Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Freedom Bound in Chains	By : TaintedSensibly Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 58478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Harry Potter characters. I did not make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 83
- 84
- 85
A/N: Sorry this is so late. Partly it’s because the chapter grew so long. I hope you guys like it. Can’t wait to hear what you think!
The Longest Night
Bellatrix stepped out of her warded apartment and made her way toward Lucius’s office. A sweet giggle escaped her, her bare feet creating a soft pattering sound as she danced her way through the silent house. Her beloved sister had still not figured out that Bellatrix could move about the manor as she pleased. She had a talent for wards. She could talk to them in a way others were unable to. It was a simple matter to convince them that she was an ally and not an enemy. The wards only activated if she had the intention of escaping anyway and she wouldn’t leave the manor for the world.
It took but a whisper to spell the elves to sleep and once more she owned the halls of Malfoy Manor just as she had that night ten years ago. At last she arrived at her destination, her eyes sparkling with soul deep joy. She slid graceful, slender fingers along the grain of Lord Malfoy’s office door. Pressing her cheek to the wood, she crooned, whispering to the wards.
It wasn’t every night that she was able to enter here. Lucius haunted the office more often than not, but she had known that tonight the way would be clear. Her Lord was favored by Fate, and Bellatrix had known the universe would create opportunities for His glorious return.
Slowly, the door swung open with a soft creak just as the last colors of sunset bled from the sky. A deep grey twilight settled over the manor, fading to night as she stepped across the plush rugs toward Lucius’s desk. It took the work of only a few minutes to open the side drawer and retrieve her Beloved’s diary.
Her lips and hands trembled with excitement as she opened the book to the middle. Pressing a quill tip to the page, she sensually wrote out the message: I am yours, my Lord.
The pages pulsed with power and words written in an elegant script answered her with: Come to me.
Blinding light engulfed her and she fell willingly into the book’s depths…
… Draco ran as fast as he could through the hallways. He ducked into secret passages and sprinted past portraits, taking the shortest route. He ran until his legs and lungs burned, until he was panting so hard he could hardly breathe.
He burst outside into an overgrown courtyard, rage and frustration pounding like a second heart in his chest. His feet crunched and slid on the snow as he spun around wildly. Harry skidded through the open door, panting, eyes wide. Draco practically leapt forward and grabbed the smaller boy by the collar of his robe. Harry stumbled, but he didn’t resist as Draco shoved him roughly against the castle wall.
“What… do you… think?” he demanded, gasping from his sprint. “Am I … being childish?”
Harry met Draco’s eyes, - trust worry - a subtle hum between them. “They might help… if you told them everything… but they might also… get in the way,” he answered softly, panting from the run. “You understand… the situation best.”
Draco gave a scream of rage and lifted a balled up fist. Harry didn’t even flinch as Draco swung with all his might. A meaty thud sounded as the blond’s knuckles brutally impacted against the stone wall inches from Harry’s head. Draco swung again and again, screaming with each desperate blow until warm blood splattered Harry’s cheek.
Heart pounding, Harry sank to his knees, slipping from Draco’s loosened grasp. He lifted his hands, tears glittering in his eyes. “Please…” he begged, pain in his voice. “Please, Draco… Don’t… Let me help you… Please…”
Draco stood there, staring blindly down at the boy who practically sung with - love - for him. Blood dripped from his split knuckles, staining the snow red in small, delicate drops. Pain, hot and sharp, spiked up his arm. He’d broken bones.
“Please… Draco…” Harry begged softly, hands still reaching upward.
Draco turned away, denying him. He needed the pain; it was clearing his head. “Not yet,” he growled and purposefully clenched his broken hand. A gasp escaped his lips at the intense pain, tears filling his eyes. He stared up at the dark sky, the stars cold and remote above him.
Behind him, Harry pulled his beseeching hands back and wrapped his arms loosely around his chest. His butt rested on his heels as his head lowered slightly in submission. “Yes, Draco.”
At the sound of Harry’s calm acceptance, Draco turned back around to face him. It had been exactly what he’d needed to finally quench the last of his anger. Harry didn’t push what he wanted. He didn’t demand or argue or judge. He accepted Draco, trusted him wholeheartedly. Draco’s expression softened and his lips parted to speak when magic, Dark and deep, spiraled up around him.
What neither of them realized was that Draco’s blood had made a circle around him. Blood spilt on a Solstice night was extremely powerful, especially the blood of a Hemopath like Draco. It created a temporary gateway where things could cross over. The celtic knot appeared on the hollow of Draco’s throat, the mark acting as a key to other realms. It began to glow with the cold, blue-white of moonlight and Hogwarts disappeared…
… Draco stood in a forest with wide, black-barked trees. The stars between the tangled branches were fat, the size of a baby’s fist. The moon was a silver scythe hanging above his head. Deep snow sat heavy on the ground. Before Draco could really understand what had happened, arms - thin and unnaturally cold - wrapped around him. Sharp talons pierced through the skin on his back, drawing more hot liquid to the surface. Snarling, Draco tried to break free, but he was held fast.
“Greetings, Little Hunter,” a voice said, deep and vast and all around him. “Looks like you’ve become prey.”
The last word was spoken with a bottomless hunger that could be felt deep inside Draco's bones, triggering instincts primal and powerful. Teeth bared in defiance, he swung his head back as hard as he could…
… Harry stared up at the Creature before him. It was human-shaped but wasn’t male or female. Long white hair, a vast expanse of stars in Its black eyes, pale white skin, and naked, It gracefully crouched before the kneeling Harry. Advanced age had touched Its features, but yet the Being didn’t seem weak in the slightest. A slow grin revealed pointed, blood-stained teeth.
“The Cold Dark has come,” It said, a whisper as loud as a scream. “Do you still Dance?”
Harry was caught in the Being’s eternal eyes. He didn’t understand, but deep down he knew the answer and spoke true. “For Draco.”
“Then Dance for him.”
Harry’s hands were clasped with surprising gentleness and he was lifted to his feet. The God’s nails were long and sharp even as Its hands were gnarled with age.
“Know that should you fall, so to he shall fall. For he walks the Dark and will need a path Home. Winter has come. Endure… or die…”
It wasn’t a threat. It was simple Truth. Winter was ruthless and brutal, but if you had the strength to endure, It could also be beautiful. Harry’s hands were released. The Being stepped back. It was there but not there. It couldn’t be seen, but It could be felt in everything… In the cold and quiet of the snow, the distant glitter of the stars, the deep darkness between them…
Endure or die…
There was another option beyond endurance or death. Tilting his head back, Harry slowly lifted his hands to the infinite night-sky. A deep breath in and he opened himself to all that he was, all that was Draco, and all that they were together. He could feel it, the deep three-fold bond between them. It was magic in the purest sense, humming and powerful and alive. And it was Draco’s way home; he was Draco’s way home.
