Chapter Text
Rites of Ascension
Chapter 1:
Exhaustion
There he is. Of course. I’m definitely going to die.
Isabella tested her bonds, which didn’t budge and did nothing more than tighten and burn her wrists. Not twenty feet in front of her stood the newly resurrected Voldemort, and the only thought on her mind was how exhausted she was. Her life hadn’t been easy up until this point, and it certainly wasn’t about to get any easier.
I should have known this would be a trap. I am such an idiot.
She watched him flex his newly formed arms before he reached and caressed his surprisingly shiny bald head. He’s creepy. She would have told him to his face if it weren’t for the disgusting rag that pathetic little traitor stuffed in her mouth. She took her eyes off of Voldemort and attempted to immolate Peter with nothing but a stare. If I die tonight, I can be at peace knowing he’s dead too.
She turned back when she heard movement, jumping a little as she didn’t expect to see Voldemorts red eyes boring into hers. He had stopped his self examination and was standing still, arms behind his back, staring at her. It was uncomfortable. His weird snake face didn’t express emotion like a humans would, but she assumed he wasn’t necessarily happy to see her.
She thought she saw the ghost of what a smile would be, but before she could think on what he could be smiling about, the sound of apparition broke through the air. Oh, excellent. As if this isn’t a shit situation already. The Death Eaters appeared in a partially formed circle around Voldemort and immediately dropped to their knees. She was slightly shocked to see the disgust on her face mirrored on his. Well, might as well enjoy the show, he doesn’t seem happy to see them.
The first victim crawled forwards, begging and pleading for forgiveness. Isabella was appalled at the behaviour, no matter what she faced she couldn’t imagine being that pathetic. It seems that Voldemort shared that thought as his face twisted in disgust before he fired a Cruciatus Curse into the prone mans back.
She watched in horror and a little bit of fascination as the man screamed and writhed on the ground. She had seen the spell performed on an enlarged spider but never a person, and as much as she hated the Death Eaters this was a bit much to watch. She must have made a noise when the man began to piss himself because Voldemort turned and had a brief flash of surprise on his face. No way he forgot I was here. What a cunt.
His eyes flashed with rage after she thought that. Can he read minds? Voldemort turned and kicked the man back into his original position before he turned his full attention on her.
“Isabella Potter. The guest of honour.” He whispered, crimson eyes drilling into green.
Isabella couldn’t help but snort and roll her eyes. The-Girl-Who-Lived, The-Guest-Of-Honour. Obviously, Voldemort didn’t have the same sense of humour as her, before she knew it, she was screaming into her gag. The Cruciatus was worse than she could have imagined. The thrashing she was doing didn’t help as she repeatedly hit her head against the tomb she was tied to.
After what felt like hours, the curse lifted and she fell limp, sucking in as deep breaths as she could. Her body was twitching, and she felt like even if she could get her wand, she wouldn’t be able to grip it. An invisible force hit her, and she felt her head being lifted up as if an invisible hand and grabbed her hair and pulled, hard. The glare she sent at Voldemort must have surprised him by the way his eyes widened. Even if this was her last day, she wouldn’t die like some snivelling coward.
Voldemort raised his wand, and she closed her eyes, expecting the Killing Curse but instead felt the rag in her mouth fly out. Confused, and surprised to still be breathing, she swished her tongue around trying to get the saliva back, while she sent a confused look at Voldemort.
“What are you doing? Why am I still alive?” she asked. Genuinely shaken.
“You are still defiant. Still indomitable. Even in the face of death.” He stated, as if it were a universal fact. “Why?”
“I would rather die where I stand than live my life like a bootlicking coward.” She stated, equally true while glancing at the previously tortured Death Eater.
Voldemorts face showed traces of humour before he crushed them. “That did not answer my question.”
Isabella was tired. If this was how the rest of her life was going to go if she managed to escape, what was the point. The first 12 years were torture. The last three were dangerous bordering on suicidal, it wasn’t a good forecast for the future.
“I am tired.” She said simply, as if it made sense.
Voldemorts nostrils flared in irritation. “That is not an adequate answer.” He said sharply.
“Yes. It is.” She said, with anger bleeding through.
Voldemort flicked his wand, and she felt her head thrown against the tombstone. She cried out as her head struck and ears began to ring. Why does he have to drag this out? Her mood was not improving.
“Because I am TIRED.” She screamed. “Why is that so difficult to understand? My life Is. Not. Good.”
Voldemort was looking at her with widened eyes and the Death Eaters in the circle behind him were shocked to silence.
“Everyone has expectations of me. I’m a fifteen-year-old-girl, what right does anyone have to expect anything from me? My relatives hate me and abuse me. The professors don’t help me. The students hate me while admiring me. My life is constantly in danger, the one man I consider family is a criminal, and I AM TIRED.” She was breathing heavily and crying slightly, not hard, but enough for a few tears to break through.
