Little Memories

Charlotte’s feet hit the ground of the foyer in the Malfoy Manor. The house was quiet, since most of the Death Eaters were probably still off trying to find Potter. Rowle and Dolohov were glancing to each other, then to their surroundings, then to Charlotte. Dolohov gave the blonde girl beside him a sneer before murmuring something about finding the other Death Eaters and disapparating before Charlotte could tell him not to. She stood there for a few moments before giving a discontented noise and paced forward a few steps, fisting the roots of her hair in her hands. She spun suddenly and faced Rowle, who had his wand drawn and pressed against Dark Mark.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” She roared, her eyes wide and wild. Her voice echoed off the arched ceilings, ricocheted from the bottoms of the spiral staircases. Whoever was in the house surely would have heard her.

“I’m calling the Dark Lord here so we can tell him that Harry Potter got away,” Rowle said in his deep growl of a voice.

“You idiot!” Charlotte hissed, taking a few quick steps toward him as she cut her eyes at him. She was suddenly made aware of the sound of footsteps coming from behind her, but was so rife with anger she paid them no mind. “He’s only to be called if Potter is found!” A black smoky and misty figure appeared in the room before pale hands, feet, and head eventually emerged from the thick darkness.

“Where is he?!” The man gave an outraged cry in his cool rasp of a voice. Charlotte took in a deep breath, her head bowed in the presence of Lord Voldemort.

“He’s not here. Rowle had forgotten your instructions, my lord,” she hissed, sending a sidelong glance to the blonde, burly man beside her. The house gave a sudden groan and the anger of the snake-like man in front of her didn’t need words to be understood. She didn’t dare bring her eyes up from the floor to look at him; she merely pursed her lips and closed her eyes. She heard a low hiss from Lord Voldemort before a loud swish of cloaks.

“Draco,” he said in a low voice, “since you’re there, would you grab one of them for me and come with me to your dining hall?” Charlotte’s eyes opened wide and she looked up to the landing, spying Draco standing there with a surprised look on his face. She felt like the blood in her veins had been replaced with ice water and her heart took up a frantic rhythm in her chest. “Let me rephrase that,” the Dark Lord hissed through pointed, clenched teeth, “grab one of them and follow me to the dining hall.” Draco gave him a terse nod and immediate began walking to Charlotte, but Lord Voldemort snatched her up by the back of her arm.

Charlotte met Draco’s eyes for a moment before he turned and walked toward Rowle, grabbing him by the collar of his blue jumpsuit and placing his wand at his throat as he followed closely behind the Dark Lord and Charlotte. His stomach churned at the horrible ideas the heinous man before him could be coming up with to punish Charlotte and Rowle. The doors to the dining hall were flung open and the house elves that had been placing a log in the fire did so very quickly and vanished. With a swish of Lord Voldemort’s hand, two of the chairs from the table floated to a spot on the floor and landed with a hollow thud.

Charlotte found herself thrown at the chair and she sat, Rowle following behind her. Once her back hit the chair, she felt adhered to it and knew that the worst was yet to come if Lord Voldemort was forcing her to remain in the chair. She slowly lifted her eyes to Draco, who was wearing an emotionless expression as he stared at her. Lord Voldemort was pacing in front of the two chairs, his unearthly looking cloaks billowing and flowing around his as if blown by some unseen winds.

“You, Rowle, must learn the consequences for not listening to my instructions,” the serpentine man finally hissed, stopping just in front of the chairs, “and you, Charlotte, must learn to keep your fellow Death Eaters in line should they go against what they’re told.” She brought her blue eyes to meet his red ones and a wicked grin curled his thin, pale lips. “Draco,” he called the blonde boy behind him without tearing his eyes away from Charlotte, “first, you’ll show Rowle our distaste in the situation…then you’ll show Charlotte the very same thing.”

Draco gripped his wand in his hand and lifted it to Rowle, staring at the man in the chair as he tried not to think of the girl that sat before him. However, his lack of focus was displeasing to the Dark Lord.

“Do it or I’ll kill you, Draco,” he hissed, his red eyes lighting up with a deep, dark anger.

“Crucio,” Draco finally managed to get out and the large blonde man before him roared in pain as his eyes clenched shut. Charlotte winced slightly and glanced over to him, knowing she would soon pay for his mistake. She knew she didn’t deserve the punishment she was about to be given, but she wouldn’t dare speak up against the Dark Lord, not when he was already in a foul mood to begin with. Charlotte tried to drown out the sounds of the suffering wizard beside her. She tried to reach the place she had gotten to when she was in Azkaban; the place where she found she could shut down completely.

