LOST IT TO TRYING

CHAPTER FIVE

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. That was how long Amora had been trapped in the tiny prison cell. No sunlight, no clocks, no routine other than mealtime and a shower every other day beneath cold water with a tiny bar of soap.

Her only way of keeping track of the days was the wooden spoons.

Every morning at breakfast, they were given gruel and bread with a wooden spoon. At dinner, they were given the same gruel and bread, but with a wooden fork. Spoons were for breakfast. Forks were for dinner. She had collected fourteen wooden spoons. Fourteen breakfasts. Fourteen mornings waking up in the cell.

Nobody had spoken to her since the first man who had visited, as if to take a register. She saw people walk by, and she heard voices, including both prisoners and Death Eaters, but nobody addressed her. Nobody had looked her in the eye or said her name.

Amora drew on the floor with one of her wooden spoons. If she pressed hard enough, it would scuff the concrete slightly and leave a white mark. She decided to make a tally in case they cleaned her spoons away one day. Fourteen lines. Fourteen days without talking to somebody.

When frustration began to reach its peak, which was very regular, Amora closed her eyes and practised Occlumency. There were memories that Lupin and Moody had materialised for the sake of her trial, ones that she was advised not to look at until prompted by the Allegiance Inquisitor. Otherwise, she risked her emotions getting involved and altering them, considering they had yet to be pulled from her head and put in a pensieve.

It was hard not to look. It felt like when she was a child and she would be on the beach with her cousin, Cedric, and the adults would tell them to not even think about going in the water because it was getting dark, but their parents weren't watching them closely, and so it was so tempting to just dip their toes in the shallow end...

Amora tried to think about Cedric. It was safe to think about him rather than Pansy or Blaise or Leon. Cedric had died eight years ago now. He had no idea that Voldemort had come back, that there had been a raging war that had started with his death. Her memories with him were peaceful and beautiful. Cedric was her childhood. He represented the before.

If Cedric were here, he would most likely tell her that she was insane for putting herself in so much danger. There was no way he would have let her agree to become a double agent for the Order. He would have been furious with Moody and Lupin for merely suggesting it. Amora smiled slightly at the thought, twiddling with the bottom of her hair.

"I have never seen a smile in this corridor before," a man that Amora did not recognise stated, and Amora quickly realised that this must be the Warden of Allegiance. "Are you having a nervous breakdown, Miss Buckley?"

"No, sir," Amora replied. Her voice was scratchy and it felt wrong to speak out loud. "I was just... thinking."

"Thinking?" The Warden raised an eyebrow as he entered her room. Two men stood outside, wands drawn and ready. "I see. I must apologise for not getting around to you sooner, Miss Buckley."

Amora pursed her lips. She had a feeling they might do this with everybody. Leave them long enough to see what they do. Perhaps to see if they break down or manage to stay strong.

"I see you have kept yourself entertained," he continued, eyeing her collection of wooden utensils. Amora nearly glared as he yanked out his wand and muttered, "Scourgify."

It was almost as if she had jinxed it. His spell rubbed her tally from the wall, too. She could have screamed in frustration. Her fists clenched, her nails digging crescent moons into the palms of her hands, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

"Might you have any idea what place in the line I am now, sir?" Amora asked as politely as she possibly could.

"Seventy-five. We've had a slow couple of weeks," he replied.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I- I was told each case lasted between a day or three," her voice wavered.

The Warden's face curled, blue eyes beady, his wand now jabbing towards her. "The Inquisitor works as fast as he can, Buckley. Do I detect an attitude?"

"Not at all, sir," Amora said, and she couldn't help the way it came from gritted teeth, or how her nostrils flared.

"Liar," he spat, and Amora was backhanded across the face.

She gasped, feeling the ring he wore dig into her cheek, and immediate stinging pain mingling with the sharp numbness of his palm. Amora curled away from him, her back to the wall like an animal in a cage, holding her cheek. Her dark eyes shone, her lips trembling.