“Why do you think I don’t stand here cowering? At this point death would be welcome.” She said finally looking at Voldemort. “s I would finally be free.” She didn’t realise she finished saying that in Parseltongue until the Death Eaters behind Voldemort choked.
She watched his eyes widen as he began to walk towards her, she didn’t think what she said could have angered him, but you never know with psychopaths. He stopped not two feet before her, swishing his wand so a barrier came between them, and their audience.
“I have heard the rumours, but I believed them false.” He whispered, staring at her like he was trying to solve a wonderous puzzle. “s How can you speak the language of the snakes?”
“s Why should I tell you? You’ll just torture me some more anyway.” She said petulantly, looking up at him. Shite he’s tall.
He seemed to be trying to reign in his temper which did make her feel better, she loved making him mad. “s It should not be possible. That gift is through blood. The Potters, nor your…. Mother, could speak.”
She sighed deeply. It wasn’t like telling him would save her or kill her faster. “s Dumbledore told me that he thinks you transferred some of your power to me that night.”
Voldemort scoffed. “s The old man is a fool, there is no way to transfer power to….” He trailed off, looking at her more intently than before. His eyes found her curse scar and his thin lips parted slightly in surprise. “s no… it couldn’t be.” He said, raising his hand to touch her forehead.
She watched with wide eyes as his cold hand contacted her bare skin, and she felt a warmth spread from her forehead, trying to reach out to him. It was odd, creepy, and strangely comforting. As quick as it happened, he drew his hand back as if burned and moved back one step. He was staring at her as if he had never seen her before. She didn’t like it.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded.
He looked down and caught her eye. He looked oddly nervous, but also seemed… excited?
“The game has changed Bella.” He said softer than before. “You are now neutral in this war.”
“What?” she said, eloquently. “Why?”
He assessed her, or at least her face. His eyes seemed to linger on her forehead more than anything else. “Well, you could join the Dark. But I have reason to think you would prefer neutrality.” He said with a cocky smile. “A chance to be free. No expectations of you. Live your life.”
“Why do you think I would ever join you?” she spat.
“You no longer have a choice. I will give you one chance.” He hissed, anger filling his words. “You can die here, or live and no longer fight in this war.” His wand raised until pointing directly at her heart. The tip began glowing an ominous green that she was oh so familiar with. "There will be no fantastic duel, there will be no chance of escape, you either agree or die."
She kept her eyes on his and knew that his ultimatum was true. She wasn’t sure how he was going to manage to keep her from fighting. But she wasn’t sure how she could keep him from lying and killing her.
“It’s not like you are a paragon of honesty Tom. Why should I believe you won’t kill me even if I agree?” Watching him twitch at the mention of his name made her happy. He studied her for a few silent moments. “A vow. Between you and I.” he suggested. “We both agree to uphold our end.”
He’s serious. Why would he be offering me this? He tried to kill me when I was a baby. I don’t even know why… She saw the anticipation in his eyes, and he looked far too smug. Even if she accepted it seemed as if he was gaining the most. If she was going to choose to take her own path or betray “the light” as everyone else would see it, she would at least get something from it.
“You will answer every question I have; about anything I ask. I’ll accept after you agree.” She stated, as forcefully as she could in her fairly weakened state.
Voldemorts eyes flared with triumph before he nodded severely once more. “I accept.” He smiled. “As a gesture of goodwill, I will get you away from your muggle relatives. Forever.”
“How do you plan to….” Before she could finish an orange spell struck her dead centre and she was fast asleep.
*
The Dark Lord smiled and exhaled deeply as Isabella fell asleep or was put to sleep more accurately. The coma curse he used wasn’t well known and had no other affects besides the coma. He couldn’t risk harming her further than she had already been. He flicked his wand and vanished the ropes holding her limp frame up before catching her body. She’s too light. He frowned, a girl her age shouldn’t be this small.
He felt his rage rise at the thought of her abusive muggles. Their upbringings were too similar to ignore. Dumbledore caused the abuse of yet another child and did nothing to prevent it. He stopped, before a smile spread across his thin lips. His original plan was to kill the muggles, but this could work out much more effectively. He could uphold his promise of getting Isabella, Bella, away from the muggles and harm Dumbledore's reputation at the same time.
He stood up, cradling her small frame to him bridal style. She was already bleeding quite profusely, and he had used the Cruciatus on her already, she would need to get to the Hospital quickly. He turned and made his way back to his Death Eaters who were eyeing Isabellas body openly. He knew they were curious, but who were they to ask him anything.
