Chapter Text
Theodore Nott cursed as he descended the narrow stairs to the Nott family dungeons. The Notts lived in a proper castle, so they had proper dungeons, not like Malfoy Manor which converted its stellar wine cellar into a place to hold the Dark Lord’s victims.
Why was he even adhering to anything Draco Malfoy requested? He had barely spoken to the tosser since Second Year when his former best mate decided to throw around the word Mudblood like it wasn’t the very type of blood prejudice that had gotten Theo’s own mother murdered–by his own father, no less.
Still, something about Draco’s desperation had made him pause and listen.
“It’s a breeding program. The Dark Lord is establishing a breeding program. Integrate the rebels into Pureblood families, have them produce children.”
Theo had scoffed. “What’s that got to do with me? It will just let my father have a ‘less disappointing’ heir.”
A bitter smile crossed Draco’s face. “The Dark Lord is actually trying to make it so no one is Pureblooded because he’s a Half-Blood.”
Theo’s mouth had dropped open in shock.
Draco had continued to explain, “So he’s going to look like he’s rewarding your father by gifting him a Pureblood. But he won’t give her to your father. He’ll give her to you because you’re not a Pureblood, and he knows that. And I know there’s a Patil down there–I just didn’t see which one. And, if it’s the Good Patil, I want you to ask for her.”
Theo’s head was swimming with the information. “Why?”
Draco swallowed. “Because I trust you not to hurt her.”
“Why do you even–” Theo broke off and shook his head. “Why don’t you just ask for her yourself?”
Draco sniffed. “I just told you, he’s trying to break up the Purebloods. Even though she’s not Sacred Twenty-Eight or even British, she’s still a Pureblood. Besides, the Malfoys are not in favour. We are constant disappointments. We are likely to be punished with a Muggleborn.”
Theo had blinked at his former best friend for a moment before snorting. “Granger. You’ve been fucking up on purpose to make sure you got Granger.”
His former friend had only ground his jaw.
“What’s Patil to you?”
Draco’s jaw tightened again and he looked away. “She’s a friend, I guess. Of sorts. I’m not sure how much she likes me right now, actually. I know she’s disappointed in me. She’s just–she’s a good person, and I don’t want her going to someone like Rowle or Dolohov or even Rabastan. He’s going to give some Purebloods to Death Eaters, otherwise it will be obvious what he’s doing, and people will begin to wonder what motivation he has for doing it.”
Theo had huffed. The whole thing made his stomach roil; but, if what Draco said was true, he could help shield at least someone from horror. “Which one is the good one?”
Draco had levelled Theo with a glare. “You have to ask?”
It took a very brief moment for Theo to decide which one: the one in the NEWT classes with them, the quiet one, the serious one–the Ravenclaw. He nodded. “Alright.” He looked into his former friend’s face. “And what if it’s the other one?”
Draco’s face darkened and he spat viciously, “She can get fucked six ways to next Tuesday by twenty different men, and I wouldn’t care.”
That was–that was quite the reaction for Draco. Ok, no Gryffindor Patil then. He would see who else he could save.
So, here he was, sneaking down to the dungeons of his own home to determine which Patil was down there.
He cast lumos as he got to the bottom of the stairs. His father had segregated the women from the men, so he didn’t even look to the left side of the dungeon.
His light passed over Granger who looked up at him with more curiosity than fear. The Weasley girl glared at him, and the Abbott girl did look up with fear. Finally his light caught on long, dark hair and brown skin. Her head rested on her arms which, in turn, rested on her knees. Her uniform was tattered, though, so he couldn’t tell which House she was from.
He kneeled in front of the bars. “Patil,” he whispered.
She lifted her head and blinked in his light. Her face remained impassive.
Damn, what was the Good Patil’s name? They had shared Arithmancy and Runes for five years, but the professors always called her by her last name. He tried to think of what her friends called her, but he couldn’t remember her with anyone except Draco in class–and he called her Patil as well.
Perhaps he should just ask if she was the Ravenclaw. What came out instead was, “Are you the Good Patil?”
An odd look crossed her face. Finally, she shook her head and said, “No, that’s Parvati.” She put her head back on her arms.
What a strange thing to acknowledge about yourself, that you were the Bad Twin. But, wait, he was sure the Gryffindor one was called Parvati. He was sure he had heard one of her friends call her that. “You’re the Gryffindor?”
She lifted her head again and looked up at him with confusion. “No, that’s Parvati. I’m Padma.”
“The Ravenclaw?” Theo confirmed.
She nodded.
He blew out a breath and raked his hand through his hair. “Alright, look, I’m going to do my best to keep you safe. I promise I won’t hurt you. I won’t make you do anything unless you decide to do it on your own. Ok?”
Her confusion didn’t lift as she nodded again.
He nodded back at her, stood, and hurried back up the stairs.
Hermione watched as Padma continued to stare after Nott in confusion.
“What was that about?” Padma finally murmured.
“The breeding program,” Hermione answered quietly.
“The WHAT?” Ginny squawked.
Hermione closed her eyes as she relived the revelation that happened, Good Lord, was that only just yesterday?
She, Harry, and Ron had watched the exchange between Voldemort and Snape in the Shrieking Shack. For a moment, it looked as if Voldemort had contemplated killing Snape.
“No,” Voldemort had mused, “Dumbledore did not kill Grindelwald, and you’ve been such a useful servant. Your death would be a waste.”
“My lord?” Snape had stuttered.
“Prepare to duel, Severus. And defend yourself well, or I may just change my mind.”
The duel was nearly as breathtaking as what Harry had described about Voldemort and Dumbledore’s duel. But, in the end, Voldemort had cast both Incarcerous and Expelliarmus on Snape then left him on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.
“Damn it,” Snape had sworn. “It will all be meaningless if Potter doesn’t know.”
Harry had taken off the invisibility cloak and approached the man. “What is it I need to know?”
Snape had the audacity to roll his eyes when he was trussed up on the floor. “Of course you would be spying with your cloak.”
Harry had released Snape who stood and brushed his robes off and started toward his wand that had arced across the room. Ron had pointed his wand at Snape and snarled, “Don’t even think about it,” while Harry had retrieved Snape’s wand.