Harry closed his eyes, hardly able to contain the feeling of love and wonder and magic that existed even in the Dark of Winter, and began to dance a dance of worship. He was Pagan and he felt honored to be able to dance both for Draco and for an Old God…
… Narcissa stepped into the Headmaster’s office, expression cold and remote. Her hands were folded in front of her demurely. Her dress with midnight blue skirt and long-sleeved bodice with a wide, black velvet band tight around her waist was half covered by the black cloak she still wore. The hood was down, revealing the single braid that wrapped around the top of her head, leaving her long neck bare and exposed. Her eyes were a blue only a few shades lighter than her dress.
She wore no make-up. Her lips were as pale as her cheeks. Her eyelashes and thin, sharp eyebrows only a little darker than her golden-blonde hair. She stood with regal bearing, shoulders back and pointed chin slightly tilted up. She was a medium-tall woman, eight inches taller than five feet, and very thin. The years of working powerful rituals to search for her son had taken a toll, giving her face and expression a harder edge than most. She was beautiful, but more than that she was a force to be reckoned with.
Dumbledore stood from behind his desk and bowed his head in acknowledgment of her strength and power. He had consciously donned a white robe with purple and silver highlights. Pale blue eyes twinkling with happiness, beard as white as snow, they seemed complete opposites and yet there was a strong similarity between them, as if they were two sides to the same coin.
Narcissa stepped gracefully forward until she stood in the center of the room facing the ancient wizard. She did not continue on to the desk or the seats sitting across from it. She was not a supplicant in search of his counsel. “You know why I am here, Albus,” she said softly and waited.
Dumbledore smiled and stepped around his desk to face her on even ground. “You have concerns regarding your son.”
“Sons,” she corrected. She felt her magic deepen and wrap around her. It was the Solstice. The calendar had entered the darker half on Mabon, but it was yule when those who resonated to the Dark were at their peak. Her magic felt that change and stretched. “Why have you chosen to keep my sons in a hostile environment when they are here simply for an education?”
Dumbledore tilted his head before he answered. “It is for the purpose of education that I have chosen to allow the children to solve their own problems. They have not sought my aid or the aid of any teacher in this matter.”
Narcissa let a long second pass to think about his answer. “The Art of Occlumency… It is classified as a Dark Art. I admit my surprise upon hearing you are my son’s tutor, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”
“It is considered so but not illegal,” Dumbledore answered easily. “I have mastered many Arts in my time as a wizard.”
Narcissa held his gaze, her tone growing sharp. “Draco shows signs of strain and ill health. I would not say he has been well cared for. Would you?”
Dumbledore sighed softly, his hand lifting to stroke his beard. “I speak the truth, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. My sole wish is for young Draco and young Harry to grow strong and capable. I would not endanger their lives for anything in this world.” His eyes grew solemn as he tilted his chin down to look over his glasses at the angry mother. “However, I believe you know your two boys are destined for great things. There is only so much I can do to buffer the weight of that destiny. Fate has set about to prepare them for their future.”
“Let me make something clear.” Narcissa lifted a single finger and pointed it upward. “You are incapable of truly understanding my sons. Any manipulation on your part is destined to go very wrong. My advice to you, Albus, is that you forget this notion that you understand their destiny. The best thing you can do is let things play out as they will without your interference.” Her finger slashed down to point directly at his heart. “That means treating them as you would any other student under your supervision. For you are simply a player with a part to play and not one of the Weavers of Fate.”
Dumbledore felt her words deeply. A blush stained his cheeks, denials built up on his tongue, but she slashed her hand downward and out, stalling his words.
“You have been trying to manipulate things, Albus. I see the signs of it and my sons suffer.” Narcissa’s eyes glittered. The room seemed to darken and grow colder. “This is the last warning I will bestow upon you. Your place is to act as Headmaster to my boys. Nothing more and definitely nothing less. Fulfill your duty, sir, or my sons will be removed from this school.”
Dumbledore stood silent as she stared him down. He felt the chill in the air as she turned, her skirt swirling about her feet as she strode gracefully from his office. As soon as she was gone, Dumbledore let his expression fall into something more grave and serious. Fawkes gave a quiet yet beautiful trill and he stepped closer to his familiar, stroking the warm, soft feathers.
“All is well, Fawkes,” he murmured. “She is just a mother trying to protect her children.” He sighed sadly and looked into the dark, liquid eyes of the phoenix. “Unfortunately, they are not simply her children but belong to the World.”
Dumbledore had experienced wars and losses that Narcissa, young as she was, could not begin to comprehend. There may be some truth in her words, but she was wrong on one thing. He was not a simple Player. His role was greater than that, especially for those boys. Fate had placed him in position to guide and prepare them. That was his destiny, and he would see to it that they had the skills and tools they needed to successfully carry out theirs.
Frowning, Dumbledore was pulled from his musings as something stirred at the edge of his senses. Curious, he crossed the room to the tower window. The glass slowly began to frost right before his eyes and the gentle snow began to fall harder. He turned and strode quickly toward his door.
Narcissa frowned. She lifted her bare hands up to her face. They trembled slightly, the tips almost numb with cold. Narcissa took a deep breath and blew out. Her breath fogged in front of her face for a brief moment before disappearing. Listening, she felt something resonate deep inside her core.
“Draco, Harry,” she whispered, eyes wide. She took a step forward, but stopped when she heard the stairs begin to move behind her. She chose to wait for the Headmaster to join her.
Dumbledore stepped off the stairs, his expression grim. “A storm has come upon us, Lady Malfoy. Soon it will be a blizzard.”
“My sons?” she demanded.
Dumbledore shook his head. “I will summon the staff. We will search for them.”
Narcissa’s hands clenched, her eyes promising terrible things should they not be found…
… There was no answer when Lucius knocked upon Severus’s door. Frustrated, Lucius summoned a House Elf and demanded the Potions Master’s location. The elf squeaked out an answer before popping away. Lucius turned, sharply rapping his cane on the stone floor. It didn’t take him long, up a staircase and down a corridor, before he stepped out into a small courtyard.
