Six

It was Draco who helps her off the table. Lorelei's body is numb after the pain; she can barely register to stand, the fact that she needed to lean on him for support, or that he was supporting her. By now, most of the Death Eaters have gone and the room is no longer echoing with her screams. Voldemort walks around empty chairs, only Bellatrix and Narcissa remaining. Even Daphne and Vivian have gone, somewhere safe, Lorelei hopes — not too far. Voldemort croaks a few more words and gives them a few more orders. It's important, Lorelei remembers thinking. Life or death. Death. She was a Death Eater now and she was going to become a murderer too. They both were. It hadn't even been a month since Draco's sixteenth birthday, and he was already expected to kill someone.

They were going to murder Albus Dumbledore. Or at least, they were going to have to try.

As soon as Voldemort's presence leaves them, Lorelei's knees buckle. Before she can fall, Draco catches her and in a swift motion, swings her off her feet. He's carrying her and she doesn't want to wrap her arms around him so she looks away. She doesn't protest because the ache in her heart stops her. After all, she doesn't remember the last time he carried her like this. Never. He would always try when they were younger, but he was weaker then, not strong enough. Bellatrix leaves soon after, leaving Narcissa, whose frantic figure comes rushing over. She has not said a single word to her son the entire night.

"Draco—," she starts, her voice on the verge of desperation. She has so much to say, but Draco doesn't hear her. Instead, he turns around with Lorelei in his arms and starts walking out of the drawing room. Lorelei feels like she's sinking into him, something warm for a change, not scorching, not frozen. She wonders if her damp dress bothers him.

It doesn't.

Narcissa is a few steps behind them, lingering like a flea until Draco reaches his bedroom. Two people join her. Their breathing stressed and their steps rushed.

"Lorelei! Lorelei! Is she—?" One of them starts. Daphne. Her voice threatens the tears from Lorelei's eyes. She has never heard her sister so… scared. Daphne doesn't remain scared for long when she spots Draco carrying her. "Mum, why… the fuck is he bringing her into his room? Draco, let her go, you dick! Don't you think she'd be better off with people who actually love her?!"

Draco stops in front of the door. He doesn't let Lorelei go and she doesn't know what the feeling that erupts in her chest is, but it feels a little close to gratefulness. She doesn't let the guilt run through her body, she did nothing wrong. Draco doesn't turn around to face the three women because he knows Lorelei doesn't want to either.

"Inside or outside?" He asks in a voice low enough for only her to hear.

Lorelei can't look him in the eyes when she whispers, "Inside."

Draco sends her a minuscule nod, one she won't see, before turning his head ever so slightly. "She's asleep," he tells the women. An excuse, albeit, not a very good one.

Daphne scoffs. "Oh, cut the bullshit, will you, Draco—?"

"Daphne," Vivian warns her eldest.

Daphne doesn't react to her mother's jab. Lorelei belongs here with her family, people who love her, who can comfort her, not some boy who couldn't even take care of himself. "Don't pretend like you care about Lorelei all of a sudden, you snake—,"

"Just let them be," another voice pipes up, catching them all by surprise. Astoria. Lorelei shifts in Draco's arms — her little sister was alive. She wants to see her, to look at her face to make sure her ears weren't playing cruel tricks. "I feel like they need time to themselves."

"Astoria!" Daphne gasps. They hadn't seen her for the entire night. Daphne rushes towards the other side of the hall to pull the girl into a hug. Draco takes it as the opportunity to retreat into his room. The door closes softly behind them, leaving only the muffled sounds of Daphne's foul mouth cursing him to hell.

Draco sets Lorelei down gently, allowing her to stand. Draco's room is colder since the last time she had been inside, but Lorelei doesn't trust herself to know what the truth is anymore. The Dark Mark slithering on her arm makes everything seem cold. Lorelei pushes thoughts of the initiation away and focuses her attention back on Draco. She opens her mouth to thank him but not a single sound escapes her lips. Her voice betrays her and Draco is already walking away. He subtly stretches his arms and opens his cupboard, sifting through clothes until he pulls out a shirt and sweatpants.

To Lorelei's surprise, he offers them to her.

"The shirt is long-sleeved and… these are the smallest sweatpants I own," Draco tells her, his voice taut. Her eyes linger on the grey of his pupils before they dip, staring at his extended arm which bears a mark identical to her own. "I figured you'd want to shower, change out of your ruined dress—,"

Lorelei takes the clothes, hesitant, like an untrusting cat, hoping he'd stop talking. Something about the way he stares at her, with pity and a shared understanding of the pain, makes the memories return. It burns, she thinks. Stop it. Her whole body seethes with the feeling of Voldemort's tongue and the sight of the snake twirling around her arm. She has become everything she has sworn not to be and she hates it.