“Fine, though I think it would be better if I could give you the memory, Potter.” He had levelled Harry with a stare that softened for a moment into pity. “You have to die, Potter. In order to defeat the Dark Lord, you must die. As long as you live, so will the Dark Lord. You have a piece of his soul in you.”
“No,” Hermione had protested though she knew it made sense–his parseltongue, his connection to Voldemort.
“How am I supposed to believe the man who murdered Dumbledore?” Harry had retorted.
“If you won’t believe me, believe the girl, then,” Snape had replied as he nodded at Hermione.
Hermione had been just as confused as Harry.
Snape had sighed in frustration. “The memories she gave you last year, what did you do with them?”
“I–I gave them to my elf.”
“Then call your elf,” Snape had snapped.
When Kreacher handed over the bottle of memories to Harry, he handed it to Hermione who was astonished to find her own handwriting pleading with Harry to keep the memories safe and to watch them only if she didn’t make it but before the Death Eater trials. She remembered giving him a bottle of memories, but she thought they were from McGonagall.
Snape had given Ron an odd look and said, “Perhaps just Potter and Granger should watch them. The less people who know the details, the better for those in the memories. May I have my wand to extract my memory?” When Harry hesitated, Snape lifted his eyes to the ceiling in annoyance and said, “I have three wands pointed at me. I remember clearly what happened the last time that occurred in this room.”
Harry had handed over the wand reluctantly and Snape conjured a flask and extracted the memory from his head. “Go back to the castle. The password to my office is ‘Dumbledore.’ The Pensieve is there.”
And she had to endure Harry watching as, well, not an affair exactly, more a series of encounters really, involving Draco Malfoy unfolded. Hermione flushed in embarrassment while reliving the memory of Harry watching her kissing the Slytherin and, worse, watching Malfoy giving her an orgasm. Harry was angrily smug. “I knew it–that handkerchief you dragged everywhere saying it was your grandmother’s–yeah, like I don’t know DLM means Draco Malfoy.”
And then they had watched as Snape revealed to Hermione that Dumbledore had arranged for Snape to kill him.
But it was Snape's further revelation of the consequences for Voldemort winning that allowed Hermione to answer Ginny and Padma now.
“We’re going to be given to the Death Eaters as rewards to breed to increase the magical population.”
“Like concubines?” Padma asked.
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know all the details. I know just that some of us will be considered rewards and others, like myself, are meant to be punishments.”
Ginny scoffed. “So, whoever pissed Voldy off the most gets to be your rapist?”
“If all went to plan,” Hermione answered, “then it won’t be rape, well, no more than any mandate to have sex already is.”
“What do you mean?” Ginny asked suspiciously.
Hermione winced. “I think I’ll be given to Malfoy.”
Ginny snorted. “And you think Draco Malfoy won’t rape you if it comes down to him or you?”
Hermione shook her head. “He won’t hurt me.”
“Draco Malfoy won’t hurt you?” Ginny demanded incredulously. “The arse who called you Mudblood for years?”
“He won’t,” Hermione insisted. She couldn’t tell Ginny that he was in love with her–that would put him at risk and Ginny wouldn’t understand.
“So, what, you’ll just voluntarily have sex with him, then? Have his spawn? You’re giving up?”
“I am not giving up. Never. But there might be sacrifices we will have to make to win.”
“And willingly spreading your legs for Draco Malfoy is one of those sacrifices, Hermione?”
“That is the best case scenario for me, Ginny–because Dolohov and Greyback are asking for me, and they have gruesome plans.”
Padma interjected, “So, that was Nott telling me he wasn’t going to rape me, then?”
Hermione looked over. “It seems like it.”
“You think he’ll be rewarded, though, to even be able to ask for me? I don’t think he fought for Voldemort. He wasn’t really like any of the other Slytherins,” Padma clarified.
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know who everyone is supposed to go to or who Voldemort thinks to reward or punish. These are all just Snape’s speculations, but–”
“Snape,” Ginny snarled. “The man who killed Dumbledore?”
Hermione lowered her voice. “It’s not like we thought, Ginny. And when Harry died,” she gulped over those words, “he had put his trust in Severus Snape again. And you’re going to need to also because likely that is who you’ll be with.”
Ginny reared back in disgust. “No, absolutely not. I cannot have sex with him–carry his child? Ugh, I think I’m going to be ill.”
“He doesn’t like the idea either, Ginny. He’s clever, though. I think he’ll figure out a way to avoid it. And Ginny, if it’s not him, it will be Voldemort.”
Ginny hadn’t broken yet, not through Percy’s or Harry’s death, but now she crumpled. “No, no, I will kill myself first.”
“It won’t come to that,” Hermione comforted. “Trust in Snape. He’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
“What about me?” Hannah asked.
Hermione grimaced. “I don’t know. He told me only about myself and Ginny and–” she gulped again “--and Neville.”
“Who is going to get him?”
Hermione swallowed. “Snape thinks Bellatrix.”
Ginny screamed. “No!”
“Ginny! Are you alright?” came the panicked voice of the very person they were discussing. The cell the boys were in was down a corridor that faced them. The girls couldn’t see them, but if they yelled they could hear each other.
Ginny drew in a calming breath and called back, “Yeah, Nev, there was a rat.”
“Since when were you afraid of rats, Gin?” Ron’s voice called back.
Ginny ignored him and turned back to Hermione, “Please tell me there’s some hope for him.”
Hermione nodded. “If Voldemort is still angry with Bellatrix over the escape from Malfoy Manor and the loss of Hufflepuff’s cup, maybe. Then Pansy is going to ask for him. I suspect her yelling out to grab Harry will help with that. Though, it likely won’t be terribly better with Pansy. She always bullied him.”
Ginny scoffed. “No, that will be the safest place for him. She’s in love with him,” she spat.
Hermione wondered at the vitriol in Ginny’s voice. Wouldn’t it be better if Neville was with someone who loved him? He would essentially be in the same position as Hermione.