Severus stood in the center at a small table manipulating ingredients next to a cauldron hanging from a wooden beam set over a rough fire. He wore a black winter cloak and robes, his hands protected in thin leather gloves from both the cold and his ingredients. His hood was pulled up, leaving only his chin, lips, and a part of his nose revealed. He moved with practiced grace, a true artist at his craft.
“What is it you want, Lucius?” Severus spoke, low and calm, never once pausing in his work.
Lucius hesitated, his temper gone in the face of this mystery. He had known, of course, that Severus was a Master, but he’d never seen him in action. It changed his perception of the wizard, made him realize there were hidden depths to his personality. “You know why I’ve come,” he answered finally, his tone a reflection of the other man’s, patient.
“Your son has fallen into deep waters,” Severus replied. He turned and scattered something with a precise flick of his wrist into the cauldron that sizzled, creating a violet glow that illuminated the surface for a brief moment. “I do not know if he will sink or swim.”
Lucius attention snapped away from the potion. His glove creaked softly as it tightened around his cane, his eyes flashed and his tone sharpened. “Are you a mere observer? Do you deny your responsibility to assist your student?”
Severus stirred the potion in perfect circles with one hand, his other folded and refolded a substance like dough except it was grey and streaked with black. “I do what I can, Lucius. I will always do what I can. At this moment, I am unable to directly assist the boys. Draco will not let me close.”
The temperature took a sudden drop. Lucius frowned, looking upward. The soft snow that had been falling, collecting on his hair and shoulders, grew thicker. Goosebumps lifted along his arms and the back of the neck, an almost electric hum resonating through his core. Lucius’s eyes dropped back to Severus as the wind picked up. Already the snow was falling hard enough that it was harder to see.
Severus’s hood was blown off, his straight black hair whipping around his face. “I cannot stop once begun,” he called, dark eyes locking on Lucius. “Cast a ward against the wind. Draco will need this potion.”
Lucius stepped forward, crossing the distance between the Potions Master and himself. He took up position on the other side of the small work table, his wand sliding from the cane with a fluid movement. The tip of the pure black wand dipped and swayed, making sharp points and precise turns. Slowly, a pale glow appeared in the snow around them. The shape of runes and magic symbols could just be seen through the glow. The wind was reduced to a soft breeze, the snow falling slowly, while outside the circle the wind and snow continued to increase until it began to howl and gust, a blizzard born.
“This storm has been Called,” Severus murmured, still working over the potion.
“The boys are likely involved,” Lucius agreed, voice grim.
A quirk of an eyebrow only partially seen through a concealing curtain of Severus’s lanky hair.
Lucius gave a sharp smile. “My wife will attend to them.” Grey eyes taking on a silver glitter, he inclined his head to the bubbling cauldron. “Do not fear, Severus. I will guard the circle. As long as you understand that half of this potion will be mine.”
Severus’s expression gave way to a frown, but he wasn’t in any position to argue…
… Bellatrix found herself in a massive chamber made with dark quartz and deep green stone that was lit with high, white-burning torches. Huge columns carved with snakes and sinuous figures supported an arched ceiling high above her head. On either side were canals filled with a dark, mysterious water that whispered and burbled as it flowed past, echoing softly in the massive space. Before her was a thirty-foot statue of one of the world’s most powerful wizards in history. Between the feet of the magnificent robed figure, a teenager sat in a golden throne with a deep green cushion. The back of the throne rose high above the teen’s head, a sculpted disc of dozens of snakes.
Dressed in the school robes of Hogwarts, the Slytherin crest on his breast, the teenager nonetheless possessed an aura that spoke of power far surpassing his age. His dark gaze was piercing and mysterious, the curl of his full lips amused as she slowly sank to her knees in wonder. Thick dark brown hair, smooth with a soft wave, fell elegantly over his forehead. His cheek bones and chin were sharp and angular, his completion smooth perfection. He was extremely handsome.
The teen stood gracefully, his eyes never once leaving her kneeling form. As he approached, each step seemed to ring throughout the chamber. Bellatrix held her breath, staring up into his beautiful face from where she knelt.
“Hello, Bellatrix.” The teen’s voice caressed her name, making her gasp softly. A strong hand lifted her chin as he crouched. “We meet at last.”
“My Lord,” she breathed, deeply humbled. Her whole body trembled at his touch.
“Are you mine, Miss Bellatrix Black?” he asked gently, staring into her eyes.
“Yes, my Lord!” she cried eagerly. She offered her arm, the Dark Mark tattooed onto her skin jet black and pulsing.
Tom Riddle stroked the short, dark curls that adorned her head, his expression sweet and concerned. “I will ask you to give me your life and magic,” he told her. “Are you still mine?”
“Oh, yes, my Lord!” she answered again, devotion shining from her eyes even as she panted with excitement.
Tom kissed her softly on the lips, a promise of what was to come. “Then I intend to grant you the honor of being my vessel, sweet Bella.”
He reached forward and brushed his hands along her shoulders. Under his touch, her robe and dress disintegrated, leaving her naked to his eyes. Her breasts were small and yet perfectly shaped and full, her small nipples pink and already pebbled. She shivered as he trailed his fingertips down the center of her chest and over her thin stomach. His hand stopped directly between her hips underneath her bellybutton. She gasped helplessly, soft whimpers escaping her.
Tom’s eyes traveled to her sex. She was hairless, as were her legs and arms. Tom knew that the procedure had been painful and carried out before she reached puberty by her Pureblooded mother. Bella had been shaped to be the perfect wife, her sole purpose to please her husband and tend to the children while they were young. Better yet, just above the lips of her sex was a single rune, the color of a birthmark. His pupils dilated as he saw it. It named her a virgin, a Pureblood virgin from a Sacred Line, and would fade once she was penetrated.
“Do I please you, my Lord?” Bella asked, voice trembling with nerves. Tears graced her cheeks, afraid he would reject her and yet she never once looked away from his face.
“You are a perfect vessel,” Tom praised her in a sot whisper. He stood, offering his hand.
She took it with a cry of relief and came to her feet, joy radiating from her soul. Tom graced her with another smile as he led her forward. Bella followed him, feeling light as a feather. Obediently she sat on the throne when he pressed her forward and down.
Tom’s strong hands skimmed her thighs before hooking under her knees. Looking into her eyes, he lifted her slender legs and pulled them open, draping them over the throne’s arms. It opened her to his sight, her folds delicate and pink and beginning to glisten. He reached down to spread her vaginal lips that still bore the mark of the virgin. Tom felt his heart beat increase, heat rising from his body. She was his to despoil.
