*The following is a rewrite of Chapter 23 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, Malfoy Manor, from the perspective of Draceana(Malfoid).* The clouds were dark outside Draceana’s window. She could see them through the slit of her curtains, which had been kept shut since she arrived home for the holidays. The darkness was what she deserved, she told herself, yet her eyes could not help but search for the light. The usual ornate furnishings and decorations of her room, all highlighted by some trace of silver, might as well have been made of driftwood. For all she cared, the mattress at her back could have been stone. It would have made no difference. A black suit adorned her frame, her choice of dress for some meeting that her mother had arranged with Ministry officials. A skirt had been suggested, but she declined. There was no point in trying to feel pretty, not anymore. To the circles that her parents kept to, the dark lord was in clear control of the government, and Draceana would find many connections under this new administration. More hooks to dig into her skin, more weights to pull her deeper into the mire. Her eyes remained on that sliver of dull light, thoughts empty of everything except what she had to do for the day in her head. It’s what carried her through school this year, and what would guide her for the countless days to come. Despite her efforts, however, that streak of gray opened up to a different time, a place of shattered porcelain, glass, and tears flowing down her face. “Help me…” She could remember Harry’s face in that exact moment, the very second that his features finally softened upon looking at her. She had been filled with hope looking into those determined eyes of his, feeling the warmth of his hand around hers. “I will.” Draceana covered her eyes with her sleeve to stop them from watering. “Where are you then?” She was still in Voldemort’s clutches, still under his whims. How many times has the word Crucio tainted her lips since then? How many times had she been forced to watch people twist in pain under her magic, all against her will? She knew she was not wholly innocent before all of this, yet… She threw herself up from her bed to distract herself from the rest of the thoughts that sought to break her composure. When that failed, she looked out of the window directly, eyes widening upon seeing Fenrir Greyback and his Snatchers dragging five prisoners through the gates and towards the manor. From this distance, it was hard to tell who- Red hair, hand-me-down clothes… Weasley. Reflex spun her around and she was out of her room before reason could catch up. Her footsteps echoed thought the empty hallways, the boom of the front door slamming open drowning them out, but she was still swept up in the storm of her own thoughts. There was a girl with the prisoners too, and now that her mind was starting to work again, that hair could have belonged to nobody but Hermione. If she and Weasley were there, then… “Who are you?” Narcissa’s voice echoed in from outside. “You know me!” Resentment filled the voice that responded, “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!” Draceana froze, her hand just barely catching the wall to keep herself standing. No… “I know ’e’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ’im!” Another man’s voice, the glee in it insufferable. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ’is scar. And this ’ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been travelling around with ’im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ’im, and we’ve got ’is wand as well! ’Ere, ma’am –” There was a brief pause before her mother’s voice rang out again. “...bring them in.” Draceana forced herself from the wall and trudged forward. It felt like anchors had been tied to her feet, but she pushed herself nonetheless. “Follow me,” Narcissa’s voice was louder now, coming in from across the hall. ‘My daughter, Draceana, is home for her Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, she will know.” Draceana made it to the drawing room before they arrived. Her father was seated in front of the marble fireplace, staring into the flickering flame within. Any recognition that he may have had of what was coming did not show, and his creased brow told her that he was deep in thought. About what, only Merlin would know, but she too sought distraction for the brief moments before the winds of the oncoming storm arrived. Her attention swept over the countless portraits that lined the dark purple walls and fixated on the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Even with only the dull, gray light from outside, it sparkled brilliantly, the twinkles almost audible in their number. The door slamming open pulled Draceana’s gaze downward, towards the people that were being dragged in. She could recognize Dean Thomas among them, and the visages of Ron and Hermione were undeniable. A goblin was with them, and… him. His face was disfigured, but even from across the room, she knew. Lucius stood upon their entrance, disgruntled at first, but pausing upon seeing those brought in. “What is this?” Narcissa marched further into the room. “They say they’ve got Potter.” She motioned for them to approach. “Draceana, come here.” The