Pansy Parkinson was so grateful to Draco’s occlumency lessons over the last year. The skill was the only thing keeping her from shaking with fear at the Dark Lord’s victory celebration. The Parkinsons had never been part of the evil wizard’s inner circle, but her father’s fighting at the Final Battle and Pansy’s own demand to hand Potter over in the Great Hall had earned them both an invite to this more intimate gathering. “You’re to be rewarded, daughter,” her father had crooned at her more lovingly than he had ever done in her life. “It turns out you’re not worthless after all.”
Calling out to hand over Potter hadn’t been some cunning act to curry the Dark Lord’s favour. It was a move of desperation, a move to keep Voldemort away from the boy she had been pining for for she didn’t know how long. She had spent the entire year keeping him and his redheaded slag safe. She wasn’t about to watch Voldemort or, worse, Bellatrix come for him. But, as long as the war raged, as long as Harry Potter was alive to rally behind, Neville Longbottom would fight. And Pansy would trade a dozen Harry Potters for one Neville Longbottom.
She wasn’t sure when she stopped looking at him as a bumbling, fat, crybaby and started to see him as someone strong who just wouldn’t be bullied (unless that bully had a hook nose and greasy curtains for hair). He had more loyalty to his friends than any Hufflepuff and every bit as much courage as Harry fucking Potter. How many times had she covered for his nonsense? And he had never once bent to the Carrows.
Now was when she saw whether her spur of the moment act in the Great Hall would pay off.
The Dark Lord sat on a dais in the Nott family ballroom. Two tables sat perpendicular to the dais filled with Death Eaters and others prominent at the Final Battle. Voldemort’s snake sat coiled at his feet. Pansy repressed another shudder as she remembered Longbottom trying to take out that snake with the sword. It was only the Dark Lord’s own blind rage that made him miss Neville with the Avada.
As the hosts, Theo and his father sat the closest to the Dark Lord on his left. And as the most favoured Death Eater, Headmaster Snape sat closest to him on his right. It was a statement of favour not lost on anyone in the room. In contrast, the Malfoys were the furthest down the left side of the table and the Greengrasses, who had joined the Dark Lord only in the last moments of the Final Battle, were furthest down the right.
Pansy and her father sat in the middle of the right hand side.
The Dark Lord raised his goblet. “To Harry Potter.”
The Death Eaters shuffled and glanced at each other in confusion.
The side of the dark wizard’s mouth ticked up. “May he stay dead.”
The witches and wizards in the room laughed uncomfortably. No one would dare mention that Harry Potter’s body had not been found, but it was on everyone’s mind. The fact that the Dark Lord saw fit to joke about it made them hesitate even more. Was he looking for those who doubted his victory? One never knew with this psychopath.
Everyone lifted their goblets after the Dark Lord took a full drink.
“However, it is not enough to simply vanquish the Mudbloods and Blood Traitors,” the Dark Lord continued. “Though they are despicable, they still have magic and the Muggles outnumber us. We must do our best to reintegrate them into our folds and increase our population.”
Several people exchanged horrified looks and shuffled in their chairs.
“And look,” the noseless bastard went on, “we already have some on hand with which to work.” He waved his hand and a list of names appeared above their heads.
Pansy scanned the names and her heart plummeted. Godsdammit. She knew it. Neville Fucking Longbottom.
There, shimmering, were names and blood statuses.
Abbott, Hannah–Pureblood
Creevey, Dennis–Mudblood
Finch-Fletchley, Justin–Mudblood
Granger, Hermione–Mudblood
Longbottom, Neville–Pureblood
Macmillan, Ernest–Pureblood
Patil, ?–Pureblood
Spinnet, Alicia–Half-Blood
Weasley, Ginevra–Pureblood
Weasley, Ronald–Pureblood
“I promised you rewards and punishments for your service, didn’t I? Let me be clear, should you spurn my gift or avoid my punishment, I do not need you in my service. And we all know what happens to those the Dark Lord no longer needs, don’t we?”
“Yes, my lord,” everyone, including Pansy, dutifully murmured.
“They are to be integrated into your family. It is your duty to teach them our ways, your duty to impregnate them or bear their children, your duty to ensure they become loyal servants to me. If, at the end of one year, you have not created a new future wizarding life and you are both seen to be fertile, you will be deemed unnecessary. Your spouse–because yes you will marry, I suffer no bastards–your spouse will pass to another worthy witch or wizard.”
More shuffling. Pansy occluded harder so as not to laugh. These motherfuckers had thought they were going to get concubines, playthings. She also internally sighed in relief. Neville wouldn’t go to Bellatrix, then. She was already married.
The Dark Lord looked around the dining room and focused his eyes on Draco. “Young Draco.”
Draco gulped. “Yes, my lord?”
“Such a disappointment,” the Dark Lord sibilated.
“I am sorry, my lord, I have tried.”
“And yet, when others of your House came to join me and fight for me, you remained behind with Harry Potter.”
Draco shook his head. “Only to try to capture Potter, my lord.”
What passed for nostrils on the resurrected wizard’s face flared. “And you failed. I warned you, didn’t I? Did you think your wealth and lineage would shield you from my wrath?”
“No, no, my lord.” Draco seemed to vibrate.
Pansy knew that most in the dining room likely thought the vibrations were caused by fear. But Pansy had known Draco since they were in nappies. He was vibrating in anticipation. All of his maneuvers looked to have come to fruition.
“Perhaps the time your lineage was humbled is past due,” the Dark Lord said. He looked up at the names shimmering in the air. “Potter’s Mudblood.”
Dolohov whined, “But, master, I would like–”
With a lazy flick, Dolohov fell to the ground writhing against a nonverbal crucio.
“You dare question my dictates?” The Dark Lord lifted his wand and Dolohov lay on the ground gasping. “Your plans do not fit mine, Antonin. But, should Draco fail me yet again, I’ll let you have your fun.” He turned back to Draco. “And I’m sure Theophilus would like you to remove the filth from his home as soon as possible.”
Draco stood with alacrity and Pansy winced. He had been doing so well, and now he practically gave the game away. She shot a look around the dining room, but no one else seemed to notice his eagerness.
“Yes, my lord.”
He hurried from the room.
“Ogbert,” the Dark Lord enunciated slowly.
“Yes, my lord,” the Greengrass patriarch stuttered.
“You fought for me at Hogwarts.”
The balding man nodded eagerly. “I did. Yes, I did, my lord.”
