LOST IT TO TRYING

CHAPTER TWELVE

Despite his grumbling complaints over the last fifteen minutes, when Amora finally did descend the staircase, Malfoy was at a loss for words.

His hand tightened on the wooden ball at the end of the bannister as his silver eyes drank her in, agonisingly slow as if he was taking his sweet time. Amora scrunched her nose and stopped at the last few steps, placing a hand on her hip.

"If you wouldn't mind moving."

Malfoy lifted his hand from the bannister, his arm no longer blocking her in. Amora felt his gaze like hot magic on her bare shoulders and neck. The navy of her dress was so dark it nearly appeared black, silver stars of all sizes expertly placed across it. It hugged her silhouette but splayed out into an elegant skirt, exposing more than half of her back. Mesh star-speckled gloves covered her arms, ending where her dress began. The dress's neckline was respectful and the most flattering thing Amora had ever worn.

Amora brushed some of her hair behind her, feeling the unfamiliar stiffness of the crescent moon clip at the back. Madam Opal had made Amora a little nervous. Her training wand would not help her in a fight, after all. She had a feeling her presence might be controversial.

"Right, well, we should leave," Malfoy cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

His arm was held straight out, hovering in the air and it took a moment for Amora to realise what he wanted her to do. She hesitated before placing her hand on top of his, her skin nearly burning at the all-too-familiar iciness of his body temperature, but then there was a violent pull behind her belly button, and Malfoy's skin on hers was long forgotten.

Amora felt like she could be sick for a moment before she landed hard on the ground. She grabbed Malfoy's arm, blinking quickly to rid the dark spots evading her vision. Malfoy glanced down at her, huffing a breath through his nose.

"Straighten up, Buckley," he ordered quietly, "We have a show to put on."

They were in an office just smaller than the headmaster's at Hogwarts, adorned with oak and emerald furnishings, containing everything a usual office would have— a desk, a chair, and some bookshelves. It was void of all personal touches. The walls held no portraits and on the desk sat no picture frames. Still, Amora knew instantly that this one belonged to Malfoy.

"You work here?" Amora asked him.

"I do," he said, "I just need to grab a couple of things before we go to the hall for the Minister's speech."

Malfoy manoeuvred over to the desk and tapped his wand against one of the drawers so that it slid open. Amora huffed a breath through her nose as she watched him rifle through papers. It made perfect sense that Malfoy would have wards on all of his things, even at his workplace.

"What are you looking for?" Amora edged over to a table off to the side of the room.

Her dark eyes stole glimpses of photographs dotted over a model of what appeared to be a model village or town. Names were sprawled in Malfoy's cursive up and down the model, images of people Amora recognised either crossed out with a red marker or left blank.

Her heart stopped. Pansy.

"What is this?" Amora demanded. She was painfully aware of the way her voice wavered.

"A recreation of an Order territory," Malfoy replied, shutting the drawer he had been rummaging in and heading over, looming behind her.

"I mean, what is it for?"

"What do you think it's for?" Malfoy scoffed, "It's a model village used for strategising and planning. Did the Order not have them?"

"No, they did, I just—" Amora's heart was stuttering as hard as it was thumping. "Pansy's on here."

"Yes, Parkinson happens to be stationed at this territory currently," Malfoy acknowledged, "Why would that matter to you, Buckley?"

"She's my..." Amora shook her head and turned to face him defiantly. "She was our friend, Malfoy. Even if she doesn't agree with us now, even if she's fighting with them... Pansy was our friend."

Malfoy watched her sternly. "There are no feelings in war."

Was he serious?

"On the contrary, Malfoy, I think feelings are what cause wars," Amora replied, "Psychopathic men too proud for their own good who cannot stand the thought of not getting their way. And they will let everybody else kill themselves over it to sit on a throne of their fucking bodies."

"Careful," he spat. "Careful, Buckley."

Amora wasn't sure why he kept letting her off the hook each time she came close to slipping up. He should be threatening her, torturing her for information, or handing her off to somebody who would. Where was this temper that Madam Opal had been referencing?

