LOST IT TO TRYING

CHAPTER NINE

Amora felt her body deflate when Malfoy left the house about an hour after their argument. She had stayed in the kitchen, burning holes into the mess she had created until she was on her hands and knees, picking up the ceramic shards and using a cloth to wipe the green tea.

She put all the rubbish on the side— after fifteen minutes of searching, she concluded that Malfoy did not have a bin. She supposed he'd have to magic it away when he came home.

The grandfather clock in the foyer read 10:23 am. If Amora was lucky, Malfoy might stay out for the rest of the day and then she would have plenty of time to look around his house.

She could not stop thinking about what he had said about marriage. Amora wondered just how traditional and conservative the Dark Lord's Britain was. Were people still allowed to date casually? They called it courting now— which she knew upper-class people often still said, but the girls at the factory had not all been from rich backgrounds. Perhaps they had reverted to a time where the men were allowed to 'court' all the women they liked, while said women were supposed to look for marriage.

Amora supposed marriage was protection. If she married Malfoy, she would be allowed her wand back and other men might respect her more.

She shook her head and wandered back into the dining room. Malfoy's mug and plate were still in his original spot. Was he expecting her to clean up after him? Amora frowned at the lack of newspaper on the table. He had gotten rid of it.

First, she would investigate the right side of the house. Aside from the rooms Amora had already discovered, she stumbled upon a huge pantry with little to nothing inside it and another sitting room. She found a study of sorts, but it had been emptied. Dust sheets had been thrown over a sofa chair in the corner of the room, but everything else had been left to grow old. The desk was void of any books. Inside the drawers, Amora found some quills, blank parchment, and a photo frame. There was no photo inside.

A massive conservatory stood at the back of the house with more seating inside. As soon as she opened the door, Amora gasped at the cool air that hit her. She shut the door again and made a mental note to grab some warm clothes before she went to discover the conservatory and the garden. From what she could see through the window, it was nothing interesting.

There were a couple of doors which were locked. It only made Amora more curious— she needed to know what Draco didn't want her to see. Behind those doors was probably what the Order wanted her to tell them about. She doubted he left valuable information just lying around the unlocked rooms of the manor.

Amora went back to the foyer so she could explore the left side of the house. Two towering oaks doors led to a huge room, most likely built for hosting guests. A grand piano was in the corner on a small platform and there was a huge space for people to dance and mingle. Gold accents glittered the room and dramatic green drapes were thrown over huge windows.

Amora yanked one open to let some light into the huge room. She coughed immediately as disturbed dust formed clouds in the air, thickening on her lungs, and causing her to hunch over and turn away for a moment. She blinked it out of her eyes, crinkling her nose.

"Merlin," Amora muttered with a grimace. How long had it been since the Malfoys had hosted a party?

"Finally!" A shrill voice shrieked, "Finally that wretched boy has— Who on earth are you!?"

Amora whirled around, her hand freezing from where it had been rubbing her nose, her eyes landing on a portrait of a blonde woman. Her hair was up in a curled updo, her dark eyes glaring, an emerald necklace glittering on her bony collar.

"I'm..." Amora furrowed her brows, heading closer to the huge portrait so she could see the lady clearer. "My name is Amora."

"Your last name, you dim witch," the portrait directly next to her hissed. "Who on earth cares for first names? As if they mean anything?"

Amora jumped, eyes narrowing on the man beside the lady. His hair was icey, his eyes silver, his skin nearly translucent. A Malfoy through and through. He looked like Lucius and Draco, but old.

"Buckley," she spat, "Though I don't see what a couple of portraits could possibly do with that information."

"A Pureblood, a Pureblood!"

Amora heard distant cheers further down the large hall. The light shining through the window cast shadows on other portraits. Amora caught glimpses of pale skin and white hair.

"Not a very respectable one with an attitude like that," the man spat, and he made sure to turn his head, jutting his chin at her. "I cannot believe a Pureblood lady would speak to me in such a way in my own home!"

"You're a portrait." Amora rolled her eyes. "This is not your home anymore."

"How dare you!" The lady screeched, "Do you have any idea who you are talking to? The legacy my husband holds?!"

"Well, his legacy cannot be that great if I don't even know of him, can it?" Amora replied simply.

"That's Abraxas Malfoy to you!" The portrait seethed, "In my day, I did all I could to preserve our great Pureblood culture. I stopped that Mudblood at the Ministry becoming Minister! I saved the Wizarding World from being subject to insanity! From being controlled by dirty-blooded, undeserving magic-stealers!"