Silent and intent, dark hair falling across his forehead, he caressed her breasts and stroked her thighs. He spoke to her, slow and sensual of his pleasure in her offering, of his plans to rule the Wizarding world, to restore the Old Ways. Bella stared enraptured, caught up in his voice and promises. She was dripping by this point, slick and hot, her skin flushed with desire.
Tom stood before her, powerful, calm. He cut into his thumb and whispered a spell to ensure it did not clot. Then he leaned over her, his mouth taking in her needy gasps as he drew pattens onto her lower stomach in his blood.
“My Lord!” Bella arched with a cry, overcome with idea that her Lord’s blood was coating her skin.
Tom moved easily with her body. A controlled burst of wandless magic and the throne’s arms lifted and curled over the woman’s legs right above the knee, holding them still. “Arms up, sweet Bella.”
Bella obeyed immediately with no hesitation. Two snakes from the headpiece of the throne came to liquid life and captured her wrists, securing them above her.
Tom straightened. He stared down at her body, marked with blood, held open and captive, a willing sacrifice. He was panting now, too, and slowly he undid his robe. Bella whimpered, her dark lashes settling on his cheeks as if she couldn’t stand the glorious sight of him.
Tom unbuttoned his shirt and unclasped his pants, where his thickening member lifted and became hard against his lower stomach. Fluttering her lashes as she cracked her eyes open, she could see the finely etched muscles of his chest and abs. It was clear he had not ignored his body as he pursued magic. He was strong.
“I was once born on this day, the Solstice of Winter,” he intoned, voice deep and resonate as he took in the woman’s shuddering body underneath him. Her dark blue eyes were open again. Her mouth parted in awe as she gazed up at him. “This was the day of my birth and it will be the start of my rebirth. I call the Destroyer to be present in this ritual of Death and Rebirth. Winter, I call upon you to empower this circle. The Ruler of Death, Cold, and Darkness, I call upon you.”
Tom’s magic curled about him. Bella hissed as stinging pleasure washed over her in waves. Her breasts rose and fell with every gasping breath she took. Her hips unconsciously angled upward, offering herself to his shockingly large and thick cock. Tom’s dark eyes were like daggers, piercing her straight through.
“Witness Bellatrix Solana Black offer her life! She will be unmade so that I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, may be remade. Just as Winter gives way to Spring, from Death comes Life. I call upon the Destroyer, Ruler of Death, Cold, and Darkness! Bear witness to this act! I call upon Winter to Bless and Accept her sacrifice!”
Cold, burning cold, filled the chamber. Frost coated the pillars and the smooth quartz floor at Tom’s feet. The blood runes painted on Bella’s skin turned to ice. She shivered and shook, her skin taking on a grayish quality, but instead of crying out in fear she laughed.
“My Lord, Winter has come!”
Untouched by the cold, Tom gripped the base of his cock and stepped closer so that his spongy head caressed her soft, bare folds. The power in the room resonated like the unending ring of a bell. Tom braced himself with a hand flat next to her head. She stared up at him, eyes bright with need and fear.
“This will hurt,” he told her, a gentle promise.
Bella swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”
He kissed her lips, soft and chaste, then slammed forward with a single violent thrust that held the power of his entire body. She screamed as she was slammed backward and up, the hold on her legs and wrists was painful, but she hardly noticed, her whole body feeling torn in two.
Tom gave a low groan. She was tight, very tight, and her expression as it twisted in pain was exquisite. It made his cock throb and thicken even more. He tore free from the hot grip of her body and slammed inside again just to see tears gather in her eyes and spill down her pale cheeks. Again and again, he slammed into her. The more he thrust, the wetter she became as blood slicked her passage.
Bella sobbed as searing hot pain stabbed deep inside her body. Her wrists and thighs were already deeply bruised, but even as her Lord tore and thrust, tearing her apart from the inside out, she moaned, the sound deep and primal. She canted her hips, welcoming the pain and the sensation of something massive moving inside of her. Through her tears, she saw his expression, open-mouthed with pleasure, eyes burning with lust, and she was happy.
Tom began to thrust faster, shallower, punching deep again and again. He was sweating now, panting as he practically beat his hips against hers. This life was his, given to him freely, and he would take it. He gripped her short curls in one hand and crashed his mouth to hers. Thrusting his tongue inside, he drank in her sobs and cries for long minutes before biting down on her lips.
The cold became brutal, the touch of Winter pervading the chamber. Bella’s lips were lined in blue, her eyelashes crystalizing with ice. Her breasts bounced as he thrust harder. She moaned and dripped blood, staring with perfect love and devotion up at his face, even as she cried from the agony of being taken so violently.
Tom was close, close to something he had never felt before. His blood pounded in his veins, a burning hot river racing with the force of a typhoon. It filled his head with a curtain of red lust. Fuck was it amazing. He wanted to crawl inside her body and bathe in her boiling hot blood. She gripped him so fucking tight; it was so bloody hot and slick. He dove again and again into that place of toe-curling pleasure. He’d never felt so good! Pleasure drowned out thought, frying his brain, and Tom wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed until Bella could make no sound whatsoever. Her expression looked tortured, her eyes big, mouth gaping helplessly as she was strangled.
They came together, Tom releasing a cry of triumph, Bella going rigid. Magic speared through them both, an ice javelin the size of a fist impaling them straight through their core. The agony was nearly unbearable. Everything erupted into a scrambled mess of searing electricity, black and red and white…
… Draco lay panting in the show. His sides and back were bleeding where the creature’s talons had cut into him; his arms were still pinned to his sides. Whatever, whoever, had him, Draco could feel their cold breath, slow and even.
He’d struggled madly, fury blinding him, but as the minutes passed without the creature holding him budging an inch. He would have fought forever if he hadn’t heard the faint beat of a drum and the chime of bells. It distracted him. Panting, nearing exhaustion, Draco had collapsed to his knees and fell onto his side before going still. The music seemed to cut through the blind panic and rage, calmed his racing heart until its beat matched that of the drum. The cold patience of the Hold fell over him; he’d wait and watch for the moment something changed.
At first, nothing was in front of him except the silence of a dark forest and then a naked Being was crouched there, head tilted as it stared down at Draco. White hair tangled, face cragged with age, It was nonetheless inhuman with black pools for eyes and sharp piranha teeth. Draco met the Creature’s dark, endless eyes fearlessly. He tested the hold on his arms and realized it was different. Draco pushed as hard as he could and the rough skin of tree bark bit into his arms. With a grunt, Draco used as much force as he could and the branches holding him cracked. He was free.