"Parkinson chose her bed, she must lie in it now." Malfoy straightened up. "As we all must. In His Shadow We Rise, and all that."

"Please," Amora whispered, grabbing the sleeve of his blazer before he could fully turn away from her. She grabbed his forearm, keeping him in place. He looked down at her hand on him, and then at her face. He appeared unimpressed. "Not her. Not them. Please, Malfoy."

Malfoy roughly yanked his arm backwards. "What makes you think you are so fucking special, hm? You think because we had a thing at Hogwarts you're somehow different to me? Buckley, let me get one thing through to you and you better listen clearly because I do not repeat myself. I do not cancel entire plans for the sake of one person, or a few people. Parkinson is somebody I knew during secondary school. That is all." He ran a hand through his tousled hair and laughed, "For fuck sake, Buckley. I wouldn't so much as flinch if it were your name there."

Amora's heart did a strange thing in her chest. It was an all too familiar sensation, the same collapsing feeling it had gone through with every betrayal she had suffered through life so far. She chewed on her bottom lip and studied his passive expression. Everything was panging. All she wanted to do was ask him what she had done to make him hate her so much, what Pansy had done.

Malfoy took her silence as a segway to head over to the door. He cast her a look. "Brave face, Buckley."

Amora took a deep breath and followed him out of the door. She tried to ignore the rising panic in her chest at the photograph of Pansy on Malfoy's map, her mind coming up with all sorts of attacks he could be planning. Hammering heart aside, she walked next to Malfoy and put on a brave face, straightening her back and shoulders, gracing each Death Eater they passed with a small, confident smile.

"High Commander," A man greeted at a set of large doors, shaking Malfoy's hand, though the icy-haired man was quick to retract. "Please, come this way."

"I can find my seat just fine, Pettigrew."

Amora furrowed her brows. She wondered why that name sounded so familiar to her, her face studying the short man in front of them but only drawing blanks. His hair was wirey and patchy, long and curly in places, his thick eyebrows overgrowing in the same fashion, his pale skin blotchy and speckled with moles and other marks. He had wide sunken eyes and scabby hands with long fingernails, which he seemed to tuck towards his chest, resembling that of a rat or a mouse, especially with the oversized front teeth poking his thin, bottom lip.

Malfoy placed a large hand on the small of Amora's back and guided her into the hall. It was filled with what must be around a hundred people— all men, aside from a few— and all seated and chattering quietly, dressed in dark robes. There were small gasps as the couple entered, eyes training on them as if Voldemort himself had arrived.

It felt like back at Hogwarts, when people had found out she and Malfoy were in a relationship, and they had entered the Great Hall together for breakfast the next morning. She wasn't sure how anything could ever top the anxiety of that entrance, and yet here she was, feeling a hundred times more intimidated— and with much higher stakes this time.

Malfoy gently pushed her to the front aisle of seats and leaned towards her ear. "Sit next to Bellatrix."

Amora pursed her crimson-painted lips, nearly faltering as her eyes trained on the witch who was already watching her right back, hungry eyes darting over Amora as if she was something to sink her teeth into. Amora squeezed her fingers into fists momentarily and took the empty seat beside the Lestrange woman. Malfoy sat beside her. On his left was a much older man.

"Amora Buckley," Bellatrix grinned, her tongue running across her teeth. She stuck a hand out and twirled a finger around a lock of Amora's hair. "Even more beautiful than the papers photograph you." She ran the backs of her fingers down Amora's upper arm. "The purest of blood pumps beneath this skin, and your clever little head must have realised that, mustn't it?" She tapped Amora's temple with a long nail next.

"Bellatrix—"

"Unfortunately it took me a few years to gain the courage to do the right thing, but I am here now, Overseer Lestrange," Amora replied, sending the woman a smile that just about reached her eyes. "And it is a pleasure to be sat with you, might I add, considering... your contribution to the war effort."

Bellatrix shrieked a laugh that echoed the hall. "Oh, I like her, Draco!" His aunt said, tucking Amora's hair behind her shoulders.