Amora pursed her lips. "Oh, I see. That may be why I have never heard of you. You must understand, the year is 2002 in case you didn't know, and Muggleborns are everywhere, sir. In fact, I believe the ratio was five Muggleborns to each Pureblood wizard in the most recent school year at Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy. I believe more than half of the Wizengamot are Muggleborn these days!"

Amora could hardly hide her smile when every portrait in the hall began to cry and shriek. It seemed that dramatic reactions ran strong in the Malfoy bloodline. Abraxas Malfoy began to smash the cane he had been holding against his chair, pacing back and forth out of frame.

"Anyway," Amora whistled, "I'll leave you to your moping."

Nobody seemed to hear her over their panicked yells. Amora moved over to the curtain she had opened.

"I might just close this," she said, and let the drapes fall back shut.

The curtain swayed, sunlight dancing back and forth across the portrait wall for a moment, until the soft darkness took back over. The portraits did not stop. Once she left and shut the door behind her, all sound was drowned out.

Only then did she let herself giggle for a moment.

D.M + A.B

There was a library.

Amora knew Draco's family had a library— he had told her all about it once upon a time— but that had been pushed to the back of her head with many of her other memories surrounding Malfoy. When she pushed open the door, she only had to take a whiff of the room to know what she would find on the other side.

Hundreds– no, thousands– of books. A small staircase swirled upwards onto a second platform of novels, a balcony looking over the bottom floor. She swallowed, touched the nearest shelf as if to test that this was real, and studied everything with her eyes. Persian rugs, oak, stained glass windows, high ceilings, leather sofas, candle lighting.

Amora was sure she had never been so jealous in her entire life. She could never afford all of the books she wanted and yet Malfoy had every Wizarding novel ever published a door down from his bathroom.

She climbed the staircase, her breath hitching at more books. Not a single wall was not taken up by heavy bookshelves, brimming with books, all in the Dewey Decimal system. She stroked her hand across the fantasy section. She was sure she would read every single one once she got the chance.

Her eyes landed on a door between two shelves. Her eyebrows rose, interest sparked, and she tried the handle. It only rattled back.

"What?" She muttered and tried harder.

He had locked it. What could be behind this door? A study perhaps? Dark books?

Amora swallowed at the thought. Maybe that room was a restricted section of sorts that contained books riddled with dark magic and held ideas of torture methods for Muggleborns and traitors.

That was the only logical reason she could think of.

She moved back down the staircase, over to the sofa. On the coffee table in front, there was an empty whiskey glass and a book. Amora picked it up, furrowing her brows at the cover. A dragon. She vaguely recalled seeing this cover before.

Amora placed it carefully back down, and when she placed her hands on the sofa to push herself back up, was surprised to feel something brush her arm. In the crack of the sofa, between the arm and the bottom cushion, was a rolled-up paper.

She carefully pulled out the Daily Prophet, her eyes widening at the front page. It was dated back two and a half months ago. The Inquisitor had shown her The Quibbler's version, but she had yet to see this one. The photograph they had taken of her upon arrival at the Bureau of Magical Allegience had been used as the cover image. She truly looked like an Azkaban prisoner.

THE ORDER LOSES AGAIN: BUCKLEY PLEDGES TO THE DARK LORD

By Rita Skeeter

AMORA BUCKLEY, DAUGHTER of former Muggle Studies professor, Elle Buckley, has appeared on Dark territory overnight at the London pub, The Leaky Cauldron. All eyes are on Buckley as she willingly enters the Bureau of Magical Allegiance to prove her loyalty to our Dark Lord. Witnesses at the Leaky Cauldron have claimed Buckley insisted on turning herself in and talking to Death Eaters at the bar of the pub.

This is the second Order member to defect in a month. Just weeks ago, Theodore Nott Junior (age 22), was sighted also submitting himself to the BMA. His verdict is still unknown, and will likely be revealed in the coming weeks. Speculation suggests Nott Jr will be seen as a Faithful, due to his family's history of extreme devotion and loyalty to our Dark Lord. Nott Sr has been sighted entering and exiting the BMA on several occasions. Whilst he refuses to speak with the Daily Prophet, insiders have said he is fighting for the release of his only son.