Draco sat up, scrapped and bleeding from the shallow punctures on his sides and back and from breaking free of the wooden branches holding him. He didn’t turn to check his wounds, however. Instead, he kept his eyes pinned to the Being who still crouched in front of him with a wicked smile.
“Ah, little Hunter,” It said, voice somehow filling every available space without shouting. “There you are.”
Draco tilted his own head. He was thinking again. Clarity descended on his mind for the first time in what felt like ages. There was no panic, no emotional havoc, no obsession. He took a deep breath, pulling in the frigid air. The snow was cold and wet under him, the forest empty and still. From a far distance, he could still hear the steadily beating drum and the jingle of bells.
The God of Cold and Darkness stood and looked in the direction of the faint music. A smile lit Its face. “He dances for you. It looks like you found your way Home.” Black eyes looked down at him. “But before you leave… You must prove your worth and pass My test.”
Draco slowly pushed up and got to his feet. He was so much smaller than the God, but that didn’t bother him. “What test?”
The Being grinned and this time blood stained Its sharp teeth. “A Test of Self. Are you truly a Hunter or are you Prey? Are you worthy of the Dancer or are you destined to die so that others can live?”
Blond hair falling around his face, Draco’s eyes glinted silver. “The Dancer is mine,” he answered, voice hard and unyielding, a predator’s warning growl.
The Being made no response. It turned and began to walk away. Its steps were as graceful and soft as falling snowflakes as It glided into the forest, disappearing between the darkness of two trees.
Draco took another deep breath and listened to the faint drums and bells for a moment longer. He couldn't feel Harry at all, the bond likely silenced by the God, but the music reassured him that Harry was close and well.
Stealing himself, Draco stepped forward to face his challenge…
… Professor Sprout had discovered the disturbance in the courtyard and sent a Patronus messenger to inform them. Now, Dumbledore and Narcissa stood in the open doorway, and even with Dumbledore’s magical shield, they had to hold tight to the doorframe or risk being thrown back into the castle.
The wind was a howling, vicious thing, a stationary tornado of snow and ice. Dumbledore’s beard and long hair were flung this way and that while the skin of their hands and faces went numb. Dumbledore’s robes also whipped around his legs while Narcissa’s skirt did the same. They hardly noticed, their attention riveted on the center of the tornado. Illuminated by what looked like moonlight only every ten seconds or so was a small figure. Bending, turning, leg lifting up and out, hands weaving a graceful pattern, the figure danced to some music that could not be heard over the scream of the wind.
“That’s Harry!” Narcissa yelled, one hand holding tight to the doorframe, the other keeping her hair in place.
Dumbledore barely heard her voice even though she stood directly next to him. He gave her his full attention and yelled back, “What?”
Narcissa yelled again, “Harry! That’s Harry!”
Dumbledore frowned and looked into he blizzard. He cast some diagnostic magic, but his spells were rebuffed no matter how delicate or powerful. He took Narcissa by the arm and stepped back inside. The door was left open, so the wind was still incredible, but the walls buffered it just enough they could understand each other at a shout.
“This is powerful magic at work,” Dumbledore told her loudly.
Narcissa closed her eyes. She could sense the cold, the Dark, but there was something else there. Something that wasn’t quite human. “It’s the fae! They still have a connection to the boys.”
“I fear interfering will do more harm than good at this point,” Dumbledore concluded, holding tight to his hair and beard so it didn’t lash Narcissa in the face.
“I will stand watch,” Narcissa answered, agreeing.
Dumbledore nodded. “I will join you.”
He conjured armchairs for them to sit in and put up a strong barrier that softened the scream and fury of the wind just enough that it wasn’t torturous to sit just inside the doorway. He also ordered lap throws to help keep them warm from the cold. The freezing bite of winter would not be denied no matter what spell or ward Dumbledore applied.
“Minerva,” Dumbledore called cheerfully, eyes sparkling once more. His deputy had been hanging back to keep out of the worst of the wind. “Will you return to the tower and inform their friends that the boys have been found and the adults will handle things from here?”
Minerva gave Narcissa a hard look, but she nodded. “Let me know the minute anything changes.”
“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore agreed. He gave Narcissa a warm smile. “Cocoa, my dear?”
Narcissa ignored him, her eyes pinned to the doorway and the blizzard beyond it that was holding her children hostage. She had to trust they would come out of whatever trial they faced. All she could do was pray to the Old Ones that her faith would not be in vain…
… The forest gave way to a jungle. As soon as the humidity pressed against Draco’s skin, he felt himself relax only for a frown to crease his expression a moment later. It was quiet and still. As if some great predator had passed by, silencing the jungle around it. A sense of violation swept through Draco’s core and he wrapped his arms around his chest protectively.
He could see it now. There were cuts scored into the trees and snapped branches. The brush had been trampled. Vines and the elephant ears had been severed completely in places, leaving them hanging limp and withered. The plants and leaves seemed battered as if by a great storm.
A now familiar sense of paranoia washed over Draco, his blood pressure increased and his thoughts began to cloud as anger and agitation began to take hold. Now that he’d felt the difference between this and the cool logic he usually thought with, he realized just how deeply affected he’d become by the Dark Lord’s attack.
The cold breath of winter shivered down his back. It gave him a split second to think clearly again. Draco reached for the cold, determined to keep his thoughts clear. In a way, it was as familiar and comforting as the warm humidity found in his own mind. For you see, Harry’s mind had originally been a place of bleak, cold emptiness.
Hurricane force winds and a flat arctic plane that had been utterly empty had been created by a brutal reality where Harry had hated himself as much as everyone had hated him. Fortunately, the bond to Draco had softened that arctic tundra. Harry’s submission and Draco’s possessive love had transformed the landscape. Now if one were to look into Harry’s mind, they’d find rolling, snowy hills, softly falling snowflakes, blue skies and gentle breezes. It was still cold but not bitterly so. It was a place of simplicity and breathtaking beauty.
With his thoughts focused solely on Harry, Draco managed to push away the trauma and paranoia that lay thick and heavy in his own mind, and slowly he felt himself transform. When Draco blinked his eyes clear, he was lower to the ground, his vision was in black and white. He realized he had taken the animal-form he’d found with the fairies.