"It's starting," someone hissed nearby, and there were hushed whispers and clicks and flashes of cameras.

Lucius Malfoy entered the stage from the left side, walking confidently over to the podium at the centre of the stage. His hair had been tied back, his sharp features strong and stern as he looked over the crowd without as much as a twitch.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Minister Malfoy greeted them, placing some parchment down on the podium, straightening his shoulders and gazing across all of them. His eyes met Amora's for a split second. "I would like to take a moment to thank you all for attending today's conference, which I understand will be a particularly important one."

Amora realised quickly that the entire conference was not to be based around his lie about the attack, but was the same weekly question time the Minister always used to do before the war. It took place every Thursday. The Order used to listen to them through the radio for the first few months, but it seemed the Death Eaters realised they had found access to their channel, and question times became private affairs. Their only way of finding out anything politics-related was through the papers.

Amora assumed the room was filled with high-ranking Death Eaters and politicians only. The rest of the world would only get the story that the Daily Prophet decided to publish. Nobody would get the uncut, raw version— that right had also been taken.

"I will take questions shortly, but firstly I have a reminder from the Dark Lord, who is, of course, busy with his own duties this lovely Thursday afternoon. Anybody in possession of house elves must register them. You have until this Sunday before Overseer Lestrange begins to make her rounds. Those found in possession of illegal house elves will be punished accordingly," Minister Malfoy said. "If your house elf is unable to create potions for whatever reason, they must still be registered. We need all the help we can get to aid our army on the front lines."

There was a moment of silence as Lucius Malfoy shuffled his parchment and cleared his throat. Every few seconds, there are a couple of flashes and clicks of cameras. He didn't appear phased by them.

"Now," he muttered, and his voice was slightly darker than before. "I will take questions."

Immediately, the silent crowd was replaced by an uproar of frantic people, hands shooting up, bodies out of seats, and voices battling to be heard over the others. Malfoy sighed from next to Amora. She glanced at him momentarily and he did not appear impressed at the slightest, eyes lazily trained on his father.

"Silence," Minister Malfoy boomed, bashing his stick down on the ground next to him, expelling such a loud bang that Amora gasped, the entire room immediately obeying. "One at a time. By hand."

The sound of hands whooshing through the air rushed past her ears. A man to the side of the stage picked a journalist at the back. Amora could not see him but heard him as clear as day as his chair scraped back.

"Minister Malfoy, you have recently been all over the press for your controversy surrounding the Cauldronworks attack. You told the Daily Prophet that there were no survivors, but since have confirmed that Amora Buckley is alive. Why did you lie?"

Minister Malfoy gave a smile that was both slightly charming and unsettling. "Thank you for your question. The survival of Miss Buckley was completely unexpected to me. As a servant of the Dark Lord, trusted to lead you under his shadow, I am ashamed to admit that I was deceived by my leading advisor, and given misleading information that was, of course, spread to the public."

Amora's lips parted, her eyes narrowing. She blinked and then blinked again, and Minister Malfoy was still there on the stage, spewing complete lies.

"My leading advisor informed me that there were no survivors, and investigations have proven he Imperiused Thorfinn Rowle and Antonin Dolohov, two of our most trusted and highest ranking Death Eaters, to take Miss Buckley to St Mungo's to be checked over," Minister Malfoy replied, only taking his eyes briefly off the crowd to read from his parchment.

Amora could not believe what she was hearing. People were muttering around her.

"The advisor in question, Nathaniel Eaglet, has since been interrogated," Minister Malfoy said firmly, "And I regret to inform you all that Eaglet's intentions with Miss Buckley were not pure. It seems we have had a spy among our ranks, an Order sympathiser, planted by Phoenix members themselves who intended to use Buckley's survival to torture her for leaving the Order of the Phoenix. That traitor being, of course, Eaglet himself."

