A loud crack and a sharp, wrenching pull at her navel snapped Amoria's mind back into focus. She had Apparated countless times, yet the disorientation always lingered longer than she liked. Steadying herself, she inhaled deeply, letting the scents of her new surroundings fill her lungs—pine, damp earth, and a faint acrid note of sulfur or brimstone. Straightening her shoulders, she followed her father up the long gravel drive.
The mansion at the end loomed like a specter, its gray stone walls rising stark against the sprawling, shadowed grounds. High, narrow windows glinted coldly in the dim light, like watchful eyes. The landscaping was precise yet uninspired, as if maintained just enough to discourage questions or curiosity. Perhaps the house-elves were tasked with the bare minimum to avoid scrutiny, or perhaps it was deliberate—a façade to dissuade prying eyes and whispers about the Malfoys' dwindling influence.
With each step closer, Amoria felt a ripple of unease prickling her skin. Dark magic pulsed faintly through the estate, a steady thrum of power that felt as alluring as it did menacing. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to focus.
The Notts and Malfoys had once stood as cornerstones of pureblood society—shining examples of what every prominent wizarding family aspired to be. As a child, she spent countless holidays at the grand Malfoy estate, running through its opulent halls and losing herself in the endless gardens. The manor had been a lively place then, bustling with guests, echoing with the laughter of children, and hosting grand parties that dazzled the wizarding elite. But as the war went on, the visitors grew fewer, the laughter faded, and the once-vibrant estate settled into an uncomfortable, haunting silence.
The first war's end, marked by the fall of the Dark Lord, changed everything. His followers began to renounce their allegiance, claiming their crimes were committed under the Imperius Curse. They moved on with their lives, conveniently forgetting their vows and dismissing the Dark Lord's divine plan. The life-long friendship between her father and Lucius Malfoy began to fracture under the weight of these betrayals.
Her father often recounted his final argument with Lucius Malfoy, years before the Dark Lord's return. Lucius had narrowly escaped imprisonment by claiming, like so many others, that he had acted under the Imperius Curse. His plea had not only spared him from Azkaban but also secured him a comfortable position within the Ministry. Meanwhile, her father, forced into a life of constant evasion, hiding in the shadows and moving only under the cover of darkness, could barely contain his disappointment. He accused Lucius of betraying their cause, abandoning his beliefs to save himself while loyal followers rotted away in Azkaban.
Lucius dismissed him with cold pragmatism. "The Dark Lord is gone, Soren," he said. "Everyone's moving on. I suggest, for your sake, that you do the same."
But her father couldn't. His loyalty was too deeply ingrained, a lifetime of ideology shaping him. Unlike Lucius, he couldn't renounce the Dark Lord, no matter the consequences. He would often remind her, usually after a few too many firewhiskeys, that if it hadn't been for her, he would have gladly embraced a sentence in Azkaban. Yet, as the Dark Lord's disappearance stretched on, her father continued to refuse to believe they had failed. The very thought of abandoning everything they had sacrificed was unthinkable to him.
Her mother's passing only a few months later turned her father's loyalty into an obsession. Grief fueled his determination, driving him to press on when others had given up. While the rest of the wizarding world believed the Dark Lord was gone for good, her father relentlessly pursued their cause. He traveled across Europe, seeking out any who might still share his beliefs, tirelessly working to gather remnants of support.
His unyielding faith made him an outcast. Whispered rumors called him mad, a man chasing shadows. But despite the years of doubt, he had been right all along. The Dark Lord returned, just as he had always believed, vindicating years of sacrifice and perseverance. From that moment on, she and her father became devoted servants once more, moving across the continent at the Dark Lord's command, their loyalty unwavering.
Her father had warned her that the Malfoys' loyalty to the Dark Lord was under heavy scrutiny. Lucius, once the epitome of pureblood pride, had grown reckless—executing prisoners before critical information could be extracted and leading poorly planned raids that resulted in devastating losses for the Death Eaters. These failures had not gone unnoticed
Now, standing in the shadow of Malfoy Manor, Amoria knew their presence wasn't a welcome one. Her father, though never one to question the Dark Lord's orders, had openly disfavored this assignment. To intrude upon a once long-time friend's home and take his place felt wrong to him. He never spoke ill of Lucius, only stating the facts of their falling out, but even in passing, he knew it was unnatural for them to be here. Yet, the Dark Lord willed it, and his orders were to be obeyed.