“Enough,” Lord Voldemort called after ten agonizing minutes of torture for Rowle. The man slumped out of the chair and hit the floor with a sharp slap of stone against skin. “Get up and leave,” the snake-like man commanded and Rowle struggled to get to his feet, his breathing heavy and rushed. “GO!” The Dark Lord roared and Rowle scampered out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet to get away. The three listened as his footsteps died away and Lord Voldemort turned his eyes to Charlotte once more. “Now her,” he said in a sickly sweet voice, “and don’t go easy on her. This punishment has long since been delayed.” Charlotte merely kept her head down, her blonde hair veiling her face from Draco as he lifted his shaking hand and wand toward her.

“Crucio,” he repeated, feeling bile churning up at the back of his throat at the thought of having to hurt the one he loved the most.

Charlotte’s body tensed before the Unforgivable curse hit her and when it did, she wished she hadn’t. The pain rang through her body and her fingers gripped futilely at the arms of the chair as a slight whimper passed through her clenched teeth and tight lips. White hot pain flashed behind her closed eyelids, causing her body to shake slightly. Her bones felt like they were shattering all at once and embedding their scalding hot shards into her muscle. Her skull felt like it could blast open at any moment from the pressure that was pressing from the inside out. Warm blood dripped from her dainty nose as she fought against making any noise to let Draco know how much pain she was in.

Draco broke the curse after he felt his power wane slightly and glanced over to Lord Voldemort, who was watching him expectantly. He licked his lips and lifted his wand again, focusing his eyes on Charlotte, who was slumped in the chair with her head bowed.

“Go on then,” the Dark Lord urged Draco, waving a pale, thin hand toward Charlotte, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Thus, it started all over again and Charlotte recently healed body was beginning to break down and become weak again. She could feel boiling hot tears streaking her face and her nosebleed dripping down her face, into her mouth, and from her chin. This time, if felt like she had been plunged into an ice bath and held in it. Every inch of her body felt like it had become excruciatingly numb and throbbing with pain. This went on for a few, long minutes before Lord Voldemort stopped Draco. Unlike Rowle, Charlotte remained in the chair, staring emotionlessly at the ground.

“You’ve done well, Draco. I am pleased,” the dark man beside him said in his cool rasp of a voice as his red eyes stared relentlessly into Draco‘s grey-blue eyes. “I will send someone to escort her back to the cottage she’s staying at. You are not to move her or touch her.” With those word, his disapparated into thin air, leaving behind a plume of ominous, black smoke.

Draco stood there, stunned for a few moments, before turning his eyes back to Charlotte. She was sitting in the chair Lord Voldemort had forced her into, yet looked like she could slip out of it at any moment. Her breathing, which was frantic and hurried, echoed against the walls and ceiling of the dining hall. Her head was bowed and Draco could see tears and blood tripping from her face and onto her lap. Her hands were shaking slightly, as if she were extremely cold. He couldn’t see her eyes to tell if they were open or shut.

“Charlotte?” He asked in a hesitantly soft voice as he walked toward her. She didn’t move and fear gripped Draco. He stopped just shy of her and looked over her slowly, knowing that he had hurt her. He had to. And he knew that if he hadn’t, Charlotte would have thought him stupid for it. Tentatively, Draco reached his hand out, to place it on her arm and to give her some sort of comfort.

“Don’t,” she breathed through her still sporadic breaths, “he would know if you touched me.” Draco immediately pulled his hand away and clenched it into a fist as he listened to Charlotte struggling to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears building in his eyes. Slowly, she brought her tears-stained eyes to meet his and sniffled a bit. The nosebleed had stopped and now the blood was beginning to dry on her face in tiny red rivulets.

“You did what you had to,” she got out in one breath before gasping for air again. “To survive,” she added with a nod. They merely sat there in the silent, dark room staring at each other for a few moments as Charlotte continued to struggle to breathe, her hand coming to rest on her ribs. “You did well, Draco,” Charlotte said softly, wincing slightly and looking down to the ground beneath her feet, “I think he’s pleased with you…for now.” Two pairs of footsteps echoed in the foyer of the home along with the deep grumble of voices.

Charlotte looked up to Draco, her hand pressing gently against her side. He looked back at her, hoping that she’d stay, but he knew that she wouldn’t. Not when she was so happy back at the small cottage she loved so much. She winced slightly as she moved a bit in the seat and Draco wondered the extent of the damage he had caused to her body.

“You should probably go,” she murmured. Just as Draco opened his mouth to reply, a low, growling voice from the other side of the room cut him off.

“No, he should stay. Maybe he’ll get to see me tear into a pretty little morsel as yourself...and I don't mean biting either.” Both Charlotte and Draco looked up to spy Fenrir Greyback wearing a wicked snarl and a smaller, leaner man with brown hair and a single, tell-tale red streak staring at the two of them apprehensively.