Four-footed with claws on each paw, he was vaguely feline except he had pitch-black scales instead of fur and a more canine-shaped head with a mussel filled with sharp teeth to match. He also had a tail much like a greyhound - thin and whip-like. His eyes, however, were slitted like a snake’s. Also like a snake, he had two front fangs that were hollow and connected to a sac that produced a very deadly venom. When he was in kill-mode, the venom would pool in his cheeks and drip from his mouth, a cloudy yellow that smoked when it came in contact with anything organic.
He was a conglomeration of predators, making him sleek, beautiful, and extremely deadly. More importantly, Draco was able to keep his thoughts clear, immune in this form to the paranoia and anger that pervaded his mind like an invisible, poisonous fog. It chilled him to the bone to realize how corrupt his mind had become, his every decision and reaction for the last two months had become flawed.
He’d attacked Harry, pushed away the Malfoys, and had revealed too much to Dumbledore. He’d secluded himself and Harry, not making enough use of the resources around him and definitely making no progress in his goal of building connections with the other students. He’d become obsessed with Occlumency with no real results. His grades had suffered; Harry had suffered. All because he had put himself in reach of a wizard he had known to be connected to Voldemort, because he had thought he could handle it.
Growling, Draco acknowledged that the difference in their powers had been made perfectly clear. The damage he had taken had been more massive than he had even realized. Without clear vision, his perspective had become as egocentric as most people’s. Draco wasn’t most people. His almost inhuman practicality and awareness made his mind different from the average person’s and gave him the ability to master nearly any person or situation. With his unique perspective warped, Draco had made so many stupid mistakes and he refused to let it continue. Whatever it took, he would free himself from this curse.
Stalking past the battered jungle, he pushed past his jungle defense and into his true mind. The truth was his mind wasn’t a tangled, near-impassable jungle full of predators and death anymore. The bond had changed him as much as it had changed Harry. His true mind was a rainforest with narrow but walkable paths and beautiful vegetation.
Sunlight filtered down through the thick canopy above, creating an eternal twilight underneath. There were purple and white orchids hanging in the trees. Passion fruit flowers and yellow jasmine were in bloom giving the air a sweet smell. Vivid red and orange bromeliads grew along the forest floor. Red monkey bush vines hung from tree branches.
There were still predators stalking the deep shadows - large snakes, black panthers, and spiders a little bigger than a man’s fist. They moved in the shadows and up in the tree branches. It was dangerous here in Draco’s mind. Death, violence, and pain would never be foreign to him, but it wasn’t the bloodbath the jungle had presented.
Draco walked through the paths as familiar to him as if he’d been there a thousand times. It was too still, too silent. Something was very wrong…
… Harry felt cold arms wrap around him as he spun, and he was pulled against the Winter God’s chest. He looked up into that ancient, aged face trustingly. The God smiled and led him a few steps in a waltz. Harry moved easily with the Being, offering no resistance. The bells that had appeared on his ankles chimed softly as they moved, and Harry slowly realized his clothes had changed.
He now wore a white lace skirt lined in white silk that fell to the snow. A white, leather corset was synched tight around his middle, making his waist smaller than his hips, and bound his ribs tight. It came to stop an inch below his nipples. You could see them - pale and pink - below the lace that covered his chest. It went all the way up his neck and gently framed his jaw. It also encased his arms in tight sleeves that fell gracefully over his hands. When Harry lifted his arms, the lace folded backward over his wrists and forearms like the opening of a flower.
On a spin, Harry realized his skirt parted in the front, revealing short, white lace shorts underneath. White panties kept him semi-decent through the lace, but the shorts revealed far more than Harry had ever dared reveal before. The shorts were as short as some others he wore, falling only a few inches over his thighs, but they were see-through. The bottom half of both butt cheeks could be seen.
Thin, white leather garters were clipped to the front and back of the shorts to hold up the soft, white silk stockings that rose just above his knees. His feet were encased in white leather ankle boots with a high heel, making his legs look longer and gave his thighs and calves a more pleasing sinuous shape. A string of silver bells were tied around each ankle just above the boots and chimed every time he stepped.
Snow had fallen and caught on his soft, black hair, creating an illusion of a short veil over his head. He was the image of a bride with dark pink lips, eyes full of love. Both provocative and yet innocent, the garment and the Dancer both pleased the God.
“The one to whom you belong has woken to his true self, calmed by your Dance,” the God told him gently, spinning the boy in Its arms. “You did well. He now undertakes his Test.”
Harry bowed his head, a blush staining his cheeks.
“Come.”
Harry was led through the forest, his steps chiming softly through the silent night. Draco appeared between two massive trees around a turn in the path. He looked dirty and exhausted. He was naked, blood stained his sides and scrapes lined his upper arms, but his grey eyes lit up with gentle warmth as soon as he saw Harry.
Draco leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m going to come back to you,” he promised, voice rough and determined. “I’m going to end this once and for all.” He rubbed his cheek against Harry’s lovingly.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Draco was already looking off into the shadows, his attention laser sharp and focused. Heart in his throat, aching to follow in Draco’s footsteps, Harry watched the battered blond walk off into the darkness alone.
The Old One bent, filling Harry’s vision with the galaxies spinning in Its eyes. “Wait for him. He will return to you stronger.”
Harry gasped, a protest on his lips - He didn’t want to leave Draco! - but then he was being spun out of a wall of wind and ice and snow. Cold hands caught him and he looked up to plead that he be allowed to stay, but it was Narcissa staring down at him, expression creased in concern. She wrapped him in her arms, saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear her. All his attention was on the center of the courtyard. Narcissa had seen it too, for she let him go to rush forward and kneel in the snow.
Draco lay naked and unconscious, the tattooed celtic knot glowing faintly at the hollow of his throat…
… A young buck stepped out of the shadows of the forest, unafraid and unmolested, for it lived here always. It was the part of Harry that would be forever connected to Draco through their bond. It was now taller than Draco’s animal-form; his legs were long and slender. He had two large, fuzzy knots sitting in front of his cupped ears, his antlers growing in. The buck looked thinner than he should and tired, but he was still alert and responsive. Along his back lay a coating of pure white snow, the smell crisp and clean.
The young deer lowered his head and Draco gently butted his scaled forehead against that of the deer. “I’m going to come back to you,” he promised silently. Their bond was still closed, so he couldn’t speak into Harry’s mind, but he hoped Harry heard him somehow. “I’m going to end this once and for all.”