"I'm sure as a former Order member you have experience with the unforgiveables," the Warden seethed, "Do not make me use them on you, Buckley. You're fortunate I have somebody else to tend to."

As soon as he left, Amora pulled her trembling hand away and grimaced at the sight of blood. She touched the bit that hurt the most and winced, immediately pulling her crimson-coloured fingers away.

D.M + A.B

"Wakey, wakey!"

Amora was startled awake. The blanket ripped off of her body and her hand immediately clung to the side of the mattress. Everything was bleary for a moment. The Warden was above her, his wand pointing at her face, a bright light shining from its end. She scrunched her eyes closed tightly.

What day was it? This wasn't the routine! Yesterday was day twenty-nine. That means today is day thirty. One month. One month, seven to—

"Look at her," the Warden laughed, "Looks as scared as a mandrake out of its pot!"

Amora pushed herself up, trying to keep as far away from him as she possibly could, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her upright. She nearly tripped over her legs as she stumbled from the bed, knees practically buckling, but his grip on her squeezed even tighter and she forced herself up as she cried in pain. Her ribs still hurt from the Warden's anger yesterday.

"The Inquisitor of Allegiance has requested to meet with you, Buckley."

Everything stopped. For a split second, there was complete silence. Her head stopped working, her mouth opened and nothing came out. She blinked and then she blinked again. The Warden shook her by her arm and snapped her out of her dazed state.

"But– but you said that I was sixty-second in the queue yesterday," Amora stammered, her heart racing, her hands suddenly awfully clammy. "I have another seven months at least at the pace that the Inquis—"

"I'm sorry," he barked a cruel laugh. "Do you not want to see the Inquisitor? There are a lot of people in this building simply dying to be moved up the queue."

"No, no." Amora's hands laced together like a prayer in their chains. "No, I would love to see the Inquisitor. I just– I wasn't expecting—"

"Neither were we," he grumbled and started to yank her towards the cell door. "I wonder what sort of trouble you've managed to get yourself into this time, Buckley."

Amora's heart skipped a beat, thinking this may not be a positive experience. There was a potential that they had been doing some digging whilst she had been locked up. Perhaps some sort of intel had let them know she had ulterior motives. She chewed her lips, an unpleasant fuzz fogging her brain as she took her first step out of the cell in thirty days.

The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. She wriggled her toes and looked down the stretched-out corridor. When she had arrived it had been too dark to see its true size. Now, she saw a never-ending line of cells built next to each other, and glancing over her shoulder, she saw a slightly smaller stretch of corridor.

"Move," the Warden hissed.

The Death Eaters who always accompanied the Warden shifted so one led the way and the other stood behind them, wands drawn as usual. Amora couldn't help but glance at the people behind their bars, her heart sinking in her chest at the state of some of them. Most lay on their beds, eyes concentrated on some area of a wall, others stared straight back at her.

Her heart crumbled the further she walked. She was all too aware that the longer she walked, the longer those people had been in these cells. It was a real possibility that some of those at the front had been here for nearly a year. Amora looked at their tear-stained faces, their heads of matted hair, and their destroyed cells.

"It's not fair!" A woman was at her bars, rattling them, screaming and crying. "It's not fair! It's my turn next! My turn to prove myself!"

"You think you had it bad," the Warden nudged her through the door at the very end of the hall that the leading Death Eater had opened. "She's been here for over a year. She keeps getting pushed back due to bad behaviour. Crucio."

Amora flinched when the woman fell away from the bars, trembling on the ground, her screams growing even louder and more shrill– if that was possible. Once the door shut behind them, all the noise was blocked. There was complete silence for the first time in a whole month. She very nearly sighed in relief.

"Come on," the Warden said, "The Inquisitor of Allegiance is a very busy man. He does not appreciate being kept waiting."

Amora was led through meandering corridors, past office doors and other members of staff walking around. She was shocked to see women working for the first time through an open door. One was making drinks, and another was at a typewriter. The Death Eater grabbed the back of her head and steered it to face forward so her eyes were trained in front.