Buckley's verdict is extremely unpredictable at this time. As a Pureblood and a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there is a high likelihood that she has been able to combat the propaganda being spread by the Order, as well as their brainwashing.

After all, this is the second Order member to defect in a month. Could this merely be a coincidence or are Pureblooded members of the Order finally seeing the light?

Some are doubtful of Buckley's authenticity due to her mother, who was none other than Professor Elle Buckley, former Muggle Studies teacher and traitor to the Sacred 28. She is most known for her article wishing for the mass killing of Pureblood families, as well as her public execution on the Dark Lord's Purge Day, in which other traitors were also executed.

Could it be that Amora Buckley has completely different opinions from her traitorous mother? Or perhaps the Order are scheming a plan in which Buckley and Nott are merely pawns.

After the death of the Unfaithful Severus Snape only months ago—

Amora rolled the paper back up and shoved it into the crease of the sofa where she had found it. She bit on her bottom lip and then touched it, pulling her fingers back to look at the blood she had drawn from chewing her skin. The metallic taste seeped into her tastebuds.

It was difficult to read for some reason. It was a blur of sleepless nights and the warden's taunts, or slop for breakfast and dinner, suicide bombings, and a brain-dead, abused, tortured Kathy. It felt so unfair that Amora had been forced to forget the Order, but would most likely never forget these things.

Her fingers traced over the scarring on her hand. I must not talk back. The first one she ever had. It was nearly humorous what a scandal it had been at the time, her fifth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher forcing Amora to carve her lines into her hand every day for a week. Professor Umbridge was a dot on the list of horrible things in this world now.

Amora traced the scar running down her jaw. She could see Leon on top of her, his teeth bared, an animalistic look in his eyes as he attempted to hurt her. People were grabbing him off, someone was suggesting they use the killing curse. She felt the hot liquid trickle down her skin as Lupin finally managed to grasp the teenage boy, demanding to know why Leon had been keeping his lycanthropy a secret.

Her body would wear the evidence of his first full moon for the rest of her life. She didn't mind— Leon was terrified– he'd told nobody Greyback had bitten him in battle the week prior, not even her. Leon felt awful every time he saw the jagged white line. Pansy insisted it made her look cool. Blaise and Theo had eagerly agreed.

Before she could allow her mind to wander to every scrape and bruise decorating her delicate skin, a door slamming downstairs caught her attention. Immediately, she straightened up, shoving the paper deeper into the sofa's crease and rushing to one of the bookshelves.

She grabbed five random ones, piled them on the floor and then chucked herself on the floor, crossing her legs. She struggled to pull her long skirt out from her folded limbs. She didn't mind the dresses, they were quite pretty, but they certainly were not practical. Perhaps that was the point.

When Malfoy entered through the door a moment later, Amora's nose was buried in a book about mermen and mermaids. He cleared his throat. Amora pretended to be surprised by his presence.

"I wondered how long it would take you to find this place," Malfoy said, glancing around the room as if taking it in himself. "What do you think?"

He stood a few feet away, raising an eyebrow at her. In his hand was a brown paper bag. She eyed it hopefully.

"It's alright," Amora hummed.

"Alright?" Malfoy scoffed and for a moment he looked like he might bite, but he simply rolled his eyes and perched himself on the arm of the sofa. "Is it not up to your standards, Buckley?"

"I haven't had much time in here, really," Amora replied.

"Exploring?"

"Yes," Amora said, "And talking to your lovely grandparents. They're so welcoming."

Amora saw what could have been a hint of amusement on Malfoy's face. It was as if he was trying not to smirk, but managed to distract himself by the bag in his hand. He lifted it.

"I have a gift of sorts," Malfoy scoffed, "Happy birthday."

Amora rolled her eyes but leaned forward to accept the back from him. She peered inside and saw the familiar long rectangular box. She pulled it out. Usually, wand boxes would have been branded with Ollivander's stamp, but these had a Dark Mark on the front and Gregorovitch's name beneath it. Amora supposed anybody could be bought for the right price.

She pulled open the box and swallowed. A wand, dark brown and only slightly springy, about 9 ¾ inches— just like her own one. Had he remembered? She narrowed her eyes at Malfoy who watched her expectantly.

"Well? Give it a go," he huffed.

"Does it have the killing curse on it?" Amora grumbled under her breath.