Draco rubbed against his cheek against the deer’s one more time, comforting himself as much as Harry, before setting off on his hunt. It didn’t take him long. There was a pungent smell on the air that didn’t belong. He stalked the scent, keeping his body low to the ground. It took him a minute, the smell too pervasive to follow easily, but he found it. In the hollow of a dying tree, Draco found a sinister looking pale green and brown cactus with vicious spines.
Even as he watched, the cactus shuddered and launched its spines through the air, spreading the cactus’s influence and poisoning the vegetation around it. The cactus had grown large, but Draco wasn’t leaving until it was destroyed. He’d hunt for every spine it had thrown and remove it. He didn’t care how long it took. He would have his mind back.
Draco lowered his head and growled. His heart beat steadily in his chest as venom began to fill his mouth. He spat and hissed, venom splattering the cactus, and it began to smoke as the acidic fluid touched its fleshy body. His poison also splashed some of the vegetation around it. Pain lanced through Draco’s mind, knocking him off his feet.
Growling, Draco stood. There was no way to prevent some of his own mind from being damaged as he attacked the foreign object. Heart pounding, his mouth filled again with venom. Without hesitation, he spat, ignoring the brutal pain that followed. He was determined to be free …
… The storm had ended. Severus would be brewing the poison for a few hours more, until the sun broke the sky. Lucius would have remained with him to see it through, but an elf had appeared and summoned him to the Infirmary. Lucius had no choice but to reminded Severus of his promise that half of the potion belonged to him before making his way quickly to the Hospital Wing.
He braced himself for the worst, but the first thing he saw when he pushed through the double doors was Harry dressed in a provocative and yet breathtakingly beautiful wedding gown. It drew attention to the fact that Harry had grown taller and more willowy in the four months they’d spent at Hogwarts. His hair seemed a little longer, too, the ends curling slightly underneath a thin layer of snow that still somehow graced the top of the child’s head.
In addition to this, the beautifully stitched corset made Harry’s waist seem smaller and his shoulders and hips wider. Jewel green eyes blinked at him from across Draco’s hospital bed. Harry was holding tightly to the blond’s hand, the gorgeous lace from Harry’s long sleeves falling over both their hands.
“What is his condition?” Lucius asked, finding it hard to tear his eyes away from Harry, dressed as he was.
“There is nothing wrong with him that I can tell,” Madam Pomfrey answered. Her eyes kept darting to Harry as well; it was clear she was shocked by his attire.
It was interesting to note that Professor McGonagall, who stood at the head of the bed, did not seem shocked at all. In fact, when her eyes rested on Harry, she almost seemed awed.
Lucius stepped closer to his son’s bedside and cast Narcissa a curious glance. She stood at the foot of Draco’s bed, looking down at their boy with a thoughtful expression. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Deep thoughts moved through her eyes.
Dumbledore stood next to her, stroking his beard. He gave Lucius a cheerful smile. “Harry had a type of vision. He claims Draco is being tested and the boy will wake as soon as the trial has been completed.”
“By whom?” Lucius demanded.
Harry looked up and met Lucius’s eyes. “The God of Winter. She said Draco will come back stronger.”
A thrill passed through Lucius, his breath catching. The God of Winter had chosen to test his son and had gone so far as to promise his Blessing.
“Likely it is a fairy playing some trick,” Madam Pomfrey huffed and crossed her arms. She was Christian and did not believe the Old Gods remained. “That symbol on Mr. Malfoy’s throat has been activated. It is my understanding that it was placed on the boy during his time in Faerie.”
Lucius saw the Celtic knot was indeed glowing, but the knowledge in Harry’s eyes, the unmelting snow, his gown, made him believe Harry was telling the truth. It wasn’t a fairy who had Draco but a God.
“We will leave him in your care, Madam Pomfrey, until the end of winter break,” Narcissa spoke, slow and determined. “If he has not awoken by that point, we will come and fetch both boys.”
Lucius agreed. The God may consider it interference if they were to remove Draco from the place of his Test. However, once the students returned from break, Draco would be too vulnerable to be left unguarded. Dumbledore had long ago proven his incompetence.
Lucius reached over and gently clasped Narcissa’s arm, silently giving her support and comfort. Draco was an incredible soul. He was confident that their son would come through this triumphant and win the God’s blessing.
His eyes fell on Harry once more. The boy practically exuded the aura of Winter, which was likely why none of them had considered offering the boy a robe to help cover him up. Harry clearly wore the God’s favor. A thrill passed through him once more, awed in the presence of something so much Greater than he…
… Ron and his brothers remained in the Tower as promised, but none of them had gone to bed. They stood watch in the common room, quiet as the howl of the storm had raged. It was almost dawn when the portrait finally opened. Four heads snapped over only for their eyes to go wide as Harry stepped through.
He wore a corset and dress. Harry’s glasses were gone, his eyes a bright grass green. His hair looked less wild somehow, more feminine with a slight curl. A thin layer of snow made the top white. Heels made him a few inches taller, his waist looked so tiny, his arms and neck so slender.
“Blimey! How’d you get turned into a girl?” Ron blurted, a blush staining his cheeks.
“I assure you, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, voice chilly. “That Mr. Potter is still very much a boy. He is tired. Please do not keep him up. Allow him to go to bed in peace.”
The redheads all nodded quickly. She gave them a stern glance and swept out of the room. Fred and George practically leapt over a couch to stand in front of Harry. Harry looked up at them, lips a dark pink, eyes bright and framed by long black lashes.
“Bloody hell. You’re so pretty,” the twins said in unison. They reached forward to touch a softly curling lock of hair but hesitated to actually make contact.
Harry immediately blushed, bowing his head and clasping his hands in front of him shyly.
“Where’s Draco?” Percy asked, worried.
He’d come to stand beside the twins. He frowned at them in warning. They all knew if any of them touched Harry without permission, Draco would have their skins. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. They’d known the boys for four years. They knew just how possessive and vicious Draco could get.
“He’s in the Infirmary,” Harry told them. The Malfoys had made it clear to keep the Dark God a secret. “Madam Pomfrey said he’ll wake in a few days.”
“Why’re you dressed like that?” Ron demanded. He was blinking slowly, still mesmerized and shocked by Harry’s appearance. “Don’t you care you’re wearing a dress?”
Harry looked down at himself and smoothed his hand over the corset and the silk-lined lace at his hips. His blush darkened, but a smile curled the corner of his lips. Looking up shyly through his lashes, he admitted, “I think it’s beautiful.” He swayed side to side, letting the material slide over his legs.