He stopped before them, eyeing them each before speaking. “Ms. Potter is not to be touched. The game has changed, and she is now a vital piece. Everyone but Lucius and Wormtail leave.” He commanded.
He waited for the final pop of apparition before he turned to Lucius. “Ms. Potter will be neutral in this war, from this moment forward.”
He so enjoyed the way Lucius attempted to keep his face calm, he did admirably, though he wasn’t quite successful. “As you command, My Lord.” He bowed his head.
Voldemort flicked his wand at Peter, stunning him quickly before he could make an escape at his next words. “I will be sending Ms. Potter and Wormtail to St. Mungos. They will take care of her away from the old man, and you will work on getting custody of Ms. Potter.”
Lucius eyes bulged and he shook his head slightly. “Forgive me My Lord but the Wizengamot will not allow me custody even if I have been cleared of all charges. The opposition does not forget.”
Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Lucius’ flat denial.
“But-but my wife may be able to. Her an-and Potter are related by blood. They may allow it to pass to her.” He stuttered. “My Lord.”
“Very well Lucius, do not fail me. Now leave.” He snapped.
Lucius pop was done within moments. He flicked his wand at the ground, transfiguring the grass into a soft bed of moss which he placed Isabella on. He stood and examined her. His frown grew deeper the more complex his diagnostic spells became. She was horribly malnourished, and her growth had been stunted deeply. She would need vast medical care.
The only thing intact, and even thriving, was her magic. It was strong, far stronger than a girl her age was supposed to have. It made sense; she was his prophesized enemy. He flicked his wand and levitated Pettigrew over to him before modifying his memories, it wouldn’t be very prudent for him to spill secrets that Voldemort didn’t want known. He would only tell them the story that had been planted in his mind. He pulled one of the small rings off her fingers before holding it tightly in his palm. He couldn’t afford for anyone to look into her mind, she had no protection.
He raised his wand and began a small chant, aiming the tip at his closed fist. The ring would become enchanted to protect her mind from external intrusion. It wouldn’t last forever, but enough time for them to meet again.
He slipped it back on and made the same ring into a portkey, this would take both her and peter to the main sitting room of the Hospital. The ring activated instantly, sweeping both bodies away.
*
The Dark Lord watched as the Portkey activated and Isabella, Bella, was swept away. He smiled to himself when he thought about her, not even realizing he did. He looked around at the surrounding graveyard, frowning at the reminder of his ‘family’. He would’ve preferred to have never returned to Little Hangleton again, but life and its subtle ironies seemed to play games. Before apparating away to complete his most pressing task, he turned and sent fiendfyre towards the graveyard, burning everything to ash. There was no point leaving any more evidence than strictly necessary. Dumbledore always did seem more perceptive than he would’ve liked.
Voldemort spun quickly on the spot, leaving behind nothing but a faint popping noise and wind through the night. He apparated directly in front of a row of low hedges that seemed to be surrounding a property. He pushed forward and a rundown shack came into view at the end of a long-overgrown dirt lane. Old rotten trees lined the lane on either side, giving the whole area an unsettling feeling. Voldemort made his way down the lane disabling the wards he originally set years before.
Knowing what wards were cast and the exact passwords made the whole process very quick, and it was a few short minutes before he was standing before the steps of the hovel. The porch sitting on the front end of the house was as worn down and rotted as the trees on the lane. The steps creaked and groaned under his weight but did not give. He stood before the front entrance, disabling the final exterior ward by speaking parseltongue to the dead snake nailed on the front door.
The Dark Lord stepped through the front door and wrinkled his nose in disgust. His temper flared as he remembered what he had become due to Wormtails pitiful attempt at a resurrection ritual. Feeding on Naginis’ venom concoction for the past year wouldn’t have resulted in this happening to him unless the potion used in his resurrection was botched somehow. No matter, Wormtail was going to be in DMLE custody soon. He was here to correct Wormtails mistakes ultimately, he didn’t want to spend a second longer than he had to in this monstrosity he called a body.
He missed his old one, he was the same height but didn’t look like the cross between man and snake. He was tall at 6’3”, soft peach coloured skin, a strong jawline, and subtle but elegant cheekbones. His hair was dark chocolate brown, the only thing that hadn’t changed was the colour of his eyes. In his youth he had dabbled in rituals, and through his experimentation he had discovered one that repairs eyesight and even enhances it. The instructions did not mention that eye colour was susceptible to change as well. The Dark Lord would be the first to admit that he had been incredibly vain, he knew that he was attractive and was not at all pleased by the looks of revulsion that his Bella was shooting him through their meeting. That would not be happening again. She would also be easier to convince to join the dark rather than stay neutral if she held any sort of attraction towards him.