“Yet, it was the first you ever joined me.”
“I-”
“I invited you to my side many times,” the Dark Lord continued to intone lazily. Then his eyes pierced Ogbert’s own gaze. “Yet you did not come to my side until my victory was all but guaranteed.”
“My–my lor–”
“Don’t you have two daughters?” the Dark Lord inquired. “Where is the other?”
“She–she was lost in the battle, my lord.”
“Lost in the battle,” the Dark Lord said almost as if tasting the words. “It sounds almost as if she died. But I have reports that she fled.”
Yes, that sounded like Daphne. Like Theo and Tracey Davis, Daphne had remained quiet and small, never getting involved in Pureblood bullying of those with lesser blood. Pansy looked down the table at Astoria who was shaking and would not lift her eyes. Pansy was sure Astoria would have done the same if she wasn’t underage and didn’t have the Trace.
The Dark Lord gazed up at the list in contemplation. “Hmm, Dennis Creevey is quite young, isn’t he?”
“So is Astoria, my lord,” Greengrass interjected. “Far too young for marriage.”
The Dark Lord smiled. It was ghastly. “But not too young for a betrothal. Now, do be the loyal servants you pretend to be, and remove the filth from Theophilus’s home.” He dismissed the Greengrass family with a gesture. He turned to the right side of the table again. “Millicent,” in another sibilation. “Your father has been quite loyal, but you–” he shook his head as if at a naughty child, “the Carrows tell me you just couldn’t stomach administering the cruciatus curse. So disappointing.” He looked up again. “There’s one more Muggleborn up there for you.”
Millie looked positively green. Pansy knew it wasn’t from blood prejudice. In fact, Pansy was sure Millie was gay. Forcing her to have sex with any man was torture in itself. Forcing her to carry a child–an endeavor Pansy was certain Millie had no interest in–must be nauseating.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the Dark Lord snapped. “Get it out of this castle.”
Millie stumbled up and her chair clattered to the floor. Shakily, she hastened to the door.
“My lord,” her father began, “I have been loyal to you. My bloodline–”
“Is already polluted, Bulstrode, with an apparent blood traitor. I must wonder what you taught her.”
Bulstrode shook his head.
“And did you think you could hide your wife’s Muggleborn mother?” the Dark Lord continued. He shook his head as if in disappointment. “Perhaps it would be best if you followed your daughter.”
Bulstrode stood with alacrity and fled.
The Dark Lord turned his head to his left. “Selwyn.”
“Yes, my lord,” the wizard stuttered.
“You lack an heir.”
“I, yes, that is correct.”
The Dark Lord hummed. “I remain so dissatisfied with your failure to capture Harry Potter at Lovegood’s. You have no idea what that gaffe has really cost me, do you?”
“I am sorry, my lord, Travers–”
Pansy almost snickered. Of course he would try to lay blame on someone else.
“--will face the consequences too,” the Dark Lord finished. “Eventually. Today, though, is your lucky day. Take the Half-Blood and go.”
“I, yes, my lord. Thank you my lord.” Selwyn scurried from the room.
The Dark Lord's eyes moved up the table. “Young Theodore.”
“Yes, my lord,” Theo answered shakily.
Pansy winced. This was not the place for Theo. He wasn’t hard like the rest of them.
“This is your first time with us.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Your father has served me long and well.”
Theo bobbed his head. “I am aware, my lord.”
“Yet, you seem unremarkable. Alecto and Amycus were barely aware you even attended Hogwarts. So, you must have a remarkable capability for stealth. I could use such a skill. Our enemies are still out there. As a mark of my goodwill, and as a reward to your father, I will give you your choice of Pureblood prizes. Not Ginevra, though. I have plans for her.”
“My lord,” Theophilus interjected, “I assure you, Theodore is a most disappointing heir. If you would really like to reward me, perhaps I could–”
“Tch, tch,” the Dark Lord interrupted in turn. “Don’t be greedy, now, Nott. Though a disappointment, you do, indeed, have an heir. Let’s make a compromise. If Theodore remains the disappointment you say and fails to appreciate my favour, you may have the girl.”
Pansy almost laughed. Unlike with Millie’s grandmother, only Draco and Pansy knew that Theo’s mother had been a Half-Blood. His great-grandparents had raised his mother as their “miracle child” and hid away the shame of their daughter and her Muggle lover. When Theophilus had discovered the secret, he had murdered his wife in front of his son. Theo was five. It was why he could see thestrals. Well, she supposed most of them could see thestrals now.
Pansy suspected the Dark Lord knew this secret as well if what Draco had told her about the madman’s plans for Purebloods was true. Theophilus had obviously hoped that he would be awarded a Pureblood broodmare to restore his line’s purity. And then Theo would likely go the way of his mother.
She watched as Theophilus struggled to smother his displeasure and said, “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
“Theodore, what is your choice?”
Theo didn’t even look up at the shimmering letters. He answered decisively, “Patil, my lord.”
Well, that was a gamble since they didn’t know which one was down there. Pansy supposed it would be a good bet if it turned out to be the Ravenclaw. Two quiet swots? Yes, they would suit. But if it was the Gryffindor … what a nightmare.
The Dark Lord nodded. “I understand she’s very pretty. Lucius, weren’t you once inquiring about one of them for Draco? That was before your unfortunate failure in the Department of Mysteries.”
What? Draco started marriage negotiations with a Patil while still in marriage negotiations with Pansy? Well, that was just rude.
“Uh, yes, yes, my lord. The Patils rejected the offer after–”
“After your failure. I cannot say I blame them. Hopefully Theodore will make them a much better son-in-law.” He turned back to Theo. “You may remain for the rest of the meal, Theodore. Your bride can wait another hour for better accommodations.”
“Yes, my lord,” Theo replied. “Thank you.”
The Dark Lord smiled pleasantly, which itself was terrifying, before swinging his gaze to the Goyles. “Gregory, your father has also served me well, and Amycus and Alecto have nothing but praise for your– enthusiasm.”
Pansy almost snorted because they certainly wouldn’t have praise for his skill. The yob could cast the cruciatus about as well as a Hufflepuff first year.
“You may take the other Pureblood girl,” the Dark Lord waved magnanimously.
