American Royalty III

Part 1: Why you gotta be so rude?

Kit Jackson hung uselessly from her chains, her knees slumped against the cold, damp stone floor of her cell, the chill seeping into her bones. It had been months—or at least, it felt like months, she was quite sure—since she was dragged into this nightmare. Torture, mind games, and isolation had been her constant companions, but she refused to let them break her. If anything, her sarcasm had only sharpened, a defense mechanism as much as a way to keep herself sane.

Her voice echoed softly in the small, dark cell as she sang under her breath, the lyrics tinged with a wry humour that was characteristic of Kit.

"Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The song was one that Connor had played over and over again, only later Kit realised he had been hyping himself up to go talk to her dad.

The door to her cell creaked open, and Kit didn't bother to look up immediately. She knew who it was—there was only one person who entered her cell without malice in his step.

"You're looking worse for wear, Jackson," Draco Malfoy drawled as he stepped inside, his voice carrying a mix of concern and detachment.

Kit smirked, though it lacked her usual fire. "And you're looking as smug as ever, Malfoy. You better have something good to tell me, or did you just come to check out the stunning decor?"

Draco sighed, running a hand through his platinum-blond hair. "I'm not supposed to be here, Jackson. And I'm definitely not supposed to be telling you this."

Kit's eyes narrowed. "Telling me what? That Voldemort's planning to throw a party and I'm the guest of honour? Because honestly, that's the least creative thing he's done so far."

Draco hesitated, his gaze drifting to the door before he spoke again. "It's about Dumbledore. He's... he's dead."

Kit's smirk faltered, her heart skipping a beat. She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a chill down her spine. "How?"

"Snape," Draco said, his voice hollow. "Snape killed him."

Kit's eyes widened, the shock momentarily wiping away her usual sarcasm. "Snape? I thought he was..."

"A double agent?" Draco finished for her, his tone bitter. "So did everyone else. But he's been playing all sides. He killed Dumbledore right in front of me."

Kit stared at him, processing the weight of what he was saying. "And you just... let it happen?"

Draco looked away, his expression tight. "I didn't have a choice. It was... it was part of the plan."

Kit's mind was reeling. Sure, Dumbledore had set her nerves on fire at first, and it took everything in her not to smash the old man's face in, but the idea of him being gone—of Snape killing him—was kinda hard to digest.

"And now what?" she asked, her voice laced with bitterness. "Voldemort's going after something else, isn't he? What is it this time?"

Draco hesitated again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's after the Elder Wand."

Kit blinked, the name ringing no bells. "The Elder Wand? Is that a new band or something? Because if it is, you can count me out."

Draco rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of something almost like relief in them. "It's a powerful wand. The most powerful wand in existence. Voldemort believes it will make him unbeatable."

Kit frowned, trying to process the information. "And he thinks this wand is going to do all his dirty work for him? Typical. Can't win on his own, so he needs a magic stick to back him up."

Draco sighed. "You really don't know anything about it, do you?"

Kit shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint, but I've got no clue, in case you haven't noticed I've been stuck in your basement for forever. Sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale."

"More like a nightmare," Draco muttered. "He's obsessed with it. He thinks it's the key to his victory."

"Well, I hate to break it to him," Kit said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I'm fresh out of magic wands. Maybe he should try his luck at a wand shop."

Draco's lips twitched in a brief smile, but it faded quickly. "Just... be careful, Kit. Things are getting worse. And if he thinks you know something, he won't stop until he gets it out of you."

Kit's expression softened slightly. "I appreciate the heads up, Malfoy. Really, I do. But I'm not going to crack. Not for him, not for anyone. He hasn't gotten anything out of me yet and he never will."

Draco nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

As he turned to leave, Kit called after him, her tone lighter. "Hey, Malfoy. You're not going to lecture me about my life choices again, are you?"

Draco paused at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Not today, Jackson. But don't push your luck. Hang in there!"

"Very funny," She muttered

When the door creaked shut behind him, Kit let out a long breath, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into her chest. Before she could dwell on it, though, the door opened again, this time revealing Voldemort flanked by six Death Eaters.

Kit's smirk returned, defiance flaring in her eyes as she straightened up. "Well, well, if it isn't the man of the hour. What took you so long? I was starting to think you didn't care."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, his cold gaze fixed on her. "We're going to get to the bottom of this, Jackson. No more lies. No more games."

Kit rolled her eyes, her sarcasm a shield. "And you couldn't have done this sooner? I mean, really, you guys are slipping."

One of the Death Eaters forced her mouth open, pouring the potion down her throat. Kit swallowed, feeling the familiar warmth of the Veritaserum spreading through her veins.

Voldemort's voice was cold, clinical. "What are you hiding from us, Jackson?"

Kit's expression remained neutral as she felt the potion taking hold, but she tightened her mental grip, controlling the flow of truth and lies. "What am I hiding? Not much. Just the usual—sleepless nights, bad food, and, oh yeah, a burning desire to kick your scaly butt."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You know what I mean. What makes you pass out when certain words are mentioned?"

Kit feigned confusion, her voice carefully measured. "Pass out? How should I know? Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."

The Dark Lord's gaze intensified. "What have you been through that causes this reaction?"

Kit's heart pounded, but she kept her expression blank. "Captured in a war... tortured... saw friends die. The usual. But you're not getting anything else out of me."

Voldemort studied her, his expression unreadable. He seemed to sense that something was off, but the Veritaserum was doing its job—at least as far as he knew.

"You're lying, Jackson," he hissed, frustration creeping into his voice. "But I will find out the truth."

He turned sharply, leading the Death Eaters out of the cell. As the door slammed shut behind them, Kit let out a shaky breath, her body trembling with the effort of maintaining the lie.

She knew she'd dodged a bullet, but it wouldn't be the last. And next time, she might not be so lucky.