Fred and George both swallowed hard, their pants growing a bit tight. Ron continued to stare, baffled.
Percy scowled at the twins. “Time for bed,” he ordered firmly. “Come on, Ron. Let’s help Harry get ready.”
Ron took Harry’s hand and led him toward the stairs. “I think I'd die of embarrassment if someone put me in a dress.” He looked over at his friend and Harry looked back at him trustingly. “But… I guess it does look kinda okay on you.”
Fred and George stood rooted to the spot as they watched Harry climb the stairs. The slit in the dress opened withe very step up. It revealed a slit down the middle of the skirt. They could see bare thighs and silk stockings and small lace shorts that matched the top. The kid was a total knockout!
Percy firmly shut the dorm door behind them and locked it. He was glad Ron was still young enough to be unaffected by Harry’s look. It wasn’t just that the dress was beautiful and provocative, especially to a wizard’s way of thinking, but Harry’s sweet temperament and trusting nature made it all the more arousing.
“Get his pajamas, please,” Percy ordered.
He knelt behind Harry and began to work on untying the corset. He’d never done it before, so it took him quite a few minutes. Harry stood patient and uncomplaining. Ron had perched himself at the end of the bed, his rat in his lap. Percy finally got the damn thing off, his fingers throbbing from having to untie the many rows. Ron’s gasp drew his attention and he looked to see that Harry had unbuttoned the skirt and it now pooled on the floor at his feet.
The lace shirt fell just shy of the boy’s belly button, revealing a few inches of perfect, bare skin before the lace shorts started low on his hips. White silk panties rose high up Harry’s butt, revealing half the boy’s round ass underneath see-through lace. High-heel ankle boots and silver bells graced his feet under what seemed miles of silk-clad legs. The strip of bare thigh between stockings and lace seemed shockingly provocative. Even Percy felt himself reacting, the memories of being with the boys each year to renew his tattoo coming back to him full force.
“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed. He was deeply shocked, his face dark red. He’d never seen lingerie before, and this definitely fell into that category.
Harry was oblivious to the other two boys in the room. He bent, giving the redheads a spectacular view of his ass, and carefully lifted the skirt. He knew how precious this gift was and he was determined to take good care of it. He also took the corset from Percy’s limp hands.
Walking over to his armoire, the bells around his ankles chiming softly, he busied himself with hanging and storing the skirt and corset. Looking over his shoulder, he asked sweetly, “Can you help me out of the shirt. I don’t want it to tear.”
Percy swallowed hard, his fingers trembling, but he went over. He smoothed his hand down Harry’s back and arms, looking for buttons. He bit back a groan at the feel of how warm and soft Harry’s skin was. The buttons were tiny and ran down the boy’s spine. There were dozens of them. Percy slowly worked the buttons open, the lace parting to reveal pale, golden skin.
“You got a tattoo?” Ron demanded. The shock of his friend wearing strange clothes that revealed far more than they covered disappeared in an instant.
Percy looked to see the silver-white dragon staring up at him from Harry’s side. Percy quickly swallowed and desperately told his dick to calm down. He didn’t want to die on the floor in the First-year boys’ dorm because of a boner.
“Yeah.” Harry smiled, joy radiating from his face. “Draco gave it to me.”
“Draco can do tattoos?” Ron’s eyes lit up. “I want one!”
“Mum would kill you,” Percy told him, rolling his eyes behind his glasses. He sighed in relief as the last button came undone. “You can get it off yourself, right?”
“Yes. Thank you, Percy.” Harry gave him a sweet smile.
Ron pouted on the bed. “But I want one! Maybe a lion. That’d be so wicked!”
“If Draco gives you a tattoo, you don’t get to pick what it is,” Percy told him, amused by his little brother.
“Oh.” Ron considered that. “Maybe if I asked nicely?”
“Mum would still kill you,” Percy repeated.
Ron’s jaw set stubbornly and Percy sighed. At least he could count on Draco not giving Ron a tattoo based on his little brother’s whim. Draco would only give one if he meant it heart and soul, and Percy doubted a tattoo was in Ron’s future.
Fortunately their little argument distracted Percy from the rest of Harry’s undressing. The boy came over bare-footed in a t-shirt and a night robe. Harry yawned, the snow in his hair melting as the light of dawn broke through the window. Water dripped off the ends of his hair and darkened the robe he wore.
“Come on. Time for bed.” Percy smiled and pulled Harry over to his bed.
Ron crawled unprompted under the covers of the middle bed.
Percy tucked Harry in and cast a drying charm at his head. It made the boy’s hair fluff up and become messy once more. He grinned. “Good night, boys. Try and sleep in if you can.”
“Good night. Sleep well,” Harry answered sleepily. He turned on his side facing the bed Ron was in, green eyes blinking slowly.
“Night, Percy. Night, Harry,” Ron called.
Percy came over and smoothed the covers over this brother on his way out the door. “Sleep well.”
… Bella woke on the floor of Lucius’s office. The diary lay open before her. All sense of magic was gone from it. Pain lanced up her spine and instinctively she closed her legs. Something hot and wet coated her thighs. It only took a second to realize it was blood. Crying, she sat up. Her arms and wrists were bruised. Her throat was swollen. She could breathe, but talking was out of the question. It felt like she had swallowed lava. Her thighs ached, but all of that paled in comparison to the scream of pain inside her.
She managed to get to her hands and knees. She had no magic to speak of, but that was okay because her spells must have run out. An elf appeared, looking absolutely shocked. Without being told, it summoned towels for her to hold between her legs and, not knowing what else to do, began to clean the blood from the floor. It wouldn’t keep Lucius from knowing she had been in there or hide the fact the diary was dead, but at least he wouldn’t have her blood to play with.
Bellatrix sat still for a long minute just trying to breathe through the pain. She had to leave. Before her sister or Lucius returned. Her hands cupped protectively over the small roundness of her stomach. She had to protect her Lord and Master. Gritting her teeth, Bellatrix forced herself to stand. She limped over to the fireplace. She unraveled the wards with a careful tug in just the right place. There was no more need for subtle.
The elves tried to stop her, but they were bound not to harm her. She was of their Master’s Blood. Harming her would mean their death. With a grimace of absolute agony, tears streaking her face, Bellatrix lifted a handful of floo powder. Throwing it down, she whispered her destination and disappeared in a flash of green.
Chapter end.
A/N: A long chapter. There’s a lot happening here. Let me know what you think please. :D
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Freedom Bound in Chains