The clothes are scented the same as the clean sheets. They were his clothes, she was going to be wearing them. Lorelei stares at the material in her hand as if between the threads there would be the reason for his sudden kindness, a fracture in his false care — she can't find one.

Lorelei gulps before bringing her gaze back up to Draco's eyes, "Thank you."

Draco clears his throat and a numbness washes over his features. Before he can say anything else, three knocks sound from the door, grabbing the two teenagers' attention. "Shower. I'll deal with this," he states. This time, Lorelei doesn't hesitate to rush towards the bathroom.

Draco sighs when Lorelei disappears. The truth was, he didn't want to face them any more than she did, but Lorelei had dealt with enough for the night. She awoke to normality and she would be sleeping with nothing but chaos. When Draco reaches the door, he pulls it open, just a crack.

It's Vivian and Daphne. Narcissa is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Astoria. He isn't surprised.

The older woman sighs sadly while Daphne searches his eyes, there's scrutiny in her furrowed eyebrows. Draco is blank, they cannot read him. He waits for their question, silent, unwavering, knowing full well they had expected him to speak first. It was Vivian who finally caves. "How is she— how are the both of you?"

"She's tired, Mrs Greengrass," Draco says lowly. Draco doesn't say shit about himself. "And, I don't think she wants to face you— all of you, right now. I apologise on her behalf."

Vivian nods sadly. "Well… be sure to tell her to find us when she wakes up. Please, " the older woman speaks. "I'm— I'm… sorry, Draco." He knows what she's apologising for, but he doesn't have the voice to tell her none of it was her fault. Instead, Draco nods and slowly closes the door.

As he strips off his suit jacket, leaving himself in his loose shirt, he walks across the room and seats himself by his desk. The sound of the shower running fills his ears like white noise. Life suffocates him and he unbuttons his shirt as if that would be able to free him. Nothing feels important anymore, as if everything and anything in his life had lost its meaning. There was no significance in the quill he held between rough fingers or the parchment where he doodles. It didn't matter that the rain still poured from the heavens or that darkness came because of the night.

There was only death and the possibility of it. There was always death, but it felt different now knowing how much closer he was to it.

Draco bangs his fists against the table and everything clatters. Killing Albus Dumbledore was impossible. He knew what Voldemort was planning, he knew that he wanted him to die. The door to his bathroom creaks open and Lorelei peers out. Draco turns to face her; she's in his clothes and they hang loosely off her body, her hair dripping wet on her shoulders.

"Are you… alright?" Lorelei asks, the question stupid. She watches him carefully, as she moves to sit on the edge of his bed. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone and he's never looked so dishevelled. Draco turns to face her again, his features pulled down, tired. When he doesn't speak, her mind travels to her family's desperate faces and she remembers that she had left him to deal with them. "I'm sorry, about my mother and Daphne especially. Thank you for… I just— I can't face them, I wouldn't— I wouldn't know what to say, what to tell them after all this shit,"

Draco shakes his head, dismissing her words. He stands from his desk and he turns around. He pulls his shirt off in a single motion. Lorelei catches a quick glimpse of his back: bare, broad, and defined before she averts her gaze, taking her glasses off and wiping them on the shirt she wears. This is no time to be ogling at boys, she had just turned into a Death Eater for Merlin's sake!

When she puts her glasses back on, Draco is already in a fresh shirt. She waits for him to turn around, but he never does.

"So… when did she tell you?" Lorelei clears her throat. Draco doesn't take his seat back by the desk, instead, he leans against his cupboard. He slides down the wood and sits on the floor while Lorelei remains on the bed above him. His eyes watch her, and she wants to blame them for the heat that warms her cheeks. Lorelei refocuses her attention on what she was going to say. "I mean, when did she like, actually, properly tell you you were going to get marked… or branded? Or whatever, you know what I mean."

There's silence before Draco speaks. "After the Battle happened… at the Department of Mysteries." He produces a low chuckle. "Though I already had a feeling it would happen sooner or later, it was just a matter of time, and when she confirmed it, I guess I just— I started—," Draco lets his ragged breathing speak for itself. I started to lose control. "Why are you here, Greenie?"

"What?"