Eventually, they reached two large oak doors at the end of the hallway. One had a golden door knocker on it. The Warden moved forward and lifted it three times. It echoed down the corridor. Now the silence felt deafening. Amora wondered if they could hear her heart pounding. She was almost sure she could.

The door opened and a small man shifted to let them in, his head bowed at the Warden who immediately pushed through. Amora walked behind him and dared to look around the room.

She nearly winced at how eye-achingly white everything was— a complete contrast to the rest of the building. There was no natural sunlight, but everything was crisp and seemed to glow. The room was round and very minimalist— like something from the future. A sleek desk sat in the middle of the room, a pensieve to the side and shelves filled with books and potions. The books' spines had been replaced with white alternatives and it reeked of chemicals and magic.

Behind the desk was a man. Despite the room, the man appeared like a drop of blood, adorned in crimson red only. His robes had silver accents on the sleeves, swirls that looked like runes, and rings on his fingers as he twirled his wand in them.

"Amora Buckley. Please, come in and take a seat." The Inquisitor gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. "Warden, you may leave."

"Yes, Inquisitor," the Warden bowed his head slightly before he left the room.

The short man who had opened the door for them followed him out and the door was shut again. Amora exhaled through her nose and made sure to sit up straight, which wasn't difficult in the hard seat she'd been provided with. She folded her shackled hands on her lap and made sure to look the man in the eye confidently.

"You have quite the case, Miss Buckley," the Inquisitor stated, glancing down at some papers on his desk. "I had no intentions of seeing you until you were rightfully next in the queue. My colleagues at the reception of the Bureau of Magical Allegiance had their doubts about you, as did I. However, do you have any idea who was just sat in the very seat you sit in? Merely minutes ago?"

Amora furrowed her brows. "Who?"

"Theodore Nott," the Inquisitor replied and Amora felt her heart in her throat. "Were you unaware he was here, Miss Buckley? He's been waiting two months for his meeting with me."

"I– I had no idea," Amora admitted, and she felt furious, absolutely angry that Theo had been cells away from her for the last month.

Yet, oddly, there was some weird, complicated part of her that felt comforted by the fact. Even if Theo wasn't the Theo she had thought she'd known, it was almost nice to think that there was somebody she would recognise who had been nearby. She wished she had known. She had so many questions for him. Not that she would have been able to ask them.

"Well, interestingly, Miss Buckley, your case has caused a stir. The second Order member to turn up on our soil in the last two months. It comes across as a bit worrying, you understand? That perhaps the Order are attempting to spy on us," the Inquisitor said, "The Daily Prophet has hardly left our grounds since Mr Nott appeared. Since your arrival... it seems numbers have increased."

Amora pursed her lips. "I see."

"Now, in the meeting I just held with Mr Nott, he was found to be a Faithful," the Inquisitor said, "and that is curious to me because I saw you in his memories. The two of you appeared to be very close."

He must have been referencing the kiss they had shared. Amora would have felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment if she had not been forced to use the bathroom in an open space for the last month. She was nearly sure that there was little she would find humiliating now.

"Nott says he trusts you," the Inquisitor stated, "And he did not seem surprised at all that you were here."

"I suppose I have always shared my... controversial opinions with him," Amora lied, "Perhaps I have always felt the closest with him because... deep down we must have both known we shared the same ideologies."

"Interesting," the Inquisitor said, "Rebel papers printed this, Miss Buckley."

He slid a newspaper over to her. The Quibbler. Luna had kept it running despite her father's death at the start of the war. Mostly it was shared between the Order members, but they often attempted to get it out to other resistance groups and civilians attempting to live in peace.

AMORA BUCKLEY FOUND GUILTY: SECOND ORDER MEMBER DEFECTED THIS MONTH

Amora raised her eyebrow at the photo. It was an image of her, but she did not recognise it in the slightest. She was smiling slightly at the camera, but there was an obvious disconnect in her eyes. It looked new. She had the scar she'd acquired over the last few years just across her jaw by her ear. They must have taken this memory of her posing for her very own front page away.