He moved through the entrance and walked into the main living area; it was completely filthy. The house itself disgusted Voldemort, it reminded him of his squib mother and her pathetic inbred family. They may have been the descendants of Salazar Slytherin, but they were a disgrace to the name of Wixen. The only reason he used this place to house a Horcrux was because of how unlikely it would be for him to keep a portion of his own extremely valuable soul, in a complete hovel.
He moved gracefully though the room and stood a few paces off center. He pointed his wand at a plank of wood equal parts in between himself, the fireplace, and the table. With a flick of his wand, he levitated the plank and summoned a jewelry box from beneath the floor. He caught it in his off hand and wandlessly undid the latch and flicked it open. Voldemort aimed his wand at the ring, mumbling under his breath for a few moments before he pulled the ring out of the air and slipped it onto his finger. He conjured a replica of the ring and placed it in the box, then levitated it back under the floor, replacing the plank with it.
Voldemort made his way out of the shack, replacing the wards as he did. Once he was on the edge of the property he looked down at his ring and a small smile graced his lips. When he discovered that Isabella was a Horcrux it made him realize that his soul might be a bit too unstable. There was no other explanation for why a piece of his soul fragmented off and latched itself onto her. There is a strict ritual that must be followed within twenty-four hours of the initial murder, and that clearly hadn’t happened.
His first instinct was to be angry, to be furious and curse her into madness. How dare she house a piece of his soul, his soul! But her presence was oddly calming and brought about a clearer head. He realized that she was his Horcrux. Therefore, he couldn’t harm her, or he would risk harming himself. Maybe if she insisted on being as disrespectful as she was earlier, he would teach her a lesson, but he would try and refrain. She was stubborn, and clearly no stranger to pain, she wouldn’t break easily, if at all.
There was also the delightful twist that the ‘Lights Saviour’ was housing of a piece of the Dark Lords soul, his soul. That thought alone made him smile. As far as he was concerned, she was now neutral or part of the Dark. The Order wouldn’t let her live once they discovered that she had to be destroyed in order for him to be killed completely. That also meant that he would have to ensure her safety and that no one else discovered what she was, that could be catastrophic. He would need to get her onto his side, but she was as stubborn as anyone he had ever known. He would need to woo her, not threaten her. He also needed to get her out from Dumbledore's thumb. He would think on it, but now he had a ritual to undergo.
Lord Voldemort snapped out of his thoughts and apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. He strolled through the front gates, not hesitating for a second as the solid iron turned to a black vapor as it contacted his body. It pleased him to know that Lucius never replaced his wards or removed his right of entry. He continued up the main drive, each side lined with a large and exotic garden, along with the pretentious white Peacocks Lucius was so fond of.
He arrived at the end of the drive and the large white marble Manor came into view. It was as ostentatious as he remembered, completely white gleaming marble, with large columns holding up the roof above the 12-foot high, dark oak front doors. The Manor stretched for a hundred feet on either side, as well as having a massive three floors. He approached the front doors and they swung open without prompting. The entrance hall was light and airy, with black marble floors to offset the soft silver and blue walls. Silver was the metal of choice for most of the decorations as it was part of the Malfoy colour pallet. It was surrounding the mirrors, candle sticks, lights, as well as all handles and fixtures.
Voldemort knew the Malfoy Manor like the back of his hand, and he swiftly made his way through the entrance hall and to the doors at the back which he knew would lead him to the basement where the ritual room was kept. All pure-blooded Manors had one, even if rituals were considered ‘dark magic’ and illegal. The supporters of the light scarcely used theirs anymore after the subtle pollution and brainwashing of ideas done to them by Dumbledore and the Ministry, but they still had them. Voldemort came to the door in question, swiftly opening it with a flick of his wand and making his way downstairs, closing the door behind him with another subtle flick. The torches along the walls lit upon the closing of the door. The staircase leading down was made of dark cobblestone, placed all over the walls, ceiling, and stairs.
The descent was slow but not too time consuming and within a minute Voldemort had entered the ritual chamber. It was a large, circular room around 30 feet high and 50 feet across, with torches lining the walls. The floor and walls were covered in engraved runes and ancient alphabets. In the centre of the floor space was a large black marble slab, resting on two sturdy stone blocks, that was covered in tiny, engraved runes as well. On the floor beneath and on all sides of the black slab was a 3-point ritual triangle, a 5-point ritual pentagon, and a 7-point ritual heptagon. They all overlapped each other but would cause no issue as only one ritual ‘circle’ could be powered at one time. At the back of the chamber was a hidden door which, on the left side, contained a vast amount of different minerals and naturally occurring materials that could be used in all types of rituals. The right side had various creature parts and the ritual clothing garb worn by however many practitioners a certain ritual would require.