Draco looks up at her. "Why are you here, in my house? Why did my mother write to yours? Why did you come?"

"Well," Lorelei winces as she crawls off the bed and positions herself across from him. They would have been eye-level if he wasn't so tall. "Well, the reason I decided to come was kind of stupid really."

"Why am I not surprised?"

It's because I missed you. It's because I wanted to know if things really did change between us.

"I love your forest," she whispers, hugging her feet closer to her chest. "As for the reason why your mother wrote to mine, I don't know… but she wanted my sisters— she wanted my sisters here too—," a realisation flashes across Lorelei's eyes. For a second, she doesn't breathe as the memories flood through her thoughts. It happens all over again, it hurts and burns all over again. She shakes her head violently. "We should have never come." Lorelei gets up and Draco doesn't say a word as he watches her standing in front of him.

"Can I use your bathroom… again?" Lorelei asks, with a shaky breath. Her mark burns stronger and stronger by the second. She can feel herself growing faint, the blood rushing away from her head, her vision going white. The pain is scalding. Lorelei wonders if it's the same for Draco. Can he feel it too? Does it burn as much for him as it does for me? Lorelei asks again, restless. "Can I— can I use your bathroom? Fuck it, I'm using your bathroom."

Without another word, Lorelei makes her way towards Draco's bathroom. Her steps rushed, packed with determination. Draco doesn't protest, sensing the urgency in her voice. Something was wrong. Either that or she really needed to pee.

When she reaches the sink and immediately switches the tap on, cold water pours out in a waterfall, splattering all over her — Draco's — clean clothes before she turns the pressure down. With a shaky breath, Lorelei places her arm under the water, letting the coldness of it run over the mark. She sighs deeply. A thousand icicles and she is transported into another world, all thoughts of evil departing. With the water, she is reborn.

Draco's voice suddenly appears behind her, "Mind telling me what's so urgent about washing your hand?" He asks lowly, eyeing the sink. The phrase is teasing, but the exhaustion in his voice makes him sound more disappointed than anything. Lorelei glances at him through the mirror, he's leaning against the door frame, arms crossed like he's just caught her doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing. He is drained from everything but apathy and when she tries to read his features, all she can feel is numbness.

"It burns," she whispers under her breath, a secret he shares, doubtful that he could have heard her. When Draco doesn't respond, she tears her eyes away from him and preoccupies herself by scrubbing her arm. She scrubs with her nails, scrubs, until she knows the burn, is because of her more than Dark Mark itself. Scrubs until all she can see is crimson and the black ink is nothing in comparison. She pinches the snake and its hissing head and scratches the place Voldemort had licked her. She hopes it would do something: disappear, anything but stay.

Evil, the whole lot of it. Pure, primitive, evil.

Draco's fingers cover her arm, covering the mark, the lines of red she made. He grasps her arm with his hand, gentle enough not to hurt, strong enough to make her stop. The running water fills the silence between them like radio static. They ignore the tears dripping down Lorelei's cheek and how Draco's hand shakes ever so slightly as he's holding her.

"Greenie," he says into the space between them. He still can't bring himself to say her name. Draco turns the water off without letting her go. Lorelei looks up as if shocked by an electric current, his voice is an anchor. She faces herself in the mirror and returns to her senses. Draco doesn't let go. "It doesn't burn anymore," he tells her.

Lorelei doesn't believe him. "Let go," she says, but she doesn't pull her arm away. "It… burns, I— let me—,"

Draco releases her arm. Lorelei stills when he goes to pull her sleeve down, and just like that, everything disappears. "You're clean enough."

That wasn't true. She was rotten. Her skin absorbed the Dark Lord's saliva, and it travels around her body, through her blood, and corrupts her. She was decomposing, but so was he — they all were. That was Death.

Draco speaks as if he can read her thoughts. "You're clean. Your arm is fine and Voldemort is gone."

"My arm is not fine," Lorelei says feebly with a shake of her head. They stand, unmoving in the bathroom.

You know that's not true.

Is it, though?

"Voldemort is not gone, my arm is not fine… it's not fine," Lorelei repeats. That muscle in Draco's jaw flexes again.

He sighs curtly. She acts as if she's the only one who has problems. "Neither is mine," he says, forcing Lorelei's gaze.