"It was hard," Amora admitted, "After Theo left. Part of me felt like he was so brave and all I was doing was fighting for a cause that... I didn't even really believe in anymore. I felt weak. I didn't want to feel that way. If this war has taught me anything, Inquisitor, it is that life is far too short to not fight for what you believe in."

"And what is it that you believe in, Miss Buckley?"

"I believe my mother was wrong," Amora admitted, "It was not her fight to fight. She was selfish and she got herself killed to help..." Her face screwed up and her lip curled. "Mudbloods. Blood traitors. Halfbreeds. Anybody she thought was too weak to fight for themselves. She pushed it on me at a young age, sir. She shipped me off to a Muggle primary school but had to pull me out because I hated it so much. I had no interest in that sort of thing, but I was Sorted to Hufflepuff, you see. I thought if I shared what I actually thought then my housemates would turn on me. I started to socialise with the Slytherins a bit more at the end. Theo. He always comforted me and told me the way I felt wasn't wrong at all. That it was normal for a Pureblood like myself to feel... frustrated by our Wizarding World's constant need to be... overly inclusive towards Mudbloods."

The Inquisitor kept nodding at parts of her speech. She took that as a good sign. Even if everything coming out was absolute bullshit.

"Hufflepuffs do not regularly become dark wizards or witches, Miss Buckley."

"Which is strange really," Amora acknowledged, "Because Hufflepuffs are incredibly loyal. And they are patient and hardworking... Essentially, the most devoted soldiers, sir. Very passionate about the things they believe in."

"Would you describe yourself in those ways?"

"I am very loyal to the cause," Amora said firmly, "I will never give up fighting for what I believe in, sir. I would die trying."

The Inquisitor hummed. "Very noble of you, Miss Buckley. Now... you are claiming that you have come under the Obliviation spell."

"It's the only explanation I can think of for all of the gaps in my memory, sir."

"The Order often sends our Death Eaters back to us with the memories gone or altered," he agreed, "It is most likely that they have done the same thing to you, Miss Buckley. I need you to answer some questions the best that you possibly can. We will use some Occlumency soon, and the pensieve will come in handy, too."

He asked her a series of questions that lasted for what felt like hours. Questions were about her personal history and her loyalty to Voldemort's cause, such as how she felt when the Dark Lord rose to power, and what she would sacrifice for the cause. There were moral and psychological traps, too.

"If you discovered a family member was working against the Dark Lord, what would you do?"

Her family had all been murdered by the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters. It was somewhat easy to lie about what she would do because there was no family member of hers left to feel bad about.

They tried to ask her about the Order. Who she had last spoken to and what it was like. Who else from the Order might she suspect disloyalty from?

Amora couldn't remember. She tried her best to come up with something. She could only guess the last person she had spoken to had been Lupin or Moody, and she told him this. She told him she guessed that she had been interrogated and found guilty of betrayal.

The Inquisitor gave her hypothetical tests too, such as "If ordered to kill a traitor, would you?" to which Amora told him truthfully that she had used the killing curse before, and she wasn't afraid to get her hands bloody for what she believed in.

"Why do you deserve to serve the Dark Lord, Miss Buckley?"

Amora didn't hesitate. "I am a Pureblood, sir— a member of the Sacred 28. When she decided to publish those articles, my mother tarnished the Buckley name. I want to make things right again. The best way I can do that is through serving the Dark Lord. I want to feel proud of my surname again and restore the honour of being one of the few magical families left to have complete magical purity. That deserves to be celebrated, sir. I deserve to make the Buckley name a beacon of Pureblood excellence again."

She couldn't quite tell from the Inquisitor's passive expression, but the small nod he gave her was hopeful. Amora found herself relaxing slightly, which was surprising. Moody and Lupin had prepared her extremely well for the interrogation aspect. As he began to head over to the pensieve, all she could do was cross her fingers that their memory creations had worked.

Otherwise, she was dead.

"This might feel a little strange," he told her. "Don't flinch."