Voldemort walked a few feet into the chamber, closing the door behind him. He stopped and listened to the door bolt itself shut and he heard the subtle hum of the protective wards taking effect. He disrobed himself and walked to the centre marble slab and halted directly in front of it. He ran his hand over top of the cool slab of marble, he pushed some magic into it, causing a specific set of runes to glow with power. Once he was finished, he climbed onto the marble slab, adjusting so he was supine, staring into the dark ceiling of the chamber.
Anyone who knew anything about Horcruxes, which was an admittedly tiny amount of people, had either heard stories about how Horcruxes were impossible to destroy, or how they could be reabsorbed by feeling great remorse for what one had done. Both of those assumptions were incorrect, or at least no one had made as many advancements in the field as Voldemort had. There were definitely ways to destroy Horcruxes and there was definitely a way to reabsorb a soul fragment once it was in its container. It was a rather simple ritual, and it didn’t even require one to feel remorse. The rumour of remorse most likely came from the excruciating pain that the reabsorption caused the host. It was painful enough to make someone wish that they hadn’t made a Horcrux in the first place.
Voldemort let out one final breath before he squared his shoulders to begin the ritual, he wasn’t afraid of the pain, but who would be excited knowing brutal pain is moments away? He raised his right hand and summoned a small, curved ritual dagger from the supply closet. He lowered the blade to his sternum and slowly carved a line exactly 1 inch long, vertically, while chanting melius animae confractum. He repeated this process six more times, having the ends of the lines forming a 7-point star in the middle of his sternum. He then raised his left hand to his mouth, forming a fist, and placing the ring on his lips while saying melius animae confractum one final time.
For a moment nothing happened, and Voldemort feared that he had done something incorrect, but he was soon proven mistaken as a slight shine formed on the ring before breaking off and slowly entering his mouth. Similar to how the dementors steal a soul through the mouth, the answer to getting a piece back is through a similar method. The fragment of soul was burning hot, and it seemed as if time stretched on as it slowly made its way down his throat.
When it finally made its way to the centre of his sternum and directly in the middle of his carved star, Voldemorts vision went black, and he released an unearthly scream of pain. Similar to the Cruciatus Curse but it was much more localized, and it stayed contained directly inside the heptagon. He attempted to writhe around but the pain was so much that all he could do was slam his legs and upper torso upon the marble slab repeatedly. He felt like he was going to go insane if it didn’t end soon, he couldn’t even tell if he were still screaming or not, all he could do was feel pain and see infinite black.
Suddenly a cool sensation erupted from his chest and spread to his extremities, soothing all of his aches and pains. He felt his destroyed vocal cords repair themselves, and the heptagon on his sternum knit itself back together. He opened his eyes looked upon the familiar chamber around him, he cast his eyes down at his body and saw the familiar peach skin, coated in sweat from the exertion, and most notably he found his cock. His mangled, disgusting snake body did not have one, and that in itself was unacceptable.
With a smile he reached a tired hand up and found his soft, wavy hair and let a smile form. A true, happy, beaming smile and he laughed like he hadn’t laughed in years. Being back in his old body was one thing, but the way his mind felt was what truly made him happy beyond belief. He could think again, he remembered back to the days, well years before his downfall and he understood why he failed. To put it simply, he truly went insane. He drifted from his true ideals, he no longer fought for anything, only mindless slaughter. This time would be different, he had his mind back, his followers were in position, well the ones out of prison, and he had Bella.
A content smile formed as he thought about his newest prize, his Bella. She would be the turning point in the war for him, regardless of if she formally declared dark through her rites or not. Just having her stay neutral would be such a devastating blow to the opposition that he would settle for that if all else failed. He of course wouldn’t settle for that, oh no, Lord Voldemort gets what he wants, and he wants his Bella.
*
It had taken five days, but the Malfoys had finally secured guardianship of Isabella Potter. The whole process was a complete mess, but with the discovery of Peter Pettigrew, alive, the whole country was up in arms. Their Saviour was in the special care ward at St. Mungos and had not woken up yet, the person thought to have betrayed the Potters turned out to be innocent, and the actual perpetrator kidnapped Isabella and attempted a ritual to resurrect his former master. All of this culminated in a special gathering at the Wizengamot where the safety of Isabella Potter was brought into question. The masses all agreed that she would no longer be safe at her current residence in the Muggle World, and she needed to be in a wizarding household immediately.
Dumbledore was furious, the Death Eaters were finally going to get their hands on Isabella, and it was all completely legal. He did everything in his power as her headmaster and as the Chief Warlock to get this motion thrown away but all that succeeded in doing was getting his ‘lack of attention’ called into question. Once that failed, he attempted to get Sirius Black to get his rightful Guardianship, but the Wizengamot decided that after thirteen years in prison with the dementors, he might not be fully sane.