girl was slow in her approach. Harry and the others didn’t meet her in the eye, but she could already see the fearful, near panicked expressions with Ron and Hermione. Greyback, impatient, forced the prisoners towards Draceana, putting them right under the chandelier. “Well, girl?” Draceana knelt down, getting a good look at Harry’s face. It was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by what had most likely been a jinx of some kind. The boy’s black hair reached his shoulders, and around his jaw was a dark shadow. On his forehead was some kind of marking, but the skin was stretched too tight to tell, but Draceana knew. His naturally defiant stature, the ragged clothes he wore despite his wealth, and even the way his breaths were quickened under all this pressure. All of that told her all she needed to know, but those green eyes of his, slivers of them that peeked through his swollen lids, that only further confirmed it. “Well, Draceana?” Her father drew closer. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” The boy avoided her eyes, but she looked deep into his. You can’t trust me, is that it? Perhaps a delusion, some result of her own paranoia, but the thought cut deep into her nonetheless. She hung her head low for a moment to let the two tears that escaped her eyes fall quietly to the floor, then gathered her breath and took a few steps back. “I can’t be sure.” Lucius walked past her. “But look at him carefully, look!” He thrust a finger at the boy. “Draceana, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-” Greyback took hold of Harry’s hair. “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?” Her father waved his hand in front of his face. “Of course not, of course not!” He approached Harry himself, his raking over every single detail with frustration that was growing by the second. “What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?” “That wasn’t us.” Lucius prodded Harry’s face to make him wince. “Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me.” His eyes drifted to the boy’s forehead. “There’s something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight… Draceana, come here, look properly! What do you think?” Narcissa silently urged her to approach again. She reluctantly obliged and knelt down again, placing her face right next to her father’s. She made a show of looking carefully, even squinting her eyes, but her answer remained the same. “I don’t know.” She stood up and walked back to the fireplace, drumming her fingers against one of the chairs. Narcissa regarded her, confused, but returned her focus back to the prisoners. “We had better be certain, Lucius. Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord.” She looked at the blackthorn wand in her hand. “They say this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description… if we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?” Draceana turned to her mother, sharp words on her tongue, but she held them back. Of course she remembered what happened to those two, she had been forced to do it, time and time again while Voldemort cackled. She kept her voice cold, steady. “He may do worse, and make me do it to you myself.” Both her parents looked back at her in horror, but her expression remained unchanged. She was so tired of everything… maybe it was just time to give in. Greyback cared nothing for that dilemma. “What about the Mudblood, then?” His men forced the prisoners around again, bringing Hermione to the forefront. “Wait,” Narcissa breathed sharply, “Yes - yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draceana, isn’t it the Granger girl?” Draceana looked at Hermione’s pleading expression. “...perhaps, all these Mudbloods start to look the same when you’re around them enough.” Lucius yanked on Ron. “But then, this is the Weasley boy!” He whirled him around to face Draceana. There was a growing desperation in her father’s eyes. “It’s them, Potter’s friends - Draceana look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name - ?” “Fred? George? Percy?” She threw her hands up. “You ask me to pick from a litter of blood traitors?” The drawing-room door opened behind Harry, and her heart sunk. Bellatrix Lestrange stalked into the room, her eyes alight with wild intrigue. “What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?” She walked slowly around the prisoners, stopping on Harry’s right to stare at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes. “But surely… this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?” Lucius pointed a shaking finger at Hermione. “Yes, yes it’s Granger! And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!” Draceana clenched her fingers on the chair. “Potter?!” Bellatrix backed away, crooked over to better take in Harry. “Are you sure? Well, then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!” Draceana’s hand twitched, the wand in her pocket growing more prominent in her mind… but what was the point? Bellatrix dragged back her left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark that was burned into the flesh of her arm. The one on Draceana’s arm began to itch, but she didn’t touch it. Her aunt, however, was all wicked smiles as she reached for hers, ready to summon her beloved master - “I was about to call him!” Lucius closed his hand around Bellatrix’s wrist, stopping her from touching the Mark. “I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority -” “Your authority?!” She attempted to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands oŀ me!” “This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy -” “Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy” Greyback shook Harry. “But it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold -” “Gold!” Bellatrix’s mocking tone bled into a laugh. She was still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping her pocket for her want. “Take your gold, Filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his - of -” She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed on something that was bundled in one of the Snatcher’s arms. Jubilant at her sudden capitulation, Lucius forced her hand from him and tore up his own sleeve - “STOP!” Bellatrix’s voice dug into their ears like nails. “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!” Lucius froze, his finger hovering right over his own Mark. Bellatrix stomped over towards the Snatcher and pointed at the bundle. “What is that?” Draceana peered closed, seeing silver peeking out from the wrapping as well as a ruby. The Snatcher held it up. “Sword.” Bellatrix thrust her hand out. “Give it to me.” “It’s not yorn, Missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.” Her aunt’s wand flicked out out of her pocket in a blur, already flaring with red. A bang cracked across the room, and the Snatcher fell to the ground, Stunned. A roar of anger ripped from his fellow, all drawing their wands with Scabior. “What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?!” Bellatrix whirled around. “Stupefy!” Another lash of red light streaked from her wand and struck one of the Snatchers in the chest, throwing him to the ground. A flurry of hexes and curses flew from their wands, but there was a reason for her aunt’s reputation. Each spell was whipped away with the barest effort with just a flick of Bellatrix’s wrist, some even redirected towards the men who cast them. She was a witch through and through, and the Snatcher’s couldn’t hope to compare. Scabior and Greyback were the ones to put up most of a fight, but even they proved to be ineffective. “Stupefy!” Bellatrix loosed a final spark of red that struck Scabior in his face, and he fell to the ground. Greyback stumbled away, but he was knocked to the ground with a simple flick of power, not even a spell. Before he could get up, Bellatrix summoned the sword with her wand and snatched it out of the air when it came to her. Its brilliant silver blade was revealed as the cloth around it unfurled right at the moment its edge found the kneeling werewolf’s neck. She flicked her wand at him, freezing him in place with an unspoken spell, and kicked his wand out of his fingers. “Where did you get this sword? Greback bared his teeth. “How dare you?” He couldn’t even twitch, his mouth the only thing that was allowed to move. “Release me, woman!” Bellatrix softly slid the blade until it was right on his jugular. “Where did you find this sword? Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!” Desperation found the werewolf’s voice. “It was in their tent! Release me, I say!” Bellatrix stepped back and waved her wand. Greyback sprang to his feet, the anger clear in his face. Rather than lunge at her, however, he prowled away, his wariness not leaving even as he went behind an armchair and clutched his filthy, curved nails around it. “Draceana, move this scum outside.” Her aunt indicated to the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.” Narcissa stomped towards her sister, fury in her eyes. “Don’t you dare speak to Draceana like -” “Be quiet!” Bellatrix whipped around, eyes flared with what looked like panic. “The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!” She panted slightly, looking down at the sword, fixating on the rubies set in its hilt before turning towards the prisoners. “If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,’ she was speaking more to herself than to the others. ‘The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself … but if he finds out … I must … I must know …” She turned back to her sister again. “The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!” Narcissa reared herself up. “This is my house, Bell, you don’t give orders in my -” “DO IT!” Bellatrix stabbed her wand towards the floor, a thin stream of fire burning forth and scorching a hole in the carpet. She looked at her sister with wild eyes, the madness in them even stronger than usual. “You have no idea of the danger we are in!” Narcissa glared at Bellatrix for a moment, then addressed the werewolf. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.” Bellatrix snapped her hand up. “Wait. All except… except for the Mudblood.” Greyback grunted in pleasure. “No!” Ron threw himself forward, despite his restraints. “You can have me, keep me!” Bellatrix’s hand swatted him across the face, the smack echoing throughout the room. “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them - yet.” Draceana had not moved from where she stood. If her fingers clenched any harder, her nails would have started to draw blood. There was nothing that she could do here, nothing that could make a difference. The only thing she was allowed by this cursed life of hers was to watch. Bellatrix allowed Greyback to fetch his wand, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair towards the center of the room. The werewolf forced the others out of the door that led to the cellar. “Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” His murderous glee was still close enough to be heard. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, Ginger?” Draceana walked towards the unconscious Snatchers. Her eyes crossed with Hermione’s once, and she could see the pleading look in them, the growing despair when she didn’t stop. What could even be done for her? What could she do in this situation? Draceana waved her wand at the unconscious men to levitate them, then pulled them through the door that led to the foyer. She let the door shut behind her. Then the screaming started. The sound shook Draceana’s shoulders, even as it grew distant in her march towards the courtyard. So many sounds she’d heard coming out of Hermione’s know-it-all mouth, so many noises did Draceana imagine she would give when taunted or pranked… not this one. Never this one. This was a sound of terror, of an anguish that threatened to bring Dracena to her knees and weep, but she let none of that show on her face as she dumped the Snatchers in a line right in front of the peacock fountain. She stared at that statue for a long while, numb. An act… that’s all she could do now, she had to put on an act. She walked back into the house, the sound of Bellatrix’s words drowned out by Hermione’s screaming. Draceana looked down towards the hall, towards the door of her room, wanting nothing more than to return to the darkness within, but she had to be in that room. To show sympathy to a Mudblood… they’d punish her for that. She grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Bellatrix was looming over Hermione, fury, glee, and desperation splayed across her features all at once. Manic only described less than a tenth of what Draceana saw, and the sight of that sent her heart surging up her throat. Bellatrix yanked on Hermione’s hair again. “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? WHERE?!” The girl had tears streaming down her face. “We found it - we found it - PLEASE!” That last word felt thrown at Draceana, but again did it bounce off her numbed mind. She walked past them and towards the fireplace, solemnly watching. Bellatrix’s lips twisted into a snarl. “Crucio!” Hermione screamed again, contorting as Bellatrix pulled on her hair at the same time. Draceana’s aunt didn’t let up, keeping the spell going to make the screeching louder and louder. Only after a minute passed did she allow the girl to fall to the floor. She kicked her over and held the knife at her throat. “What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!” Hermione could only weep. Draceana held onto her pants to stop her hands from trembling. She could feel the wand in her pocket. Bellatrix drank in the sobs, fully within the heat of the moment now. Her grin was near clear across her face, and she grabbed Hermione by the hair again while pressing her wand against her forehead. “What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!” Hermione violently shook as she screamed, the sound now starting to fracture. Bellatrix pulled the wand back and tugged Hermione to her face. “How did you get into my vault?! Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?” Hermione’s lips trembled to form an answer. “W-we only met him t-tonight! We’ve n-never been inside your v-vault… it isn’t the r-real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!” “A copy?” Bellatrix threw her back onto the ground. “Oh, a likely story!” She pointed her wand at Hermione again. Draceana’s hand twitched to her pocket, but she held it back. What could she even do? “But we can find out easily!” Lucius turned to her. “Draceana, fetch the goblin, he tell us whether the sword is real or not!” She headed towards the door leading to the cellar, keeping her steps controlled so as to not betray the speed at which she desired to be away from all this. Her feet scuttled down the steps, the rest of her unfeeling until she was in front of the door. Her heart remembered to beat then, and it drummed against her chest with a rhythm that made her feel lightheaded. Draceana pulled her wand out and tapped it against the door. “Stand back! Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or…” she clenched her jaw. “Don’t try anything!” She waited for a few moments, then threw the door open. Her attention fixated on the dazed goblin as she stepped in. Without looking either way, she snatched his wrist and whirled around, hoping to speed away. “Draceana…” She stopped, the hooks of that voice too strong to overpower. Harry was there when her gaze drifted to the side, pressed against the wall. The jinx had worn off, and his face was clear to her, even in the shadows. So much uncertainty was in his eyes, full of questions that he left unsaid, but the crux of all of them was clear to her. Why? Nothing could stop the tears that trailed down her face. “You were supposed to save me.” 1/2