His wand pressed against her temple. Amora nearly shuddered at the pulling sensation that occurred against her skull and her skin. Light blue mists rolled out and into the end of the Inquisitor's wand. It sucked the magic in like a hoover of sorts. He had her memories—some of her real ones, and her materialised ones.

"Now that I have your memories extracted, I'll be able to review them in the pensieve," the Inquisitor said, and her memories were pushed from his wand and into an empty vial with her name on it.

He tipped the vial into the shallow stone bowl, white and blue whisps dancing above it, the runes on its sides glowing faintly.

"Can..." Amora hesitated, "Could I possibly watch too, Inquisitor? I would like to see what I have forgotten."

The Inquisitor thought for a moment. "Come. I prefer to have people accompany me when I do not quite believe them. It's sometimes... entertaining to catch them out when I see their memories. Although, I must say... if your memories are anything like your words, Miss Buckley, then I have no doubt you will make an excellent asset for the Dark Lord."

Amora made sure to smile. "I think that is possibly the best compliment I have ever received, Inquisitor. Thank you."

She stood from the seat and moved to stand on the other side of the pensieve to him. Amora hoped he couldn't detect how nervous she was to see these memories. When he ducked his head into the mist, Amora copied him.

She had never looked through a pensieve at memories before, whether they were her own or somebody else's. Amora had a slight understanding of how this worked— certain subjects had very briefly gone over it at school, and Lupin and Moody had told her that the Inquisitor would be able to watch her memories from a third-person perspective, like an outsider looking in, though unable to interact.

She was not prepared for how strange it felt to look at herself. Though this was a version of her which had never existed— it had been created by extremely talented and clever wizards with the sort of intricate magic that Amora would never understand.

The Inquisitor stood beside her and glanced around the room. Amora's nose crinkled upon realising that she had no idea where she was. It was a grand room with a high ceiling, and large windows with closed drapes, and the fake Amora sat on the edge of a double bed. She was crying into her hands, her entire body trembling.

Amora tried as hard as she could, but she could not work out where she was for the life of her. Perhaps this was supposed to be the Order headquarters. Amora did not recognise it one bit— she thought that the prison cell had felt nostalgic, though she hadn't been able to place her finger quite on way, but perhaps not. That must have been a weird memory from another time.

"Do you recognise this room?" The Inquisitor asked.

Amora half-expected the other Amora to jump at his voice, but her soft weeps remained contained in her palms. She remembered nobody would hear or see them.

"No, not at all," Amora said, furrowing her eyebrows. "I am assuming this was my room at the headquarters."

The door suddenly slammed open, and a familiar figure came bounding in. Amora was confused– immediately she recognised the faceless figure as Pansy. How could she not recognise her best friend? The dark outfits, the pale skin and that strut of a walk. However, Amora could not see Pansy's face. It was as if it had been scratched out.

"Get out!" Amora seethed, ripping her hands away from her face to reveal swollen eyes and a pink nose and cheeks. "I told you to knock. I told all of you— and that means you too— to leave me the fuck alone!"

Amora's heart clenched. This had never happened— surely. But it looked so real.

"Amora," the girl sobbed, "I had to tell Moody what I saw. I couldn't live with myself knowing what you said to me last week."

"I was drinking. Of course, I didn't mean it!" Amora seethed and moved forward. "Why are you trying to ruin my life?"

"Amora! You said that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if the Muggleborns were to be eradicated!" 'Pansy' choked, "That's completely awful and so worrying."

Amora clenched her fingers. Her palms were wet. She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the scene continue to unfold in front of her.

"I thought you might agree with me," Amora hissed, lowering her voice. "I do apologise. I didn't realise that the Order had brainwashed you to such a horrendous extent. Think for yourself for once. You're a Pureblood, too..." There was a scratching sound that caused Amora to wince as the fake version of her said Pansy's name. That had been erased, too. "We deserve more than rotting in bunkers and being sent on missions to kill our kind. If we wanted to, we could leave all of this behind and just... live how we're supposed to. On top."