As Amoria approached the manor, her thoughts drifted back to the Lucius she remembered from her childhood. Despite his commanding and authoritative presence, there had been moments of unexpected kindness. She recalled a time, shortly after her mother's death, when Lucius had taken on an almost paternal role in her life. Those months had been unbearably difficult. Her father, consumed by grief and his obsessive loyalty to the cause, had become distant, leaving her alone for days at a time. He'd return only to make fleeting, half-hearted appearances, bringing her toys or clothes, but offering no explanation of where he had gone or when he would return—always promising to stay, only to leave again.
Amoria found herself growing increasingly isolated, retreating to the gardens more often. Once a social and confident child, she became withdrawn, her loneliness deepening as disappointment and anger took root.
During this time, it was Lucius who noticed the change in her. He stepped in, offering a sense of structure, encouraging her studies, and even arranging tutors for her. He would tell her stories of the mischief he and her father had gotten into at Hogwarts, his voice laced with nostalgia and a warm smile on his face—one she rarely saw around others. While he was firm, he was never cruel—not with her, at least. She often compared his treatment of her to the way he treated his own son, Draco. She had witnessed him punishing Draco for minor offenses, his harsh words often accompanied by strikes from his cane.
Once, she caught him in the act, watching from a distance. Draco had noticed her first, his tear-filled eyes glancing towards her, which in turn caught Lucius's attention. His cold sneer twisted into a smile so quickly it unsettled her. Instead of reprimanding or scolding her, he knelt down and gently took her hands in his. With a soft smile, he instructed her to fetch any sweet she wanted from the kitchen, then closed the door behind her with a quiet click. She did as she was told, but after that, she made an effort to avoid witnessing Dracos punishments. His bruised hands and tear-streaked face told her that nothing had changed—Lucius had only become more discreet in his cruelty.
Still, during her father's absences, Lucius had been the steady presence she needed, always supportive but never overstepping. When her father returned, Lucius seamlessly reverted to his role as host, nothing more. At the time, it confused her—why would he care so deeply one moment, only to become so distant the next? She remembered feeling angry at Lucius, deliberately avoiding him when she could, wanting him to know she was upset with him. He had abandoned her too, just as everyone else had.
But eventually, her father's appearances became more consistent, and he resumed his place in her life. Their relationship healed over time, but she never forgot the unexpected kindness Lucius had shown her during those dark months, despite her misplaced anger.
Now, hearing of Lucius's recent recklessness, Amoria struggled to reconcile the man she had known with the one whose careless actions were endangering everything. But that had been years ago, and people change.
"This mission is critical," her father said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "We cannot afford to fail the Dark Lord—not now."
Amoria glanced at him, startled by the tension in his tone. He rarely revealed the weight of his thoughts, but now his shoulders seemed heavier, his gaze darker.
"This war has dragged on far longer than expected," he continued, his voice dropping. "The Resistance is tiring, but so are we. The Dark Lord's patience grows thinner by the day. He's trusting us to ensure success. I need to know you're ready—whatever is asked of you, you must deliver."
Her stomach twisted. She was used to following him on his missions, but she had always been peripheral, a silent observer tucked away in safe houses while he worked. "I didn't realize there would be expectations of me here," she said, attempting a light, uneasy smile. "I thought this was your task. I usually just stay out of the way."
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his hand closing around her wrist in a firm grip as he pulled her closer. His sharp eyes locked onto hers, their piercing intensity sending a shiver down her spine. Though her father was never outright abusive, he had moments of harshness, and this was one of them. His grip bit into her skin, so tight that a single wrench of his hand could easily snap her wrist.
"This time is different, Amoria," he said in a low, deliberate tone. "Every war reaches a point where loyalties falter, where people lose faith. That time has come. The Dark Lord's suspicions are high, he–he's convinced of spies embedded in our ranks, sabotaging plans that should have been flawless. We must demonstrate our unwavering loyalty—both of us."
She swallowed hard. Spies? The thought made her chest tighten. Her father's words confirmed what she had long suspected but never dared to voice. While theDaily Prophetpainted only triumphant portraits of Voldemort's victories and lauded the Death Eaters, Amoria knew the reality was far less certain. Things were no longer running as smoothly as they once had.
