#hogwarts77challenge

1981. BUT YOU WILL REMEMBER ME.

News of the deaths of James Potter and Lily Evans spread around the wizarding world quickly --  Alice and Lily had bonded throughout their years at Hogwarts, and happened to be pregnant with their sons at the same time. They would get together at their separate homes, suggest baby names to one another, wonder if their sons would grow up and become friends like they were. They were gleeful with that idea in their heads, thinking of how they would grow old and their sons would visit them, and have children of their own someday. The women were only twenty and twenty-one at the time, but it was fun to imagine. The Dark Lord would soon be defeated and everything would be peaceful. They would watch their sons grow up to be happy and strong, like they were. It wasn’t ideal for either of them to have babies around the time that they did, but their sons would bring light to the darker times.  Frank had gone missing the afternoon following the murder of James and Lily -- and Alice hadn’t seen him since they received the news. Frank’s sweet Mother, Augusta, had been staying with them and teaching them to be parents at such a young age. (They had promised her if they had a daughter, she too would be named ‘Augusta’.) Alice’s parents were no longer in the picture, making Augusta the closest thing she had to a parent. (No, Augusta had not always been how Neville would describe her in the future -- she was a sweet woman until her son and daughter-in-law were tortured into insanity.) “No one knows where Frank is, Mum, not Albus -- not Alastor, or Kingsley. Remus is too torn up over Lily and James, god only knows where Sirius is. Edgar and his family were killed by the Dark Lord.” She paced back and forth, whilst her Mother-in-law cradled her son. Tears welled in Alice’s eyes from her frustration, walking over to Neville and placing a gentle kiss on his head.  “Him and his Death Eaters are targeting all of us. It’s been two days. He could be dead.” Augusta told her she was being silly, that Frank would be home soon. Though two days had passed, it was dark and brooding outside. Frank would have told her his whereabouts by now, he would’ve said something. He wouldn’t be so idiotic as to try to avenge James and Lily, or try to find Harry. She was reminded by Augusta that she should stay there with her son, rather than go searching for him. Who else would, if not Alice? Giving a hug to Augusta and a kiss to Neville, she left -- promising that she would return soon with Frank. Going out into the night was not her brightest idea, but she was determined to find the man she loved. A dark alley was where the four captured her. They covered her eyes, and took her somewhere unknown. It was dark, except for the light that shone on Frank -- who was as white as a ghost, with bloodshot eyes. That was the first thing she saw when they uncovered her eyes and allowed her her vision, to which her brown orbs widened. He wasn’t the Frank that she knew to be hers. The mixture of her anger and sadness was heightened -- and there was not one emotion that was stronger than the other. “No!” She shouted, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart pounded against her chest as anger quickly set in, and she screamed for what felt like hours; until someone shouting the Cruciatus curse made her fall to her knees, and blood began to run from her nose. (Which happened every so often to her, due to stress.) Alice glared up at the four, who had done this to Frank. “You’re all cowards.” She spat, a strong shiver going down her spine from the excruciating pain she’d just experienced for the first time. Bellatrix ran the group more than anyone, asking the same questions over and over again. The most common one -- asking where the Dark Lord was. Naturally, the Fortescue woman had no idea. She hadn’t an answer to any of the questions she was asked, and for each answer she didn’t have, the Cruciatus curse was cast upon Alice. She would double over in pain while tears ran down her cheeks like water running from an active faucet. She’d still find the strength to look up and glare -- until it had all been too much. She was left in the same state as Frank.

Come 1982, where is Alice? IF OUR LOVE IS TRAGEDY ... 

Draco.

Shoes long abandoned, her feet pulled her in and out of each room, eyes frantic, heart pounding. 

Draco.

Not fast enough, not fast enough. Though calloused, her feet were going as fast as they could, but still, not fast enough. With tear blurred vision, Cissa glanced out the closest window, a party of aurors muttering counter charms against the protective enchantments that she’d hoped would buy her time. 

Lucius.

Tears threatened to spill as her eyes met with his, barely recognising him past the bruises and scars. He shook his head, ducking into the next room, in search of her son — their son. However distant, a wail beckoned her attention. 

Draco.

She ran towards the sound of a soft, helpless cry. She ran, despite running towards the sound of forceful contact against the door. She ran to the purest most innocent life form left in such a corrupt, disturbed world. She ran. Not fast enough, never fast enough. Her arms were swift to cradle him, precious little Draco and she would’ve given anything to ensure his safety. A soft pat on his back comforted his cries, though in turn, Narcissa wept. Lucius stood not far behind, the expression on his once perfect features mimicked hers. 

