Liz has always refused to become like her family. Even though the blood of the Black family flows in her veins. Adopted by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange after the death of her father Regulus - in hopes of "setting her on the right path" , she st...
No one had ever told Liz how hard it was to fly a broom when the thing recognized you as a squib and no longer had any respect. She already hated flying in the cloud line under normal conditions, but it was only worse with a petulant broom.
It had been almost a week since Hogwarts had closed, and Liz was hungry and tired and desperate. For a while she had been sneaking around small English towns, trying to steal what she could get. But with no magic and no Muggle money, she had quickly reached her limits. For the past two days, it had only gotten harder to remain undetected as the school broom rebelled violently. She had had to fake the strangest twitches to convince the Muggles that she was just crazy and the broom couldn't really fly.
Only one thing had eased this condition. Liz had decided to throw all caution overboard. She couldn't go on like this. She would make one last attempt to turn the tide.
Cold mist, damp on her skin, surrounded her and slowly made her hands numb. But she also didn't dare to take her hands off the soft wood. The broom still jerked and twitched back and forth. But flying lower was not an option. She was already too close to Malfoy Manor for that.
The damp mist of the clouds had turned into a persistent drizzle and Liz could no longer suppress the shivering. There was something strangely soothing about the cold. A sunny, cheerful day would have just felt wrong for what Liz was about to do.
Every now and then Liz lowered herself a few feet to peer down through the holey ends of the clouds. Malfoy Manor loomed before her like a castle. The towers reached high enough to land unseen in the thickening rain.
It wasn't that easy to get into Malfoy Manor, of course. But for the first time, there was something good about not being able to cast spells. The protection spell did not recognize her as a threat.
With one hand she reached for Draco's wand, which hung sloppily from his pocket, while with the other she drew the large kitchen knife she had stolen at Hogwarts.
Draco dropped his glass, which shattered clinking on his parquet floor. "Ma - Mattheo!"
Liz feared for a moment that the last Malfoy heir was about to cry out for his mother. But Mattheo? "Don't worry, he'll get his comeuppance too," Liz growled, continuing to pressure her cousin.
She had been so focused on her target that she had completely overlooked scanning the room. It wasn't until she suddenly heard footsteps behind her that it dawned on Liz that Draco wasn't calling for help. He had been trying to warn her.
Before Liz could whirl around, the Dark Lord's son was right behind her and grabbed her wrist. He was clearly trying to get her to drop the knife, but Liz wasn't playing anymore. She desperately tried to free her hand - or at least that's what she wanted Mattheo to think - before lunging with her free arm and slamming her elbow into his ribs.
With a cough, her attacker released her. "Good punch," he gasped.
Liz had to think fast! She tossed her head back and forth looking for a better weapon, but how was she going to win without magic? The only thing she could think of was the lowest of deceptions. She leapt toward Draco. He gave a pitifully pointed scream as Liz grabbed him and held him in front of her like a shield. The knife pressed against the pale skin just above Draco's artery.
"Wand away!" growled Liz, praying that Draco's parents were in another part of the mansion.
Mattheo raised both hands with a wry grin. "I don't have one, or do you think I wouldn't have disarmed you by now if I did?"
Liz knew she had to calm down. She hadn't expected this. It was the middle of the night. Why was Mattheo here? Surely he had his own space somewhere in the dozens of unused hallways and corners of the house.
"Now what?" the dark-haired man asked impatiently, his hands still in the air. "Can I keep drinking while you think, or will that distract you?"
If only she could do magic! Then she would just cut out his naughty tongue. "Stay where you are!" Liz realized herself that her voice was too shrill. She couldn't keep pretending she had everything under control, and she was running out of time, too.
"If you tell us what exactly you're up to, maybe we can really help you this time?" Mattheo took a step toward the two of them and Liz pressed the knife into Draco's skin until the first drop of blood flowed.
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"Do you really want to kill him? And then what? Have a fight with me? Or escape?" He pointed to the still-open window, under which a large puddle had gathered by now. He even took a step back to give her a choice.
She could flee. Liz looked over at the window. It was pitch black night and the rain seemed to separate the lit room from the outside world like a curtain. Something was wrong. An icy chill came over Liz but her fear only increased when Mattheo suddenly turned to the window as well. His eyes focused on the darkness and without another word he jumped over and closed the huge window again. Attentively, his eyes searched the garden, but Liz couldn't imagine that he could make out even outlines.
"He's here," Mattheo whispered, and Liz felt her hair stand up under her wet clothes. She had been too slow. "Here." Mattheo continued to ignore the fact that Liz still held the knife to Draco's throat. Instead, he reached for a classy tin on the mantel and held it out to the two of them. Floo powder.
Liz looked over Malfoy's shoulder, just to make sure she had scared her cousin enough. She withdrew the knife, but kept his wand.
"Where to?" asked Mattheo as the three of them stood in front of the fireplace.
"The Lestrange estate. The fireplace in the servants' cellar." And already all three disappeared into the fire. Only in the distance could Liz see the window being pulled open again and a black shadow sliding across the sill.