"What about the Muggleborns? All of the creatures the Death Eaters want to get rid of? The children, Amora!"

"The bloodshed is unnecessary," Amora agreed with a simple nod, "But it wouldn't happen if the Order would just stop trying to protect people who do not deserve to be protected. This world was not meant for them. It was meant for us. I want to take it."

The Inquisitor glanced at her. "Do you know who you might be talking to?"

Amora shook her head, furrowed brows. "I... I can't remember."

He nodded. "They've erased your memory of Order members. They knew we would look through your memories, Miss Buckley. They have most likely altered more than we both realise."

Amora swallowed the lump in her throat and tried not to panic at the thought. It was a good thing— it truly was very important that they protected Pansy and everybody else who fought for the Order. However, they were taking bits and pieces from her memories– more than they had told her that they would. She tried to picture Pansy Parkinson, and she could, but why could she not see her here in this memory? What sort of magic was this?

"Let's move on to the next memory."

"How have you selected the memories?" Amora asked him carefully, "Is there a process when you extract them from me?"

"My pensieve is very clever— it is almost as if it has a mind of its own," the Inquisitor told her briefly as he began to head for the door that Pansy had come from. "It simply shows me what it feels I need to see."

Amora nodded in agreement. "That is very clever."

"Right. Next memory."

He pulled the door open and walked outside. Amora followed close behind, her eyes widening when they were led into not a hallway but another room. This time, Lupin was grasping Amora's wrists and yanking them behind her, a pained expression on Amora's face as she struggled to get away. Moody stood in front of her, a furious expression written across his face, his wand pointed right at her neck. He dug it in and she stopped wriggling.

"You were stupid to think your friends wouldn't tell us!" Moody growled, "I didn't want to believe it when —---- came forth and told us the words you had been spreading to the rest of the Order, but I have no choice but to believe it now! How dare you, Buckley!?"

Amora laughed cruelly in his face. "Oh, give it a rest, Moody. Are people not allowed to have opinions that don't align with yours?"

"If you want to have those opinions, in particular, Buckley, then you can have them somewhere else that is not here," Lupin spat against her ear and tugged her arms so she whimpered in pain. "We don't take lightly to traitors."

"Traitor," Amora laughed, "You want to call me a traitor? The true traitors here are you two— and any other Pureblood still fighting for your cause blindly. I guarantee if you were to look in all of their heads then you would find that, deep down, they all believe they are superior. Even if you do not want to admit it, Lupin. Magic is might."

"Magic is might," the Inquisitor muttered in agreement. "I see you hold your own quite well, Miss Buckley. Even with two war criminals holding you hostage."

Amora pursed her lips. For a moment, she wasn't sure what to say. "I can't say I disagree with anything that past-me is saying, sir."

"If you believe that, then you can go and be with the Death Eaters, Buckley," Moody growled, "We'll see if you still like them when you are being held hostage in your home simply for being born a woman— or when you are pressured into carrying the heir of a man you do not love."

Amora gasped quietly. She hoped that the Inquisitor didn't hear her, but he was heading towards the door now. It seemed he did not want to listen to whatever else Moody and Lupin had to say. Most likely because it was not in favour of the Dark Lord.

Her mind was racing. Moody and Lupin had forced that memory into her head. They had created it themselves. That meant they had known the dangers of sending a young woman into a mission like this. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest. They had admitted they sent her because of her past relationship with Draco, but now she realised a double meaning— did they expect her to pursue a relationship with him for the sake of keeping undercover? For him to become her 'patriarch'?

Amora chewed her bottom lip. She supposed it was clever. They didn't have many choices. Somebody was going to have to make a sacrifice, and they wanted it to be her. At first, she thought it was manipulative— they should have told her what they truly expected of her. She should have been filled in on everything. She thought that they should have sent a man in— somebody that may be able to make their way up in the ranks, somebody who would not fear being raped or beaten at any moment.