Though her father rarely shared news with her–his feeble attempt to shield her from the realities that came with war–she had found her own ways of staying informed. In every local pub, there was always someone—speaking in hushed tones or drunkenly sharing secrets—revealing glimpses of the truth. Failures had become too frequent, plans unraveling as if someone with intimate knowledge had pulled the strings.
She had always believed her father to be above suspicion, untouchable in the Dark Lord's eyes. His unwavering devotion to the Dark Lord had shaped every part of her upbringing, instilling in her the belief that he was the savior who would restore the Wizarding World to its former glory. He would ensure that their lineage remained significant and that Muggle-borns and blood traitors would no longer steal opportunities from Pureblood families. Before the second war, her father often reminded her, a significant portion of the Ministry had been overrun by "Mudbloods."
Despite her father's fervor, Amoria had never shared his intense passion for blood purity. The ideology always seemed precarious to her. While she did believe pureblood families held a certain superiority, the extent of her father's hatred felt almost extreme. It wasn't an uncommon opinion–if anything it was the standard, but she never understood their level of resentment.
As she studied the tension etched into her father's features, a chilling realization took hold—no one was truly safe, and even their pedigree wouldn't protect them this time.
"Of course, Father," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She hated how small she sounded, but his piercing gaze didn't soften.
For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching hers as though weighing her conviction. She knew he wanted to say more, push this matter harder onto her–instead, he released her wrist and turned sharply, continuing up the drive without another word.
Amoria exhaled shakily, her heart pounding as she glanced down at the red marks on her wrist, already darkening to a faint purple. Swallowing the ache, she aligned her shoulders back and followed him, keeping her head high even as her thoughts roiled in turmoil.
Spies. Mistrust. She had always known this war was built on fear and deception—like so many before it—but hearing her father speak of it so plainly made the grim reality impossible to ignore.
As they approached the manor, the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a tall, elegant woman with platinum-blonde hair swept neatly back. Amoria barely recognized her. Narcissa had always been considered a beauty, but her once lively eyes now seemed tired and hollow.
"Soren," Narcissa greeted warmly, stepping forward to kiss his cheeks.
"Narcissa," her father replied, his voice softening slightly as he returned the gesture.
Narcissa's pale eyes shifted to Amoria, narrowing subtly. "Amoria dear, you've grown to be such a lovely young woman." she said with a forced smile, reaching her hands out to hers receiving the same kiss on the cheeks. "You look so much like your mother, it's a shame she couldn't see what a beauty you've become."
Anger flared in Amoria's chest at the insincere sentiment, her features threatening to twist into a scowl, but she quickly masked it with a polite smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. Father and I miss her dearly."
Amoria never favored Narcissa during her childhood. She could sense the disdain in the glances Narcissa shot her way as she played, the irritation in her tone whenever Amoria asked a question. Even as a child, Amoria knew when she wasn't wanted, which led her to seek out Narcissa only when Lucius wasn't around. When she and Draco would argue—even over something as trivial as a childish disagreement—Narcissa would scold her harshly, coddling Draco and even taking away Amoria's dessert for the night. Once, when Amoria reached for a tray of treats, Narcissa slapped her hand away. Narcissa wasn't her mother, and she had no right to punish, let alone strike her, but no one intervened. Over time, Amoria realized that keeping her distance from Narcissa was the better option.
From the corner of her eye, she caught her father's sharp glance—a silent reminder of the cooperation he expected from her. Clearing her throat, she added smoothly, "The manor appears just as grand as it was when I was a child. Thank you again for extending your hospitality to us."
Narcissa studied her for a moment longer before stepping aside. "Come in. Lucius is waiting in the dining room. He's been eager for your arrival."
The chill inside Malfoy Manor was palpable, seeping into her bones despite the summer heat. Narcissa led them through the grand foyer, her heels clicking against the polished floors. Amoria didn't remember the portraits looking so impassive—pale, sharp-featured ancestors whose painted eyes followed her with suspicion. The weight of their stares made her skin crawl.
The dining room was vast, the air heavy despite the crackling fire in the marble fireplace. At the far end of the long table, stood Lucius, his silver hair gleaming in the firelight. He rose quickly, his hollow eyes lighting up with forced cheer as he stepped forward.
"Soren Nott!" Lucius Malfoy exclaimed, his voice booming with a brittle enthusiasm.
