses and arches her back, burning. They're stabbing her, slicing through to her bones, scratching until she bleeds. Lorelei's screams deafen her ears. She screams for her family, for help, for everything to just stop. She squeezes Draco's hand as if she could show him how much it hurt, how much it was his fault even though it wasn't.

Lorelei wants home. She wants the comfort of her bed, not the wooden table. She wants the orange juice her father spills and the letters her mother reads through. She wants her sisters' banter. She wants Daphne's yelling voice and Astoria's laughter. She wants to learn with Mr Hawthorn and forage her materials, to make people proud, to be more than a withering, weak girl, who was turning into a monster. Or maybe she already was a monster, and this was just proof.

Lorelei Greengrass.

Pureblood, Squib, and Death Eater at last.