"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙮"
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Cassiopeia Lestrange thought she could escape her family's dark legacy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in her second year, Tom Riddle's diar...
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"If I only could, I'd make a deal with God, and I'd get him to swap our places."
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"You'll be able to return to the Manor whenever you see fit." Narcissa Malfoy handed Jupiter the extended bag that Jupiter had exited the tent with. "I've seen to it that you can. Being out in this cold isn't suitable for a girl your age. I've also placed extra parcels of food in your bag; if you need more, ask."
Jupiter stared at Narcissa, her mind numb and distant. The woman's delicate fingers held out the bag with the same grace she extended to every action. "Why?" Jupiter asked, her voice hoarse from disuse and skepticism. Her fingers clenched around her wand, tucked tightly in her sleeve, as though it might offer her some illusion of control. But it was a feeble comfort. "Why are you helping me?"
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line, her pale eyes assessing Jupiter as if she were some project, some object to be examined. The briefest flicker of something—was it pity?—crossed her gaze, but it was gone too quickly for Jupiter to trust it. "I'm not helping you," Narcissa replied evenly, her tone cold, like an actor delivering a line they didn't mean. "I'm repaying you. You're saving my son." She held the bag closer, forcing it into Jupiter's hands as though it were nothing. "Take it."
Jupiter's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she studied Narcissa's face. The older woman's expression was calm, but there was something unreadable behind her pale gaze—something that made Jupiter's gut twist uncomfortably.
"Jupiter's body stiffened at her words, at the implication that this act of "help" was nothing but a transaction, a debt to be paid. She wanted to scream. She wanted to shatter, to break everything in the room until it matched the broken pieces of herself.
"I didn't do it for you," Jupiter said sharply, her voice brittle, like glass about to fracture. Her hand hovered over the bag, but she couldn't bring herself to take it—not yet. Not when every part of her felt raw, exposed, a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
Narcissa inclined her head, her composure unshaken, as if nothing ever rattled her. "Perhaps," she said softly, but there was a weight in her voice that Jupiter couldn't ignore. "But intentions matter far less than actions. Whatever your reasons, you've ensured Draco's survival. For that, I owe you."
The notion that someone—anyone—might owe her something felt too foreign, too far removed from the person she had become. The endless days of darkness, of suffering alone in the cold stone of Malfoy Manor, still haunted her, echoing in her every breath, in every moment where she had been left to question if she was still human. How could anyone owe her anything?
"I didn't ask for your debt," Jupiter muttered, her voice hollow, devoid of strength. She snatched the bag from Narcissa's hands, her fingers brushing against the smooth leather, but the warmth of the enchanted charm inside felt like a lie against the icy chill inside her chest.