No more masks. No more pretending, because no matter how perfected your facade is, war is kind to no man. Death doesn’t discriminate against those with Pureblood, or those with money, or those with children. He just takes, and takes and takes. Not Draco. Please not Draco. 

“Shh Draco, it’ll all be over soon, baby. Mommy loves you, Draco. Mama just needs you to keep quiet a little longer, sweetie,” she managed, between hiccoughs and attempts to catch her breath. Cissa pressed her lips against his warm skin, hearing the sound of footsteps, and voices calling out to each other as they dispersed within the Manor. “Shh, Draco, Mama loves you. Daddy loves you.”

Lucius.

He’d run outside, surrendered to the calls of the aurors, refusing to let them find their son. Cissa knew. She knew that it was him they were after. He bore the mark, still crawling up his left arm, and that’s all they needed to sentence him. In a split second of panic, she set Draco down in the safety of a closet, unsure of her next move. 

“Mama loves you, Draco. I’ll be right back, okay? Be a good boy for Mommy, okay?” 

With wide eyes so pure, so innocent, her lips met his forehead once more as she began to step away. One. Two. Three. Four. She counted each step she took, further from her love. 

Lucius.

They pulled at his arms, raising his left sleeve before glancing at each other with a nod. She shook her head. 

“No,” she breathed, throwing her arms around him, forbidding them to take anything else away from her. They’d taken Andy to their side. They’d taken Sirius. They’d killed Amara. They’d captured Bella. Her parents. Even Regulus. Her arms tightened against his battered frame, as they ripped her from him. “No, not Lucius,” she begged, “Not my husband, please!” On her knees, stripping herself of any pride left in her, Cissa looked into the eyes of a girl she’d always deemed below her, and begged. “Lily please. You have a son too, dear Harry. Lily, you wouldn’t bear the thought of him growing up without James, please don’t force that fate onto my Draco.” But through that hint of sympathy in Lily Evans’ eyes, she shook her head, and Cissa knew. They’d be no such pity on the house of Malfoy.

“Search the house for anyone they might be hiding.” Two men dragged Lucius from her touch, as another called to continue the search. Her body ached, as she watched them take him away, helpless to do anything. And though tears blurred her sight, her eyes trained on his lips as they mouthed, ‘Draco.’

Draco. 

Her feet traced the steps back to the first room, careful not to attract any further attention. Cissa swung the door open, unaware of James Potter’s footsteps closely behind hers. Her small frame guarded the closet, shaking her head. 

“Get out of my house, Potter,” she commanded through gritted teeth. 

“Narcissa, you’ll go to Azkaban for attempting to hide a criminal,” his reply came with no remorse, but her feet refused to move. Not Draco. They cannot touch Draco.

Her mind struggled to conjure the right words, failing to notice that he’d raised his wand to mutter, ‘Expulso’. Though her realisation came too late. 

For the curse wasn’t aimed at her, it was aimed at the closet.

A great force send her body slamming to the ground, but no matter how pristine, the wood was crushed easily by the exertion. 

Draco.

Precious, little, lifeless Draco. Her eyes were frantic and bawling, as a bloodcurdling scream left her lungs.

Mary was always relieved when the guest left, at least she knew Mulciber. At least when he looked at her he didn’t see a mindless pet. When he looked at her, he saw all the bloodlust just waiting for a chance to bubble over. Just waiting for the time he slips with his spells. As much as she hated it, they knew each other deeply. She and Mulciber. With all her friends gone he was the closest thing she had to a connection left in this world. That fact alone was more painful than any spell. 

Everything he did to her was meant to break her.  He had kept her legs bound for so long, that even if the spell faded Mary was certain she couldn’t stand. Speaking was a distant memory, but her eyes never lied and Mulciber always knew exactly what she was trying to say.

He came to the damp basement where she was kept. Now stripped of her fancy cloaks she lay there propped against the wall in a white robe much like those the house elves that kept her company wore.

He leaned against the bars his face still shadowed. “Mary my dove, you must smile more at my parties. You’re the main attraction.” Taking the key from his pocket he turned the door open. Walking up to her slumped frame he bent down over her and took her face in his hand forcing her to look at him.