Malfoy muttered something of his own that Amora could not make out. She ignored him and grasped the wand, rolling it between her fingers and her palm, getting used to the feeling of the wood against her skin. Her actual wand felt as though it moulded to suit the grooves of her palm and sit perfectly between her fingers. It was made for her. This one felt completely foreign and wrong.

"Rowan wood," Malfoy said.

Amora huffed a breath of amusement through her nose. So he did remember. She didn't know if she should be flattered or not.

"Core?"

"All training wands have dragon heartstrings— they're the easiest to learn with," Malfoy replied, leaning back as if waiting for her to snap.

"I don't need to learn!" Amora did indeed bite, "I am a great witch— I have wiped out four Death Eaters by myself before! This is complete—"

Malfoy's large hand grasped her thrashing arm, squeezing her wrist and narrowing his eyes at her. Amora glared up at him, attempting to free herself from his grasp. He only squeezed tighter.

"Careful, Buckley," Malfoy hissed, "You almost sound proud."

Amora's heart skipped a beat when she realised what she had said. This time, she pulled so hard she freed herself, soothing her throbbing wrist with her other hand.

"This is a mockery," Amora grumbled, glaring at the wand she had dropped on the floor. "A complete insult to women."

"You wanted to be here," Malfoy snapped, "You begged to be here."

Nobody told me! She wanted to scream. Nobody told me I would lose everything that makes me Amora! My family, my magic and my freedom.

Amora swallowed thickly. The words went down, burying themselves somewhere down in her chest– or the pit of her stomach, she couldn't tell.

"It is a privilege to be here," she muttered, "Much better than with the Order. Fighting for the losing side."

Malfoy scoffed. Amora tried to Occlude so the stabbing in her chest would ease. It wasn't so heavy now. She stared back at him as if she could not be broken. At least that is how she hoped she came across. She had a feeling Malfoy was seeing right through her.

"And why is it, Buckley, that I cannot quite believe everything you are saying?" Malfoy hummed.

Amora did not have the chance to defend herself before Malfoy added, "Might it be because I am the one that taught you how to lie?"

Amora said nothing as Malfoy turned on his heel and left her alone in the library.

D.M + A.B

When afternoon bled into the evening, Amora realised she had yet to move from the library or pick up her new wand. She glared at it from where she was curled up on the sofa, buried in a book she couldn't focus on. Rows of words were bleeding into the next and after a few pages, she realised she had not internalised a single sentence she'd read.

Amora missed Pansy. Whether she liked it or not, being around Malfoy reminded her of her Hogwarts years. Her friendship with Pansy had been built off of Malfoy's dickish behaviour. Pansy was the first to know about them. Pansy always told Amora exactly how it was and was the only person who had never let her down.

If they were at Hogwarts, no doubt Amora would be storming through the Slytherin common room— not for Malfoy, but for Pansy. Instead, Amora sat in the cold library and settled on memories of her best friend. Merlin, she missed her. Amora wondered what Pansy was doing.

"I made dinner."

Amora flinched. Malfoy was in the doorway again, still dressed in his black robes.

"I'm—"

"You do not have to eat with me, but I have made you dinner," Malfoy cut her off sharply. "So do not say you are not hungry— I know that is not true. I'll leave it in the kitchen. Either join me in the dining hall or eat elsewhere. I don't care."

He left the door to the library wide open. Amora listened to his footsteps retreat down the stairs and thought for a moment about what she would do. Sitting with Malfoy meant she would be able to ask him more questions, but it would also mean sitting with Malfoy. She still could not stand the sight of him for too long. Besides, every conversation they have had so far has ended in at least one of them yelling or storming away in a fit of rage.

Amora moved downstairs and into the kitchen. A warming charm must have been cast on her plate of food, for it was still steaming on the countertop. A knife and fork were placed neatly beside it. Salmon and vegetables and new potatoes. She hated that it looked nice.

"Fancy twat," she grumbled beneath her breath.

She grabbed the knife and fork in one hand and the plate in the other and paused as she walked past the dining room. She could hear the sound of a knife and fork against a plate and then paper shuffle. Amora contemplated for so long that Malfoy cleared his throat from inside.

"I can hear you," he said.

Amora rolled her eyes and entered the room. He sat in the large chair at the end again, eating alone. She tried to catch a glimpse of the papers next to him, but as soon as she placed her plate down two seats away, he clicked his fingers and they disappeared.

"Will you hide your work from me when we are married?" Amora asked him sarcastically, "Or will I get the privilege of your trust once I have a wedding band on my finger?"