There were gasps around the room. Bellatrix was practically hissing through her teeth next to Amora. She could see the way the woman's hands were twitching as if itching for her wand, desperate to strike something down. Amora tried to steal a glance at Malfoy. He appeared unphased by his father's lies.

"Silence," he boomed again, and his request was followed. "Yes? You. Rockwell."

"High Commander Malfoy had accepted Buckley into his home only hours after the attack. Why were you not informed of Miss Buckley's presence in your son's home?" Rockwell, Amora presumed, called.

It felt incredibly strange to hear everybody using her name as if she weren't in the room. Miss Buckley began to feel like a character she had yet to meet.

"An excellent question also, Mr Rockwell. Thank you, I am eager to clear this up considering the amount of conspiracies surrounding the High Commander and me working together to cover the survival of Miss Buckley. This was not the case at all, I can assure you. The High Commander informed me of the survival of Miss Buckley only after the story was printed in the Daily Prophet. Of course, I was adamant about making this public knowledge as soon as possible, however, we decided to use it as an advantage point to avoid confirmation bias and floods of media outlets. It gave us the perfect amount of time to interview Miss Buckley about the Cauldronworks attack and to make sure, as a former Order member, she had nothing to do with it. We had to be positive she was not working with Eaglet."

"And the outcome?"

Amora also wanted to know.

"Miss Buckley is innocent; she has been under the watch of the High Commander over the last week and exhibited no signs of working against us," Minister Malfoy confirmed, "I can confirm that the issue has been dealt with. You are all in safe hands. The rebellion member did us a favour ridding our world of her filthy, traitorous blood and those who aided the... the censorship of the truth are to be dealt with effectively."

"How so, Minister Malfoy?"

"I am glad you asked."

On cue, a man with a burlap bag tied over his head was shoved onto the stage. The Death Eater behind him kicked the man in the back of the legs, sending him to his knees with a painful bang. The man fell forward, his hands bound behind his back, and unable to catch himself, faceplanted the ground. He only groaned quietly. Amora wasn't sure if she only heard him because of her front-row seat.

Bellatrix was practically buzzing in her chair, fingers rubbing together in anticipation, her tongue licking her teeth again as if she would start drooling any moment. Meanwhile, Amora felt sick to her stomach. They yanked the bag off the man and grabbed the back of his dark hair, hauling him upright.

It was the same advisor Amora had seen with Professor Malfoy. Nathaniel Eaglet. He was missing his glasses, his hair pointing in every direction but also matted with blood, crimson liquid caked under his nose and swollen into his fat lip. He was unrecognisable. He had been beaten to a pulp. He was shaking so much that Amora could hear the chains around his wrists rattling and clanging together.

The cameras were flashing nonstop.

Amora was horrified to see her mother's face. Elle Buckley crumpled on a stage, just like this one, beaten past recognition, crying and pleading for mercy, Ollivander's dead body nearby, others restrained and lined up at the back of the stage, waiting for their turn. Hermione, Madam Pomfrey, Mr Weasley...

Her heart was racing so hard she thought it might shoot up her throat and spill over her lap. Her hands scrunched, nails digging so hard the pain shot down her arms, but it was not enough to distract her from what was about to happen on the stage in front of her.

She had a front-row seat to watch an innocent man die. It felt like it was her fault. If she had never survived, he wouldn't be about to die.

Amora couldn't help but think of all the other lies Minister Malfoy could have come up with. He could have told the truth, even– which was that one of his advisors had given him poor advice. Amora supposed that he did not want to look weak, or like he followed blindly, and in a room full of bloodthirsty psychopaths like Bellatrix, seeing a 'traitor' murdered was probably a satisfying answer enough.

The Daily Prophet definitely had a headline for the morning.

"Malfoy—"

"Shut it," Malfoy hissed back at her, cutting her whisper off, his silver eyes burning. "Don't even think about playing the fucking hero."

Amora swallowed the lump in her throat. She wished there was something she could do.

"Nathaniel Eaglet," Minister Malfoy stepped around the podium to stand beside him. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The man stuttered. His teeth were black with blood. Some were missing. "Please, have mercy, Minister. I am— I'm—"

"High Commander?"