Goyle Sr. elbowed his son who stood abruptly and shambled toward the door. Goyle Sr. hissed, “Say thank you.”
Greg turned back and mumbled, “Thank you, my lord.”
The Dark Lord actually chuckled. That was terrifying. Even more terrifying was when his eyes moved to Pansy’s. “Pansy, dear.”
She held onto her occlusion with everything she had. “Yes, my lord?”
“You were the only student outspoken for me. Good girl.”
She bowed her head. “My loyalty has never wavered.” That was true, but who the recipient of that loyalty was was quite different than she implied.
“Who would you like as a reward?” He waved at the few names still left shimmering above them.
Pansy looked up and bit her lip as if attempting to pick the least bad option. After supposedly deliberating for nearly a minute, she answered, “Longbottom, my lord.”
“Ah, hmm. Bella, didn’t you express an interest in the boy?”
The woman practically melted toward the Dark Lord. “Yes, my lord. I have plans for him.”
Pansy couldn’t help it. She blurted, “But she’s already married, my lord.”
“So, she is,” he mused. “I sometimes forget. That’s easily remedied. Avada Kedavra.”
Rodolphus thumped to the ground, dead. Rabastan looked down at his brother aghast.
“I understand he was impotent anyway. Now Bella may have a child after all.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the matted-haired bitch purred.
Pansy thought she might break. Draco had warned her this may happen, but she hadn’t believed it, especially not after the Dark Lord had declared they would need to marry their “reward.” She bit her lip to keep from crying, or worse, screaming. She looked back up at the two remaining male names floating above.
She could barely think, but she had to. Macmillan or Weasley, equally ghastly choices. Macmillan was a pompous numpty and Weasley was a–well, a Weasley.
She needed an ally if she had any chance of rescuing Neville–because he was not staying with that bitch.
Wasn’t there something about chess in First Year? Chess took strategy. And if Pansy was kind to Granger’s beloved, perhaps Granger would help with the rescue as well. It would be easy to enlist her since Pansy and Draco were well known friends. Pansy could show Granger her man healthy and whole. That would certainly mean something to the swot, wouldn’t it?
Pansy released her lip from her teeth and answered, “Ronald Weasley, my lord.”
“Will you be able to control him, Pansy, dear? The Weasleys are already an unruly family, but this one was Potter’s constant companion.”
Pansy tossed her head. “I will control him, my lord. I look forward to breaking him.”
The Dark Lord grinned again and Pansy suppressed her shudder.
“Go collect your prize then, my dear.”
Pansy stood and did her best to walk calmly and not flee the room. She held her tears at bay until she crossed the threshold.
Severus Snape watched as Pansy Parkinson left the room. He was impressed with how she had held onto her occlusion. Draco must be a better teacher than Severus would have given him credit for. It was wise to choose Weasley. Should the Order ever triumph, her decision might guarantee her safety.
He returned his attention to Voldemort who was saying, “We have a prize left. Who should receive him?”
Severus held back a smirk. The room was a sausage fest aside from a wife here and there. The only three young ladies had already left the room. Who, indeed, would Macmillan go to?
“Rookwood, don’t you have a daughter?”
Rookwood sat up straight. “Uh, yes, my lord. She’s well out of Hogwarts, though.”
“Is she married?”
“No, my lord. My wife was not able to secure her a contract before your return.”
The Dark Lord nodded as if in sympathy. “Ah, because it wasn’t politically done to link oneself to Lord Voldemort’s spy, I suppose.”
Severus restrained another smirk. Also because she had the face like the back end of a bus and was several ingredients short of a First Year potion.
“Congratulations, then,” Voldemort continued, “you have just secured your daughter a husband.”
Rookwood stood and bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Don’t let your daughter wait another minute, now.” He made a shooing motion, and Rookwood hastened from the room.
The Dark Lord picked his goblet up again and took a sip. He returned to his meal.
Several hungry eyes did not follow suit and return to their plates but instead lingered on the one name that remained floating above them.
Finally, Greyback ventured, “My lord, Ginevra–”
Voldemort’s eyes snapped up with venom. “Certainly you did not expect to get the girl. Do you think I would let a half-breed have pups with a Pureblood? The Lupin abomination is bad enough, isn’t that right, Narcissa?”
Narcissa had been quiet the entire evening. Her occlusion was beyond anything anyone could achieve. At least one Black every generation was a natural Occlumens. In Narcissa’s it was herself, her sister Andromeda, and her cousin Regulus. Bellatrix and Sirius were too high strung to have mastered the art, though Bellatrix fancied herself proficient. She had even taken it upon herself to teach Draco a different form from that which Severus had already been teaching him. It had barely held against Severus.
So, Severus was not surprised when Narcissa looked up calmly and said, “It is a shame upon our family.”
“Indeed.” The Dark Lord looked around the room. “Who of you thinks you are worthy to have this Pureblood witch of such prolific bloodlines?”
No one answered. Many eyes dropped.
“No one? So humble. But I, thankfully, can think of someone worthy. I had thought to keep her for myself for a time, but who needs heirs when you cannot die? No, I think I shall give her to my most useful servant, the servant who has never failed me.” He paused dramatically. The man, if he could be called that, loved his dramatics. “Severus,” he drawled.
Fuck.
“Thank you, my lord. I fear I am not worthy of your favour.”
The noseless sociopath smiled, and Severus’s stomach turned. He’d never seen the man smile so much, and he hoped to never see it again.
“Pssh, now Severus. I once promised you another girl, of purer blood. I have delivered on my promise.”
“You are too generous, my lord.” As if all it took to replace Lily was to hand him another redhead in love with a Potter. Severus swallowed back the sick that threatened to spew onto his plate.
When Voldemort dismissed his followers, Bellatrix scurried off to obtain her prize, stepping over the corpse of her husband on the way. Theodore made his way more slowly to the door that led to the dungeons. Severus lingered.
“You wish to speak with me, Severus.”
“Yes, my lord. I would like two favours, my lord.”
“Two, Severus? When I’ve already given you a great gift this evening? Don’t tell me you’re as greedy as our friend, Nott.”
