❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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LXXXVIII.TILL LIFE SHALL I FALL
━━━━━━
"I've been on my knees
Change the prophecy"
LIFE COULD GENUINELY BE WORSE.
Well, it kind of did. In fact, it actually did.
In the agonizing days leading up to her wedding, Marjorie felt stripped not only of her freedom to relax—even in the luxurious comfort of the Malfoy Manor — but also of her dignity. The familiar clothes she had worn since her arrival were gone, all under Bellatrix's cruel orders. Narcissa had been instructed to dispose of or destroy anything that belonged to Marjorie, a clear signal that any shred of her past was to be erased. But in a rare act of mercy, Narcissa had spared the necklace Marjorie wore — the last memento of her mother.
In hindsight, Marjorie felt a flicker of relief at having been cautious enough to conceal Harry's ring and Dumbledore's compact mirror she had enchanted when she was searching from Hermione and Harry with Ron, both linked to the necklace. Now, both were safely hidden beneath her hair, tucked against the nape of her neck — her small, defiant secrets in a house that wanted nothing more than to strip her of her identity.
But that minor victory did little to relieve the hell that followed. She was confined, not only physically but emotionally. Bellatrix, true to her twisted promise of "correcting" her, orchestrated brutal sessions that were meant to break Marjorie's will, her spirit, her very essence. These so-called "anti-brainwashing" sessions were nothing less than torture. Hours spent beneath the onslaught of curses, each more painful than the last, left Marjorie broken and shattered in ways she hadn't thought possible.
After each session, she was dumped back into her room, her body barely able to move, her mind a fog of searing pain. Narcissa, or sometimes one of the house-elves, would bring potions to dull the physical ache. But the emotional scars? Those ran deeper than anyone could comprehend.
Still, it was nice to know there were a few who cared about her, even if their help was little comfort in a prison of suffering. Lucius, on the other hand, loathed her. His disdain was obvious, simmering beneath the surface every time he laid eyes on her, though the same could be said for her to him. Either way, Draco would tell her about Lucius's constant complaints over dinner, how his father ranted endlessly to Narcissa about the disgrace of their current situation. Marjorie had long since stopped joining them for meals. Even if she hadn't made that choice, she was still confined to her room most of the time.
And that room... well, it was hard to tell if her confinement was a curse or a blessing. It offered solitude, a solace from the eyes that judged her, but it wasn't true freedom. Bellatrix would still come for her, dragging her out when it suited her needs. Draco came by occasionally, offering brief, awkward moments of civility. Narcissa, too, would come with tasks related to the wedding. Preparing for the ceremony was bitter irony. It wasn't like she had any say in the matter beyond being the reluctant bride. She would reluctantly try on wedding dresses, choose flowers, and attend to other mundane tasks, all under the watchful eye of Narcissa's meticulous planning. The forced normalcy of wedding preparations was suffocating, yet Marjorie found herself oddly appreciating it. For a brief time, she could pretend that this was just another wedding, not a forced union with Draco Malfoy.