Amora tried her best to hide the absolute horror she felt when Minister Malfoy summoned his son to the stage. Malfoy stood up as if he had been expecting it and wordlessly headed up the steps onto the stage. He loomed behind Eaglet.

Malfoy jabbed his wand into the back of Eaglet's head. Eyes scrunched tight, Eaglet gritted his teeth and shook harder than ever, sobbing loudly.

"Avada Kedavra," Malfoy muttered.

Eaglet collapsed to the ground. Dead. Cameras flash.

Amora's unblinking eyes flickered from Eaglet's body to Malfoy. His silver eyes burned straight back.

D.M + A.B

Amora wasn't entirely sure how she was supposed to make a public appearance with the man who had just murdered somebody in front of her. She kept trying to remind herself that he did not exactly have a choice when summoned by the Minister, but she wondered if that mattered. She wondered if he carried out all executions.

After another half an hour of listening to Minister Malfoy drone on about other political matters, Amora was more than eager to get some fresh air. For the rest of question time, it had been impossible to look away from the corpse still lying warm to the side of the Minister. A reminder to anybody who wanted to ask further questions about the matter.

"Come," Malfoy said, his hand pushing her back gently again. "It's time."

He walked by her side through the corridors, back straight, eyes trained ahead, seemingly unphased by the public execution that had just occurred. The entire way up the lift, she did not so much as look at him. Amora smoothed down her skirt when the lift came to a stop on the main floor. She took a deep breath.

The lift doors opened and immediately Amora was blinded by flashing lights. She was startled when a hand snaked down her arm to grab hers, her heart skipping a beat or two at the familiar palm pressing to hers, and the long fingers that intertwined with her shorter ones. She couldn't help but glance up at him in surprise, but Malfoy surged forward, heading right for the press where the exit to the Ministry was.

"High Commander Malfoy! High Commander! Over here, over here!"

"High Commander!"

"Mr Malfoy, sir!"

Amora swallowed and built up the barriers in her mind to stop her nerves physically showing. She grasped Malfoy's hand tighter, unintentionally squeezing. It nearly did not phase her when she felt three squeezes back. Instantly, she was back in Hogwarts, when three squeezes meant three words they could not say. She doubted he remembered what it had meant. Most likely it was an act of habit. Amora wasn't sure why that made her feel so funny.

As planned, Malfoy headed straight over to Rita Skeeter. She was the only reporter not begging for his attention, standing there looking like he did when Amora had seen her in their fourth year. Blonde hair tied into a bun, red lipstick, glasses, and an annoying smirk. A notepad was levitating beside her head, a charmed quill ready to put ink to paper.

"I am Rita Skeeter with the Daily Prophet, but of course, you already know that," Skeeter grinned, and Amora forced a smile back, even if it was the last thing she felt like doing. "I must say, Miss Buckley, you tidy up very nicely."

"She does, doesn't she?" Malfoy hummed before Amora could thank the lady, and then took a step back as if to admire her.

Amora's smile widened and she patted Malfoy on his chest. "Oh, hush, you."

Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up and the quill began to scribble furiously.

"Miss Buckley, how have you found your transition from the Cauldronworks to Malfoy Manor?" Skeeter asked her eagerly.

Amora chuckled, "It's miles better, of course. My process at the BMA was a long and hard one. I've just been eager to settle again. To feel safe."

"Would you say you feel safe with High Commander Malfoy?"

"Oh, of course," Amora smiled, "The life I have acquired over the last week is the very same one I have been dreaming of for years now. It feels amazing to break free from the Order and to be here with High Commander Malfoy."

"Well, we can see in his eyes just how much he cares for you, Miss Buckley. You must feel extremely special. High Commander, what is it about Amora Buckley that had you reaching out to court her? Especially when the public has always noted your lack of a partner."

"I do not wish to come across as a lovesick puppy, Skeeter, but I suppose deep down I had been waiting for Amora to come back to me."