Perhaps they wanted somebody that nobody would suspect. They underestimated women here. Maybe her past relationship with Draco was exactly what they wanted from her. She was just a link to one of the highest-ranking Death Eaters. Who cares if she might have to have his children? Or if she may be punished and controlled by him for years?

Amora shuddered. She was a small chess piece on a large board. A two of diamonds in a game of Shithead.

D.M + A.B

Her verdict was supposed to come by noon. Amora sat in her cell, staring at the gruel and bread. She sipped at her water and glared. She dipped her spoon in it but did not attempt to eat it. This was going to be her last morning here. Either because they would execute her or she would be free. Well, as free as a woman could be in this world.

She spent the last two days thinking about the interrogation. It was unhealthy how much she thought about the 'memories' she had viewed in the pensieve. Amora had spent the nights exactly how she had spent her first and every one since then— tossing and turning and thinking.

What was real? What was not? Amora thought of Pansy and was scared to think that her voice felt like a distant memory. She couldn't think of what her best friend smelled like or how she laughed. Did the Order take more from Amora than she had consented to? Did they expect her to give up absolutely everything for this information? Her life, her body, and her dignity?

"Verdict day," The Warden said as he entered her cell. "Are you excited, Buckley?"

Amora glared at the man. "Thrilled, sir."

"Is that sarcasm?" He waited for her response which did not come. It was deathly quiet.

"You will not be sarcastic with me," the Warden growled, and he grabbed her tray of food, throwing it at the wall so it smashed loudly. "You best hope your verdict is Faithful. Or else you may end up just like your dead mother. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Amora rolled her eyes. "My verdict will be Faithful. Don't you worry about that, Warden."

The Warden huffed. "Get on your knees."

Her heart palpitated. "Pardon?"

"On your fucking knees."

Amora swallowed at the wand being pointed at her. She slowly slid off the bed and winced at the concrete beneath her knees. She looked up at the man.

"Crucio."

It was better than what her darkest thought had provided her with, but still one of the most painful things Amora had ever experienced. She'd been Crucioed more times in the last month than she had been in her last five years as a member of the Order. Her skin was boiling, her blood too, and it felt like it was dancing to squeeze out of her pores, and bones rattling, her heart stabbing. Her screams echoed down the hall. Just another to add to the chorus.

"I believe she has had enough, don't you, Warden?" The Inquisitor's voice came from behind the bars. The Warden jumped away from her in surprise and bowed his head. "There is no need to hear your verdict formally, Miss Buckley. We have had a very reputable Death Eater come in and demand your release."

Amora's heart was pounding. Not only from the Crucio but his news. "Wh– What— Who?" She panted from the floor, pushing hair out of her face, wincing at the pain in her side. She held her ribs and tried to sit up.

"They wish to remain anonymous. Nevertheless, I was going to mark you down as a Faithful anyway, Miss Buckley," the Inquisitor said, "Said Death Eater has made a peculiar request. You are to be sent to the factories, Miss Buckley."

"That's peculiar?" Amora's mind was racing. She wanted to know who this Death Eater was— she had a feeling— but she also wanted to know what would happen next to her. What did the factories mean?

"Yes. Usually, ladies of your blood status are sent home to men they are related to or will have men offer to court them, but you will be sent to a factory to aid the war, Miss Buckley," The Inquisitor said, "In fact, he has paid a quite deal for this, so please do not kick up a fuss. There were plenty of men offering to take you into their homes, Miss Buckley. I am sure you will be able to fulfil your duty as a wife and mother shortly. Do not fret about that."

It had to be Draco Malfoy. There was no other explanation for this. No other Death Eater would go out of their way to pay for her to be sent to a factory rather than their own house. She pursed her lips, her heart still frantic.

What was Malfoy doing? 

...

i am so sorry about the lack of draco. this is all important plot building and I promise he is right around the corner and it's going to be so worth it when you finally see him. you won't get rid of him once he is here!!

i started an Instagram for my writing that I am going to try and use! it's just dyiansobrien like on here if you'd like to follow it! <33333

anyways, thanks so much for reading guys!

dyiansobrien. 

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