Severus shook his head. “No, no. One is regarding that gift, actually. Ginevra will not be seventeen for three more months and–”
The Dark Lord waved his hand lazily. “Yes, yes, you have always been more circumspect than many of my other Death Eaters. I’ve always admired that about you, Severus. You are a man of the brain and not the body. I imagine it is repugnant to you to impregnate someone not of age.”
“Yes, my lord, you understand me well. I also would prefer that the mother of my children is educated.”
Voldemort leaned back in his chair. “And it would be difficult for her to complete her education while pregnant.”
“Precisely, my lord.”
“Alright, Severus, the year time limit does not apply to you. You must still keep her close. She is a rabble-rouser. Letting her mix with the other students would be unwise. She is still to sleep in your chambers and eat at your side in the Great Hall. And, of course, you can enjoy her without impregnating her. There are potions for that, of course,” he finished with a sardonic smile.
Severus occluded harder to keep his dinner from coming back up. “Of course.”
“And the second favour?”
“I would like to replace the Carrows. They are insufficient teachers and incapable of keeping the students in line.”
Voldemort sat back and gave Severus another mocking smile. “Perhaps you miss teaching the Dark Arts, yourself, Severus.”
Severus gave a short nod in acquiescence. “Like you, it is my favourite subject. After years of applying for it, I was able to teach it for only one year.”
“But you have other positions to fill, now that some of your professors have shown their true colours.”
“Yes, but Amycus couldn’t transfigure himself out of a paper bag, and Alecto thinks Charms are an awkward sort of flirting.”
The Dark Lord snorted. Severus was impressed. He didn’t think someone could snort without a nose.
Again, the magnanimous handwave. “I am in a pleasant mood this evening, and your contributions to my cause have been extensive. Yes, Severus, staff your school as you wish.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Severus stood and bowed, following the others to the door that led to the dungeons to collect his “prize.”
The girls all (well, not Alicia) looked up when they heard the commotion overhead. The Notts owned a castle, so sound didn’t easily travel down into the dungeon; but 40 people moving about collectively couldn’t exactly be quiet.
“What do you think is happening?” Ginny asked. It was their second night in the dungeon and Ginny’s forced inactivity was getting to her. She stood up and began pacing.
“Celebrating, likely. Divvying us up,” Hermione replied wearily.
Ginny turned on her friend. “How can you sit there and be so complacent? Why aren’t you angry? Why aren’t you–I don’t know, trying to get us out of here?”
Finally, Hermione showed some of her usual spirit. “Get us out of here? What have you done, Ginny? I examined all of the bars and stones in this hole within the first two hours here, and I realised that without a wand I was stuck. My wandless magic is getting better, but it is not enough to break us all out of a dungeon and get us past dozens of fully grown, experienced wizards–because if it was, then maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here in this dungeon arguing with you! And, if it seems that I’m a little defeated, well, maybe it’s because my best friend, the person I have sacrificed everything for, is dead!”
Now Ginny bristled. “You think I don’t care that Harry is dead? I was in love with him! You cannot understand what that feels like to lose.”
Hermione now stood as well, and Ginny noticed her hair seeming to spark. “No, I guess I can’t understand what a girlish infatuation and a few months of dating are against seven years of deep friendship, of months together alone, of being all each other had. You don’t know what that does to people, Ginny. You could never understand the depths of my feelings for Harry.”
What, exactly, was Hermione implying?
Rage roiled through Ginny and she started toward Hermione but was quickly grabbed from behind. She whirled toward the person holding her about to bark at them when she noticed it was Padma. She had long written Padma Patil off as “Parvati’s sister in Ravenclaw,” because it seemed like it was her only character trait. But this year, Padma had worked closely with Ginny, Neville, and Luna, and Ginny had grown to appreciate Padma’s cool demeanor though it did not match her own. Padma was intelligent and thought every action through. It was probably why the Carrows never caught her even though she was the one who brought the Muggle spray paint and ran through the castle writing “Dumbledore’s Army: Still Recruiting” on the walls.
Padma shook her head. “Don’t do this. You both loved Harry. And you love each other. We might never see each other again. Don’t let these be the last words you say to each other.”
Ginny broke then. It was awful. Everything was awful. Ron and Neville were both captured too, and Neville, the boy she loved second-most in all the world, may have the worst fate of all of them. She had no idea what had become of the rest of her family except Percy, who was dead. She’d never be able to reconcile with him. And, worst of all, Harry was dead.
She began sobbing. Padma hugged her. From behind, she felt another set of arms envelop her. From the hair smothering her, she knew it was Hermione.
They jumped apart when they heard the clomping footsteps that presaged MacNair upon the stairs. They had gotten used to him coming to give them food and empty the chamber pots since they didn’t have wands to vanish the mess.
There was a second set of steps, and Draco Malfoy’ white-blond hair appeared behind the broad-backed oaf. Ginny saw all the tension drain from Hermione’s body. It was relief. She was relieved that she was going to be Draco Malfoy’s whore!
“Get back, the lot of you,” MacNair snarled as he always did when he delivered the food or removed the slops.
The girls crowded into the corner furthest from the door.
MacNair clanged the door open, and Malfoy stepped forward beyond MacNair. “You’re with me, Granger,” he said haughtily, but his face softened as he looked at Hermione.
Ginny’s jaw dropped open. What the fuck?
“Just let me say goodbye,” Hermione whispered. She turned to Ginny and hugged her fiercely. “I’m sorry. I love you, Ginny. We’ll figure this out. This isn’t the end. I promise.”
“Come on, Granger,” Malfoy snarled. He strode into the cell and grabbed Hermione but leaned down and whispered, “This isn’t goodbye. You’ll see each other again. I’ll make sure of it.” He extricated Hermione from Ginny’s grasp. Ginny couldn’t help but notice that Hermione leaned into the ferret as if for protection and comfort.
The bars clanged shut again. She looked around the cell to see how the others felt about Hermione’s prediction seeming to come true. Her eyes stuttered to a stop as she noticed Padma’s usually stoic face set into envy, despair, and … longing.
“Bloody, hell, Padma, not you too.”
Padma startled and looked at Ginny. “What?”
“You’re making moon-eyes at Malfoy.”