Amora. He said her first name. Amora. It rolled off his tongue so easily as if he said it every day. As if it meant nothing to call her by her first name.

Skeeter gasped so loudly it hurt her ears. "Am I sensing the two of you knew one another during your school days?"

"That's correct," Malfoy replied, "Amora and I were together for a while before the war happened. Deep down I had always had a feeling she would return to me someday."

He said her name again.

"Two star-crossed lovers have found their way back to one another!" Skeeter cried, "Write that down, write that down. What made you split? How long has it been?"

"My mother, Elle Buckley, she was... to put it simply, obsessive over Muggles. I was brainwashed like plenty of other Purebloods who joined the Order. At school, the High Commander was the one who convinced me how..." Amora thought for a moment. "How important it is to remember that magic is might. Only I was sixteen and I followed my friends blindly. I was just scared to go against my mother."

"It's so brave that you're restoring yet another family to the Sacred 28!" Skeeter gushed, "High Commander, what was it like knowing that your first love was being brainwashed by the Order of the Phoenix? Was that hard for you?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Incredibly hard. But, despite my relief Amora has found the courage to follow the Dark Lord, I, of course, have had a duty to fill as High Commander. My work came above all."

"And does it still? Now that you have been reunited?"

"In His Shadow, We Rise. The Dark Lord always comes first," Malfoy replied instantly, "But I am pleased that I will be able to fulfil my Pureblood duty of marrying within my ranks and producing pure heirs, of course."

Amora nearly choked at that. She pursed her lips and forced herself to nod and smile along.

"Do I sense an engagement on the horizon, High Commander?" Skeeter squealed.

Malfoy hummed. "I am nothing if not traditional."

"Well, I would like to be the first to congratulate the two of you," Skeeter grinned and glanced over her parchment and quill to check it was still writing. "I look forward to all future news."

"Thank you," Amora murmured as Malfoy gave her a small nod.

"High Commander, please, what did you think of Eaglet's betrayal? How does that impact any plans knowing we have had spies in our midst?" A reporter grabbed Malfoy's attention.

Amora hung around beside him, but her eyes were narrowing on a hooded figure standing slightly away from all of the flashing cameras and rowdy voices. People were desperately trying to get her attention while they photographed her, but Amora did not want to answer any questions whilst Malfoy was not there. She did not want anything to be twisted.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, causing her to whirl around. A reporter stood there, a camera directly in her face and a microphone to their lips. Amora worriedly glanced at Malfoy, but he was distracted by yet another interviewer bombarding him with questions.

"What is the High Commander like behind closed doors?" The man asked, "Have you had the privilege of meeting the Dark Lord yet?"

Amora weaved past him, her hand leaving Malfoy's. She twisted in and out of the reporters moving in, seconds later colliding with somebody. Her lips opened to absentmindedly apologise, desperately seeking a way out of the crowd, but the person grabbed her wrist where her mesh sleeve had ridden, keeping her in place. Amora gasped, glaring, and realised it was the person hidden by their cloak from before.

Her hand reached up behind her as if she was going to grab the clip from her hair and stab him with it in front of everybody. She faltered, breath hitching when she realised it was a woman beneath the cloak.

"In His Shadow, We Resist," she whispered, pressing her thumb particularly hard against Amora's skin.

The woman darted away, heading for the lifts, her dark cloak billowing behind her. Amora watched after her just as she heard Malfoy below that he would be taking no more questions. His footsteps were pounding behind her, his large hand clamping on her shoulder.

"Let's go," he hissed.

Amora did not care whatever had pissed him off. She was too busy thinking about the woman. Her arm still throbbed from her grasp. Amora glanced down at it as Malfoy began to pull her towards the Floo network. Ink had been stamped onto her skin.

RISE ABOVE THE ASH

34b Hogsmeade Square

Amora's eyes widened as it disappeared before her eyes.

The Order had found her. 

...

 this chapter was so fun to write! i hope you guys enjoyed reading it :)

w/c: 4.8k 

inspo for amora's dress:

https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/527343437635842175/