A special investigatory squad was dispatched to learn everything about Isabellas home life and when the findings were presented in court; the public was furious. To hear about the horrors that their Saviours childhood had been made everyone a little sick to their stomachs. Images were shown in the courtroom through a pensieve, and some made their way into the Daily Prophet. The most damning being on the front page the morning after the deliberation; Isabellas Room. The small drawing on the inside of a cupboard drew tears from too many people for it to be swept away. Dumbledore was crushed when this was presented to the court. He hadn’t known. He felt sick, and confused, and hurt. He didn’t know why Isabella had never told him; he could have helped her.
The Malfoys were only one of many families who volunteered to take custody of Isabella. Even though they were a well known and respected family some were still reluctant to hand over guardianship to Lucius Malfoy. Although he was ‘proven’ to be under the Imperius curse during the previous war, people were not convinced. It wasn’t until Lady Narcissa Malfoy stepped up and volunteered to take primary guardianship and be responsible for Isabellas health and safety that the people finally agreed. Lady Malfoy was also one of Isabellas last blood relatives, and magic was against the harming of one’s family.
*
Eight days had passed. Isabella had spent them all in the deepest sleep she ever had. No dreams. No nightmares. Just a pleasant quiet with a sea of black. When she finally did wake, she was laying on her side, hugging a pillow on a soft and warm bed.
She opened her eyes and noticed how clean and bright the room was. Her bed was in the middle, with a small bedside table and a ton of medical tools she didn’t have any clue about. The wall opposite had a number of posters and some official looking documents hanging on it. The wall she was facing, which was the opposite of the door, was a giant window which allowed copious amounts of sunlight into the room. Not dead. But no idea where I am either.
She groaned softly as she got into a seated position and stretched out, popping her back the whole way. Isabella looked around for a few moments before realizing she actually couldn’t see anything and reached towards the bedside table for her familiar, yet ugly, circular glasses.
As she blinked a few times to orient her vision she heard someone clear their throat softly from the other side of her bed. Isabella snapped her head around so fast she was surprised she didn’t break her neck. She sat there for a few moments, mouth hanging open, staring at possibly the last woman she ever thought she would see waiting by her bed. Said woman looked back with barely concealed amusement at the complete lack of decorum. Well, this is odd.
“Good morning, Isabella. It is delightful to finally see you awake.” Narcissa Malfoy said, smiling warmly.
“Errr, good morning to you too?” she returned, smiling very awkwardly.
Narcissa laughed lightly and maintained her smile. “I am aware that you were most likely not expecting to see me here, yes? No doubt you were expecting Dumbledore or perhaps your schoolmates?”
“Yes. Or no. I’m not too sure really.” Isabella replied, looking down to her lap where she was wringing her hands nervously. She really didn’t know what to expect. She had been in a dreamless sleep for the past week and a day so for her the graveyard happened only moments before.
“I am aware of your deal, you know.” Isabellas head again swung around at Narcissa’ voice, this time with her eyes wide and her heart beating frantically. “You need not worry sweetheart. I know it must have been an exceedingly difficult thing for you to do, but don’t think less of yourself for it. A lot has happened in the week you have been here…” Narcissa wrinkled her nose slightly, a disapproving frown adorning her face, before it reverted to a kind smile and warm eyes directed back at Isabella.
“I… I just feel so stupid. I feel like I’m betraying myself. My family.” She said, sad eyes boring into Narcissa’. “What do you mean a lot has happened?”
“Do not think that.” Narcissa practically snapped. “Your life has been extremely difficult, more than many can imagine. You found a way to bring yourself some peace. To avoid a war. That is nothing to feel ashamed of. Your parents wanted you alive, they didn’t sacrifice themselves for you to die needlessly in a war. If I had to give my life for Draco to live his it would be done. I would not judge him for his choices, his path. Do not think for a second yours would either. They wanted you to live.”
Isabella sat stunned. The sudden change in Lady Malfoy’s demeanour shook her a little but the passion behind her words truly had her thinking. She had always believed that her parents would be ashamed of her for running from the war, or just leaving everything behind like she so wanted to do. They had given their lives to stop Voldemort, and yet their own daughter wanted to shy away and hide, why wouldn’t they be ashamed. But to hear that they hadn’t done it to stop Voldemort, they had sacrificed themselves exclusively for her life made her feel a little different. Maybe Lady Malfoy was telling the truth, maybe they wouldn’t care that she didn’t want to be the Saviour everyone wanted her to be. She could be free to study magic, and fly on her broom, and do regular teenage things she always wanted to do. Maybe it would be okay.