Padma’s face regained her stoicism and she swished her hair. Ginny had always noticed that Padma swished her hair where other people would sniff in contempt. “He’s the reason I never got caught this year. He would hide me from Filch and the Carrows. He’s my friend.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “What alternate universe have I landed in where Draco Malfoy is everyone’s bloody hero?”
Padma’s voice was hard as she retorted, “According to Neville, he was your hero too. How many times did he save you from being tortured by the Carrows?”
Ginny stopped her pacing. Right, he had done that. He and Pansy both had pretended to cast the cruciatus at them when they really cast a tickling charm. Pansy made sense since she was in love with Neville, but Malfoy had had no reason to help Neville or Ginny.
Perhaps Ginny needed to think a little more like Padma and Hermione if she was going to figure a way out of this mess.
MacNair’s steps returned again, but this time a slight brunette girl trudged along behind him. She looked every bit as terrified as those in the cell. MacNair turned up the corridor perpendicular to the cell; and, a few moments later, Dennis came out trailing after the girl.
“But they’re so young,” Hannah whispered. “That’s just wrong.”
Wrong? No, it was sick, was what it was.
Just as their footsteps stopped echoing on the stairs, Ron called out, “Ginny! Hermione! What’s happening? They’ve just taken Dennis.”
“Yes, we know Ron,” Ginny called back. “We can see everyone who comes in and out.”
“What do you think is happening, Hermione?” Ron paused. “Hermione?”
Padma and Ginny exchanged glances until Ginny yelled back, “They’ve already taken Hermione.”
“What? No! Are they killing the Muggleborns?”
“Am I next?” Justin’s voice called with fear.
“No, no, they’re–”
“We separated you for a reason,” MacNair snarled.
They hadn’t heard his returning steps because of their yelling.
Millicent Bulstrode followed behind MacNair looking more unsure and frightened than Ginny had ever seen the usually snarly girl.
“She looks like she’s going to be ill,” Hannah whispered.
“Probably sick that she has to fuck a Mudblood,” Ginny spit back.
Padma shook her head. “No, she’s shaking.”
Justin came out a few minutes later looking just as shaken and green as Bulstrode.
Ron’s voice whined with panic. “And now Justin! They’re killing the Muggleborns. Hermione! Hermione!”
“Fuck, I wish I could stun him,” Ginny muttered.
Padma laughed. “I regularly dream of stunning Ronald Weasley.”
Ginny giggled. She couldn’t believe she was having a fit of giggles in this situation.
There were more footsteps again, but this time an adult trailed behind MacNair.
“Who is that?” Padma whispered.
“Selwyn,” Hannah whispered back.
The man called Selwyn shuffled up to the bars and snarled, “Which one of you is Spinnet?”
Alicia didn’t say anything. She simply lay in the corner and stared just as she had done ever since they brought her into the cell. Nothing anyone could do could get her to acknowledge her surroundings.
“Well?” Selwyn demanded.
“That’s Alicia,” Hannah finally volunteered.
MacNair let him in and he snapped at Alicia to get up. She continued to lay there.
“What’s wrong with her? What did you do to her?”
Ginny sniped back, “She’s been like that since she arrived.”
“Salazar, it will be like fucking a corpse,” Selwyn grumbled.
Now Ginny was almost sick.
Selwyn hoisted Alicia up, but she was slack in his arms. The bars clanged shut again.
“What’s happening now?” Ron called.
“They’ve taken Alicia,” Ginny called back.
Some time went by before two heavy treads sounded down the stairs.
Gregory Goyle shuffled in front of the bars and looked at them with befuddlement. “Er, I’m supposed to take the ‘other Pureblood.’”
“Other Pureblood than what?” Ginny asked.
He scratched his head and seemed to at least attempt to think. It was a process. It took some time. “Er, the one Draco wanted to marry? I think? Theo’s got her.”
Padma looked both shocked and stricken. Well, if Draco Malfoy had wanted to marry her, she didn’t seem to be aware of it.
“Was it Patil?” Ginny asked.
Goyle’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that one. And then the other one had a funny name like some sort of spirit.”
“Was it Ginny?” Ginny whispered.
Goyle shook his head. “No, weirder than that. It did sound like gin, though.”
“Ginevra,” Ginny prompted.
Goyle brightened. “Yeah, that’s it. So I have the other one.”
Hannah stepped forward bravely. Hufflepuffs really didn’t get enough credit. “That would be me, then.”
Goyle nodded like a dog. Godric, no wonder Malfoy kept him around. “You look nice,” he said. “That’s nice. I’ve always wanted a nice wife. My mother’s not nice.”
“Rowena,” Padma murmured, “does he know any other adjectives than ‘nice?’”
Ginny would have snorted in response if Goyle’s comment about a wife hadn’t caught her attention. They weren’t just raping them. They were bonding them. And marriage bonds were very hard to break.
Hannah followed Goyle without comment.
Padma stared after them. “Neither of them talk much. Maybe it will work?”
Now, Ginny did snort.
Several minutes later, Parkinson followed MacNair into the dungeon. Ginny couldn’t read anything in her face. She looked even more stoic than Padma. When she emerged a few moments later with Ron, Ginny screamed in anguish.
Ginny reached as far as she could between the bars and grabbed the sleeve of Parkinson’s robe. She yanked the older girl toward the bars. “What about Neville?”
Parkinson’s mask broke, and heartbreak and despair skittered across her face. Ginny realised that she was looking into the face, not of an enemy, but just of another girl who cared deeply about the same boy Ginny did. After a year of mutual sneers, they were allies–they would both do anything in the world to keep that boy safe.
Parkinson gulped. “I tried. I tried. But I couldn’t prevent it.”
Ginny shook Parkinson’s robes again. “Bellatrix?”
Utter misery overtook Parkinson’s face as she nodded. But then her face took on a fierceness that Ginny associated much more with Parkinson. “I will get him out even if I have to die doing it.”
“Not very Slytherin of you,” Ginny answered as she moved her hand from Parkinson’s sleeve to her hand, giving it a squeeze.
Parkinson’s mouth quirked. “Gryffindors are terrible influences.”
Ginny gave Parkinson’s hand another squeeze. “Take care of my brother, Parkinson.”
Parkinson squeezed back. “That’s the plan, Weaselette.”
