𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐹𝑂𝑌

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 - 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞

╭────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╮

𝐃

I endured the first night, almost as if I deserved the pain.

The Dark Mark burned and pricked my skin with a thousand needles every second. If you dared touch, it is stung ten times more, so any instinct to press a palm against it had to be subdued.

I was always used to the soft touch of the covers in Slytherin Dungeon. Here in the Manor, we used those ancient, embroidered blankets. They were maintained with magic throughout the century but they were harsh against the skin. This particular one was part of my mother's dowry. Despite all our riches, we never bought new ones. We were traditional. 

I didn't sleep at all that night, and since it was the first night after returning from Hogwarts for the summer, I felt out of place. I wanted to curl up and forget that I existed. Crippled by sleeplessness, exhausted by pain, I promised myself I would find a way to make myself sleep the next night.

I creeped out of my room late at night.

I tiptoed across the hallway and lost a heartbeat when I heard the blackwood creak under my feet. It felt like I was a child again; out of bed after hours. Only there was no one there to catch me now.

I walked down the stairs and unlocked the door of Father's study with my wand.

The way I remembered my childhood thoughts; I always assumed that this is where my Father had business meetings. Of course, I later noticed that Father had way too many meetings in the dark of the night and with colleagues that were always dressed in black, so I quickly put the pieces together.

In any case, my Father's office was always a mystery, an intrigue. A room I was never supposed to go to. Of course, I was always a curious child, and after many attempts to penetrate the unexplored world of an otherwise boring room, I knew there was a stash of hard liquor in the last drawer of the heavy desk.

I lit up my wand and walked inside.

"What are you doing?"

There wasn't a chance of something happening in this Manor without my mother knowing – which was always contradictory to the dimensions of the large estate. Opposite to my Father, who showed little care about what was happening outside this very office or the West Drawing-room, Mother seemed to have a gift of noticing everything.

"I'm looking for a book," I lied.

"You're not allowed to be here. You know that very well."

Mother leaned against the dark wood of the door to give her tired feet a rest. When she raised her glass to take a sip, the silk of her black nightgown trickled to her elbow and revealed paper-white skin. A bruise of purple, yellow and blue was showing at the wide of the forearm.

"It's not like Father is coming back from Azkaban to scold me," I said but instantly regretted when I met the silent pain in her eyes. My mother may have never told me so, but this was the toughest time of her life.

"You know, the Ministry sent a notice a few hours ago. They set a date for the trial. It's in three days," she explained.

"Does that mean Father is getting out? Is he coming back?" I said and was hoping it would be the first good news in a while.

Mother fell in complete silence. She looked at her glass, she took a sip and didn't speak.

"We have a good lawyer, right? That Avery man."