Isabella wiped her eyes of their budding tears. No need for someone else to see her cry. “Thank you. I didn’t think of it like that before.” She smiled softly back.
“You are welcome.” Narcissa smiled and took her hand. “I believe you also asked about what has happened since the end of the tournament. I did not want to be the one to have to tell you this, but I feel it may be easier coming from myself. At the end of the third task, you and Peter Pettigrew were portkeyed to the main lobby of St. Mungos.” Narcissa held up her hand softly, stopping the complete Isabellas impeding freak-out.
“Now as you can imagine this has had quite an impact on the general population of wizarding Britain.” She said with a laugh. “The first major revelation was that Peter Pettigrew was alive and apparently had not died over a decade ago. Once he was healthy enough to leave the Hospital, he was transported almost directly to the main chamber at the Wizengamot. During his trial it was discovered that he betrayed your parents, fled, and then killed thirteen muggles in the street while framing your Godfather Sirius.”
“What happened to Sirius?!” Isabella shot out before Narcissa could continue.
Narcissa levelled her with a small glare before continuing. “He is fine, he was found innocent of all his alleged crimes and is now a free man. I understand how exciting that must be for you, but he did not gain guardianship over you.” Narcissa gave a small, sad smile in apology.
“Oh.” It figures that Sirius wouldn’t gain guardianship over her. He wasn’t able to after her third year and he wasn’t able to this year. Things never did seem to work out for her so why would they now. Hopeful thinking only ever hurt in the end. She was always going to have to return to the Dursleys, it seemed that nothing was able to break her out from that prison. Isabella looked down at her hands again, willing herself not to get upset. It never did help.
“I did.”
“What?” Isabella asked sharply. Hope blossoming in her chest once again, even if it was only a microscopic amount. That was not what she expected to hear at all, although it would make sense considering Narcissa was the one sitting at her bedside and not anyone else she knew. But how could Lady Malfoy have gained guardianship; she was positive that Dumbledore had it. That was the reason she had to return to the Dursleys every summer, what could have possibly made him surrender it to the Malfoys? “How? Why?” she asked using her true verbosity.
“Two main reasons, one ties in with something I will explain soon. The first is that it was part of your ‘deal’. The Dark Lord promised to free you, and he made sure it was possible to do so. By getting Peter Pettigrew on trial we, and by we, I mean Lucius, were able to get your guardianship called into question with the help of the healers of this Hospital. That was the How, and as for the Why, well we are related, and I have always wanted to have a daughter. I was only able to conceive Draco, but I have always longed for more. By staying with me, and I do mean me, Lucius is not considered your Guardian, you will be free of your muggle relatives and Dumbledore will no longer be able to make any decisions concerning you. Which also helps you uphold your end of the ‘deal’.”
“Okay… That sounds fine, I guess. But why was my guardianship called into question in the first place? Peter, the little rat, wouldn’t have anything to do with that.” Isabella said with a confused look she usually reserved for when Hermione would explain a complex topic she was studying.
“Yes, well… this is the more complicated part of what has happened during the last week. During the trial, your health was mentioned as it had been five days and you had still not woken. Your injuries were severe” Narcissa looked particularly displeased while saying this. “and a healer from St. Mungos was called in the give a detailed report on what was done to you during the kidnapping.”
Isabella felt dread when Narcissa finished. She had tried for an exceptionally long time to hide what her childhood had been like; it was a point of great shame for her. She never wanted any of her friends to find out what had happened to her, so she usually brushed it off with a vague comment. But from what Lady Malfoy was saying it seemed as if everyone knew what had happened, not only her friends but everyone. She felt her neck heating up in a blush and buried her face in her hands.
“How much does everyone know?”
“Everything.” Narcissa saw and felt the girls’ shoulders slump in defeat at that one word, and she felt her heart break just a little. She like everyone else in the visitor’s gallery was disgusted and angry about what was presented during the healers’ report and during the investigation in her home situation. The number of scars on the girls back and the broken bones were enough to drive her to fury, but she kept her composure while the Wizengamot descended into chaos around her. The factions and parties usually never agreed on anything, but all were united in defense of the child. They couldn’t imagine harming one so grievously, never mind a family member. Magic formed a bond between mother and child that could usually only be broken by the most mentally unstable witch or wizard, so the level of harm was literally unheard of in the magical world.
Narcissa stood from her chair and walked the few short steps to the bedside and pulled Isabella into a light hug. Her heart broke a little further as she felt the girl tense in her arms, before slowly relaxing into the hug. She sat down next to her while facing the opposite direction and held her while softly rubbing her back.