No one else came for quite some time.
“Ginny!”
“Yeah, Nev?”
“Are we the only ones left?”
“I’m still here,” Padma called.
“Do you know what’s happening?” Neville called back.
“They’re marrying us off,” Ginny yelled.
“But Dennis is fifteen!”
“And I’m sixteen!” Ginny shouted back.
“And Justin is gay!”
Ginny looked over at Padma. “Justin’s gay?”
Padma shrugged and shook her head.
“Who took Hermione?”
“Malfoy,” Ginny shouted.
“Thank Godric,” Neville said audibly, but it wasn’t shouted.
There was a clattering on the stairs and Ginny grasped Padma for support. The crazed bitch had come into the dungeon and looked around in eager anticipation. MacNair trailed after her attempting to maintain the semblance that he was in control. She hurtled down the corridor. Ginny could hear her croon, “Hello, precious.”
Apparently, Neville put up a fight as there were shouts and the reverberations of spells echoing down the corridor. Finally, Bellatrix emerged trailing a levitated, incarceroused, stunned Neville behind her. Ginny almost grinned maniacally at Bellatrix that Neville had made her work that hard to subdue him.
Just as they left, Theodore Nott entered the dungeon. His footfalls were soft and measured. He simply waved his hand and the bars sprang open. That would make sense. Everything here would be warded to a Nott.
“Hey, Padma. I have a nicer room for you. I have the elves bringing you dinner and preparing a bath too.”
Padma nodded and took a step forward. Before she left the cell, though, she turned back to Ginny and embraced her in a show of emotion Ginny was unused to from the Ravenclaw. “Thank you for being my friend this year.”
And then Ginny was alone.
No one came for her.
And, as the minutes grew longer, Ginny began to fear that Voldemort had claimed her after all. She had experienced so many emotions in the last two days: heartbreak, despair, anger, sadness, and jealousy. But not once had she felt the abject fear that she did in those long moments.
Finally, soft, unaccompanied footsteps sounded on the stairs.
She straightened up, drew her arms across her chest, and held herself tight.
And when the greasy curtains of hair came into view, Ginny understood Hermione’s look of relief when spotting Malfoy.
Parvati Patil felt as if her heart had been split–not down the middle, no, but in several pieces.
She had lost track of her sister during the battle. Even though she was the younger twin, she had always felt responsible for Padma. Padma never fit in, no matter how much Parvati tried to help her.
Parvati remembered when they were little and she found Padma looking at a book with a Muggle boy at the park near their home. He looked restless even as he turned the pages with her. Padma never noticed those sorts of things, especially if she had a book. Parvati had told her to “put the book away, you little swot, and come play.” But she didn’t. So Parvati played with the boy instead, taking turns pushing each other on the swing and getting dizzy on the merry-go-round. The next day, Padma came back to their house and said that the boy asked for her. So, she went. Padma came to the park too, but she just stood under the tree looking on sadly.
Lavender’s birthday party was the worst. Padma had given Lavender a book. It was Lavender! (Parvati’s heart ached–that was one of the heart pieces–as the image hit her of Lavender murdered in the most gruesome way). And worse, Padma began spewing all the facts in the book right in the middle of the party. Parvati watched as knowing glances went around their friends and broke in with “Padma, no one will care to read the book if you tell them what’s in it,” and changed the subject before Mandy Brocklehurst (the two-faced bitch) said something really cruel.
Parvati worried when they were split up by the Sorting Hat, but she hoped Padma would do better in Ravenclaw–after all, swot called to swot, didn’t it? But after the first week, Padma sat alone at meals with a book, just as she always had.
In their third year, Parvati stumbled on Padma in the library with a somewhat fit Fifth Year. He was clearly flirting with her, but Padma seemed not to notice at all, just kept quizzing the bloke and going on about some colour-coding. She needed help. Padma ran over and laughed, “Padma’s always creating some new way to study! Oh, is that the article on the Necromancers in Knickers? I love their new single!” She widened her eyes at her sister encouraging her to jump in, but Padma just sat back and went quiet. Why did she always do that?
She had thought things were better when Padma went off with the boy from Beauxbatons and came back looking thoroughly kissed, but then the boy asked his friend in French (Padma and Parvati spoke French, as well as Portuguese and Konkani) why he got the boring girl. Parvati wished she had been the boring one that night. She hadn’t said no, not exactly, that is, but she hadn’t said yes either. When he seemed to want to continue seeing her, she acquiesced more fully since surely he would send a marriage contract.
Many marriage contracts came that summer, but not from her Beauxbatons boyfriend. No, all were from men who were contacts of her father who had met her at parties. And almost all were widowers close to her father’s age. Padma had received just one marriage contract, and it wasn’t really a true offer, just an offer for a possible offer. But it at least was with a boy their age–and yes, Draco Malfoy was a prat, but–no, Parvati didn’t think about Draco Malfoy. She gasped as she always did when the shame and guilt came over her. She shook her head again and put Draco Malfoy from her mind.
Parvati hoped that Padma might make friends in the DA in Fifth Year, but it seemed that she existed for everyone as “Parvati’s sister in Ravenclaw.”
Finally, in their Seventh Year, Padma seemed to find her place. She was the spray-painting bandit roaming the castle recruiting for the DA. She never got caught. Neville, Ginny, and Luna even invited her to sit with them sometimes.
And now, Padma could be dead or captured–Parvati didn’t know. She didn’t know because she had been focused on someone else instead.
The boy she had loved since he had saved Neville’s Remembrall in First Year.
The boy everyone thought was dead.
She hadn’t been able to take her eyes from his body, not even when Voldemort set the Sorting Hat on Neville’s head on fire, or when Neville had failed to kill the giant snake, or when pandemonium broke out in the aftermath. So, she was the only one who saw him move, who saw him draw a cloak from beneath him, saw him unfurl it and grab his wand. She had stunned him just as he threw the invisibility cloak over himself. She had had to use a levitation charm to get him to the cave Firenze had once described to her.
Parvati bent over the stunned form on the floor of the cave deep in The Forbidden Forest and brushed the messy black hair back from his forehead.
“Please don’t hate me, Harry, I just couldn’t see you die again.”