Amoria's father met him halfway, and the two men clasped hands before embracing briefly. The exuberance in his voice surprised her. She wasn't expecting a joyous reunion considering the circumstances, and seemingly neither did her father, a mix of surprise and delight crossed his face. "It's been too long," Lucius murmured, his voice dropping as if to shield the words from listening ears.
"Far too long," her father agreed with a rare smile.
Amoria hung back, studying Lucius. She remembered him as regal, a paragon of pure-blood pride. But the man before her looked older than his years—his movements stiff, his hands trembling faintly. The cracks in his composure were subtle, yet telling. She began to feel sorry for him; it was clear he had been worn down over the years. Still, there was a genuine excitement in his eyes as he greeted her father, the usual contrast to Narcissa's indifferent demeanor toward them.
Amoria's attention wandered as her father and Lucius spoke, her gaze settling on a faint discoloration on the wooden floor near the far end of the dining table. It wasn't immediately obvious, but the subtle splatter pattern, barely visible in the dim light, told its own unsettling story. Her eyes moved to the high-backed chairs, noting the deep gouges in the arms of one, the wood splintered and raw, as though someone had clung to it in desperation. The oppressive stillness of the room pressed down on her, and she shifted uncomfortably.
She had always known the Death Eaters to be cruel, but the idea of torture taking place within a home was almost revolting. Prisons, dungeons, and other grim locations were meant for such horrors—places deliberately removed from the personal and domestic. Yet the Malfoys had allowed it to happen here, within the supposed sanctity of their dining room, and that spoke volumes about who they had become. Torture, though ugly, was an accepted part of war—perhaps even necessary in its own brutal way—but carrying it out in the intimacy of one's home was deeply unsettling. Even during the first war, she never recalled prisoners being kept in the manor. Perhaps she had been too young to notice, or they had been hidden away well enough, but now, despite the time away from the manor, she could feel the shift. Her gaze lingered on the stain, and though her expression remained composed, a quiet curiosity flickered in her mind.
Lucius's voice broke through her thoughts. "Amoria, my dear," he said smoothly, stepping toward her and pulling her into a warm embrace. The familiar scent of his cologne—bergamot and pepper—wrapped around her, stirring memories from years past. It was the same fragrance he had worn when she was a child, and its comforting familiarity was almost disarming. Physical affection had been rare in her household, and Lucius's embrace, firm yet tender, reminded her of just how much she had missed it.
Her father had never been one for displays of warmth; his attempts at comfort were limited to firm words, a pat on the head, or perhaps a small gift. She had stopped seeking his affection long ago. But now, in Lucius's arms, she felt something she hadn't realized she craved—security and care.
When they pulled away, Lucius placed his hands gently on her shoulders, studying her with a smile. "My, how you've grown," he said warmly. "The last time I saw you, you were darting through the manor on a toy broomstick." He laughed, a rich sound that carried a hint of genuine delight. "It's so wonderful to have you both back here—just like old times."
Amoria returned his smile, though her heart sank at the faint lines of stress etched into his face. Before she could respond, Narcissa appeared in the doorway, clearing her throat with a delicate but pointed sound. Lucius glanced over, his smile faltering slightly as his expression shifted to something softer, almost apologetic.
He sighed, "I fear your father and I have matters to attend to, but I want to hear all about your adventures another time." Leaning in, he pressed a light kiss to her cheek before gesturing toward Narcissa, who motioned toward the North Wing.
Amoria followed Narcissa closely, warmth still lingering in her chest. For the first time in years, she felt welcome—genuinely welcome. The memories of her time at the manor had faded as she aged, but being back now felt like rediscovering a piece of home she hadn't realized she had lost.
When they reached the bedroom, Narcissa abruptly stopped. "Your fathers return party will begin at seven, so be sure you're on time." she said curtly, opening a door to reveal the familiar lavishly furnished bedroom.
"A party?" Amoria asked, surprised. No one had told her there was going to be one, especially not for him. Though she had packed all her belongings, formalwear hadn't exactly been a priority for her in quite some time.
"Oh, I didn't realize there was a party planned. I don't think I packed anything formal enough," she added, feeling embarrassed. She hated admitting her lack of preparation to Narcissa, but there was no way around it now.
Narcissa gave her a sharp look, clearly irritated that this was now her problem. "I think I have some old dresses in storage that should fit well enough. I'll have Topsy fetch one and leave it in your room."
Amoria thanked her politely, but Narcissa left without further acknowledgment. Alone, she exhaled deeply, the weight of the day settling over her.