“The healers report was detailed and mentioned all of the… ah… previous maladies you had suffered. A day later a team of investigators from the DMLE and the Unspeakables Obliviation Squad were sent to your home and the full accounting was collected through physical proof and memories from those filthy monsters.” Narcissa said, speaking softly the whole time and never ceasing the calming touches. When Isabella didn’t speak, she continued.
“I understand the last thing you would want is pity, so I will not give it to you. I know it may be hard for you to see me as anything other than Draco’s mother, but I do find myself caring about you. I am not using this guardianship as a ploy to harm you or trick you. I was made to swear an oath when I was made your guardian to do my best to prevent any harm coming to you from external sources, and to do you no harm myself. I hope that in time you can come to rely on me, maybe see me as family.”
Narcissa made to stand but found a hand had reached out and softly grabbed her arm. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.” Was all Isabella whispered but it warmed her heart all the same.
“None of that sweetheart, call me Auntie Narcissa, Narcissa, or Cissy if you want to. We are family, now more than ever, after all.” She said smiling warmly as she retook her seat.
Isabella readjusted her spot and wiped her eyes yet again. She found she was crying much more than usual lately and was not pleased by this at all. But in her defense, life was being particularly cruel at the moment, so she felt maybe it was understandable on her part. Another part was the supreme kindness that Lady M-, Narcissa was showing her. It made her feel nice, and also made her wonder if that’s what it would feel like if she had a mum of her own to confide in.
Isabella looked back at Narcissa trying to find words, so she settled for a simple question. “So, what now?”
Narcissa smiled amused at Isabellas eloquence. They would work on that. “Now, I will go get the healer so that we can leave. I have heard about your fondness for staying in a certain Hospital wing, but I do not share your enthusiasm for them. I will return shortly.”
Narcissa got up and walked to the door, smiling to herself as she heard Isabellas grumbled ‘I don’t like hospitals.’ She made her way through the corridor, stopping at the main desk and awaited the arrival of the summoned healer. After a short walk back to the room, accompanied by the healer, they were explained the potion regiment that Isabella would be on to an amused Narcissa and severely annoyed and embarrassed Isabella. She would be on a nutrient regiment to help counteract the effects from her malnourished childhood, and she would be taking some that would help with old scars on her body. They wouldn’t get rid of them, but it would help with the colouring making them far less noticeable. Narcissa also ordered a specific potion that would correct Isabellas eyesight, she found her glasses to be ghastly and let her opinion be known.
“They aren’t that bad!” Isabella exclaimed, slightly offended.
“You have the makings of an incredibly beautiful young woman; you will not be hiding your eyes behind those monstrosities. When was the last time your eyes were checked? Do those glasses even work for you?” Narcissa shot right back. When all she got was indignant grumbling in return she turned to the healer and ordered the potion. When he returned, he explained that it was to be taken before bed and in the morning the eyesight would be corrected. Narcissa thanked him, signed Isabellas release papers, and shooed him away.
As she turned back towards the bed, she lifted her bag off the ground and pulled out deep green sundress and matching undergarments and a pair of black three-inch heels, handing them to Isabella.
Isabella only looked at the clothes with mild confusion. “Those aren’t mine.”
Narcissa barely resisted rolling her eyes. “Yes, they are, I have seen what you usually wear and that is unacceptable. We will be going shopping soon, most likely tomorrow, for a new wardrobe for you, I will not have you spend a second longer in those rags that those people gave you” she spat. “Now get changed and we will be on our way back home. I have already prepared a room for you.” Narcissa made her way to the door and waited just outside while Isabella changed with only minimal grumbling on her part, much less than Narcissa was expecting if she was being honest, but maybe she was warming up to her already.
She was pulled from her thoughts when the door opened, and she saw Isabella for the first time not wearing rags or a hospital gown. She was a very petite girl she noticed, standing around 5’3”, now a little taller because of the heels. She had long wavy black hair and her eyes were particularly bright green without the hideous glasses blocking them. The deep green sundress matched her pale skin and dark hair perfectly and fit very well too. All in all, she looked quite beautiful and Narcissa was reminded painfully of another Bella she used to know, with long black hair and pale skin.
She shook herself from her painful thoughts and smiled warmly down at Isabella. “You look beautiful Isabella. Much better than before. Come along we must be off.”
Isabella smiled back and inwardly thought maybe wearing a sundress wasn’t a horrible idea. She followed Auntie Cissy, still shaking her head at that name, through the corridors until they reached an outbound floo and traversed to Malfoy Manor. Once the spinning stopped, Isabella went ass over teakettle onto the floor landing in a big mess. Grumbling out loud as she pulled herself up, shooting an unfriendly look at Narcissa’s tinkling laughter, she took in her surroundings and whistled softly. She had only ever seen the Weasleys house before and this was a complete night and day difference.