𝐵𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 | 𝒟.𝑀.

13 | ﴾ Choose Black ﴿

The deep and strained ticking of an old grandfather clock drifted into my timeless void. Slowly I felt myself returning to the surface of the world. My eyelids flickered and finally obeyed. My vision was blurry but it was real, or at least I assumed it was. Suddenly all of my senses collided at once into a collage of pain. My head was ripping apart, my neck was still burning from the crest, my breathing was pained, some of my fingers felt broken and I couldn't really sense my legs yet. Slowly, my vision cleared as I gasped for air. My mouth tasted sour of blood and medicine.

I was in a black room. The walls were decorated by paintings of grim looking blond people, large silver candle holders, and thick black drapes over the windows. Furniture that appeared heavy and ancient covered partially in dust sheets lurked around the room, giving the appearance that no one had been truly inhabiting the space for some time. I was in a four poster bed with black sheets up to my chin. I peered down past my feet. There was some sunlight coming in through the windows but the drapes were fighting hard to conceal every crevice of it. Only where someone mistakenly had tied the curtains was there any forgiveness to the warmth of the outside world.

I couldn't force myself to sit up past my chin so I laid back and looked up at the canopy, fighting dizziness. I was notably cold as whoever had taken care of me only provided the black sheet. The thick comforter was bunched up at the end of my toes and I scowled against the freezing cold conditions inside of the building. Was I in some special ward of the castle? Snape's personal bedroom perhaps? The thought made me laugh out loud and then wince in agony against the crackle of my ribs.

"Errrrr," I heard a low grumbly gurgle from my right hand side. My eyes slid suspiciously to look at the source of the noise. An old house elf with a very misshapen and gruesome looking face was leering at me. His head was hardly higher the mattress and his beady eyes were surveying me like a laser.

"You mustn't move, Mistress Malfoy. Mistress Malfoy is hurt, oh yes, quite hurt. Foolish woman she is." He muttered in a dark and unfriendly tone. His bent and bandaged fingers were waving up and down over my body as if to extract some kind of knowledge about my physical health. I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster.

"You 'ave me mistaken with someone, uh, different. I am not a Malfoy. That ees a fact." I raised my finger to point it at him from under the covers, trying not to faint from the pain.

"Mistress Malfoy bears the mark of the master. She bears the mark and carries the seed. She is family now. She will shirk her French heritage and accept her place as a Malfoy, next to the master."

"I am not carrying any seed," I spat at him horrified, "I cast, er, eh, protectiveness spell."

The elf seemed intent to argue against me as he growled, "What a pity. To bear the mark for an empty outcome." I switched my approach.

"Am I at de Malfoy Residence?"

"Hmmm... yes, you are. You are with the master and the masters before him. You are here to heal in your home away from prying eyes. Kreacher will get the master." The word master was starting to sound odd from the amount of times he repeated it.

I reached out rapidly, wincing from the pain, "Please! Don't!" But with a whoosh he had dissaparated. Damn.

I laid there helpless as though I were a thousand ton human, panicking slightly that I needed to be standing and possibly even escape before the so called "master" arrived. My ribs disagreed heavily with my attempts to sit up. Finally after several excruciating minutes I managed to scream through the pain and sit up, sucking in shallow, rapid breaths. The paintings on the walls gave me annoyed looks, and I noticed the way that their faces scrunched up was extremely similar to Draco's features when he was unpleased.