He was an attention-seeker. He was trying to make it all about him. Lorelei furrows her eyebrows and all she can think is: it's not fair. He is being so unfair. Draco pissed her off. Yeah, maybe it wasn't right, maybe he did nothing wrong and maybe he was helpful for the entire night, but… how could he act so caring after acting so cold? How could he pretend to be her friend after years of not speaking to each other? It wasn't fair, especially because, she was letting him…

"What's wrong with you?" Lorelei sneers. "I thought you wanted to become a Death Eater?"

Draco scrunches his nose and takes a step forwards, causing Lorelei to back into the sink. He breathes harshly, his chest rising and falling as if it had never known such an act. Draco's jaw visibly tightens and his eyes narrow darkly, disappointed. If he looked at her for long enough, she would have cried, but she doesn't blame him.

"Are you… fucking playing… right now?" Draco asks, slowly. There's a growl in his voice and Lorelei is reminded of the werewolf, Greyback. "Just because you're throwing a tantrum over the fact things didn't go your way, doesn't mean you get to expel all of that rage on me. I have been kind to you, Princess," Draco sneers as Lorelei holds her breath. She has never angered him this badly before. Draco grips her shirt, scrunching the handful of material in his fist. It tugs against her body. "I give you shit to wear and I carry you all the way here, yet you can't find the sense in your precious little skull to thank me?"

He is right, and she hates it. She had been a dick to him, but when the burn on her forearm returned to remind her of its existence, she snarls. Lorelei's soul splits into two, forgive and fight. If vulnerability was so easy, she wouldn't have been screaming. The truth was, she hates Draco because she didn't want to accept the fact that she still hates herself. Being a Squib did come with its… self-loathing perk, but that was her problem, not his and she needed to remember that.

"You dick," Lorelei sneers between gritted teeth. Draco's figure blurs behind her glasses, behind the tears that gloss over her eyes. "Why couldn't you have just let me die!"

"Are you crazy?!" Draco huffs. There are too many emotions swirling in his grey eyes. He notices her tears which start to pool into larger masses. "Oh, don't cry, Princess… do you think I would ever just let you die?" He sneers back.

Lorelei pushes her arms against his chest, not enough to make him budge, but Draco still takes a few steps back. Lorelei exhales sharply. "Well, it beats having to do this! To follow the orders of a man that decides one day he can control my life! To have my fucking family at risk all because I don't want to do something he says—!"

"Fuck, Princess, I wish you could just hear yourself speak because you're sounding so fucking selfish right now," Draco produces a low chuckle from his chest. Lorelei is the sole reason his jaw flexes. "You think my family isn't at risk too?" He searches her eyes and when she doesn't say anything else, he continues. "It's one person's life over all of ours— one fucking person, Greenie. I get why you don't want to do it, you're not a killer, you're above that, yeah? But, here's one thing you really must know: Voldemort will kill everything I've ever loved before killing me, and the only reason he won't do the same to you is because he knows how to make it hurt. How to make it really, fucking hurt,"

Lorelei furrows her eyebrows. "The fuck are you going on about—?"

"He knows you'd rather die than bare the mark, you said it yourself," Draco says tightly. "That's why he'll kill everyone you love, except you. So, unless you have a way which gets your family out unharmed, I recommend you shut up and take it,"

"I'm not killing an innocent man," Lorelei whispers roughly, lacing her voice with all the sour hatred and determination she could muster. "I can't help you, I won't."

"As you wish, Princess," Draco lets the words roll off his tongue. His back loosens and his muscles relax. He'd rather have her run away from it all than have her right in the centre of it. She'd just… get in the way. "You're one less person whose opinion I won't miss—,"

"Wait, wait, don't tell me you're actually thinking about doing it? You're actually going to listen to that bastard, become his fucking puppet—?"

"I don't have another choice, do I?!" Draco yells, interrupting her as he bangs his fist against the door frame. Lorelei flinches, but her expression only hardens. "I don't have the luxury of just running away into the forest when I don't want to face reality — when I just want to abandon all of my responsibilities! People… people expect me to do things, to live up to the expectations they have of me… I have to prove I— I have to do this," Draco runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, averting his gaze. The door frame suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the universe. "Everything I've ever known, I can't risk that. I can't risk losing the people… the people I care about and believe me, there are only so many. I have to make them proud, to prove—,"

Do you love him? Voldemort's voice replays in her head.

"You don't," Lorelei breathes.

Draco looks at her darkly and she fears that he can read her thoughts, hear the voice in her head that was not her own. Sadness pierces his grey eyes and Draco looks away, turning around to leave her by the sink. "Do me a favour, Princess," Draco says over his shoulder. "Tell that to everyone else who thinks otherwise."