Malfoy huffed. "Trust is a strong word."

"Tell me about it," Amora replied irritably— she could not help the way her voice rose and her tone sharpened.

How dare he talk to her about trust!

"How has your first day been?"

"Boring," Amora replied and stabbed at one of the small potatoes, eating it off of her fork.

"I do apologise," Malfoy muttered, "Is the personal library in your bedroom not enough for you?"

"No."

"How about the huge one on the second floor? Not enough books for you, Buckley?"

"No." Her mouth was full. Malfoy cringed— he'd always hated it when she did that.

"You're insufferable," Malfoy announced finally, "I don't know why I said you could eat with me."

Amora huffed air through her nose and continued to cut up her food. So many witty comments were flying through her head– all of which would result in either a long conversation about their relationship or an angry fight. She was too hungry to argue.

They ate in silence for the rest of the evening. It wasn't necessarily awkward– Amora had too much on her mind to pay attention to the fact that there was no flowing chatter. She was more focused on how insane the last twenty-four hours had been. Yesterday, she was narrowly avoiding being blown up— today, she was eating dinner with her ex-boyfriend who she supposed she was sort of engaged to now.

"I'll be working in my study this evening." Malfoy scraped his chair back as he stood. "Do your best not to interrupt me, please."

"I'll try really hard," Amora agreed sarcastically.

"Goodnight, Buckley," Malfoy muttered through gritted teeth and then he was gone.

Amora finished up the last of her meal in peace and then took her plate to the kitchen. She washed it in the sink and placed it on the rack, and then stood and wondered, what now?

She figured she might as well figure out what a training wand could do. It had been years since she had handled one and Amora had become accustomed to having every spell at the tip of her fingers. She knew they were limited– childproofed so children weren't blowing things up or murdering people.

Amora found her wand on the floor of the library and glanced up the staircase at the door between the bookshelves. She rolled her eyes at her own curiosity and headed onto the second floor, glancing around as if Malfoy would pop out of the shadows at any moment, and then, under her breath, whispered, "Alohomora."

Her magic made the lock wriggle, but the door did not open. She huffed and tried again. Perhaps her magic wasn't used to the wand yet. It still did not open. Training wands must not allow door-opening spells. Amora decided to go back to her room to try out some more.

Light glowed beneath one of the doors on her way across the corridor. It was the door Malfoy had been disappearing into that morning, which had been locked when she'd gone exploring earlier that day. It must be his study.

Good to know.

Amora sat in the centre of the huge bed, studying the wand in her hand more closely than she had before. She traced her fingers over its grooves in an attempt to get familiar with it. Her old wand had a unicorn hair core— making it incredibly loyal to her.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The book on the chair across the room levitated easily. Amora drifted it towards the bookshelf and placed it in the gap. It slotted in perfectly. She was glad to find the supressers hadn't impacted her concentration— she could still perfect basic magic.

"Accio book." It flew back over to her.

"Colloportus." Her door would not lock itself.

"Evanasco." The towel she had used this morning vanished.

"Scourgify." The mud on the bottom of the shoes she had worn the day before swiped away.

She thought for a moment. "Expecto Patronum."

Her heart was in her throat, waiting for the familiar blue and white whisps to swirl from the tip of the wand, but nothing came. She felt like a very important piece of magic had been stripped away from her— her only form of communication with anybody from the Order. She could have let them know that she was alright.

Was she alright?

It felt as though she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. When she sat back and truly thought about the last couple of days, Amora felt like she could Incendio the entire manor to the ground. It was hard to believe Malfoy was only a few doors down, perhaps plotting another strategy to kill one of her friends, all the magic in the world available to him, and she was nothing but a captured damsel in distress crying into her hands.

Amora had cried more over the last couple of months than she had since the war blossomed. This felt different— she couldn't breathe.

Amora heaved, her hand on her chest as she pushed herself up off of the bed. She paced the room, a hand over her mouth in an attempt to swallow the panic. It terrified Amora that she could not keep her tears silent. She felt like a small child, nearly suffocating from their sadness. She grabbed her wand from the bed.

"M- M–" Amora coughed on a sob, "Muffliato."

There was no feeling of magic in the air— no faint buzzing sound in the background. Another spell she could not use, her privacy yet again ripped away. She slid down the other side of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest, crying into them.

"Please, Merlin." She clasped her hands in front of her and tilted her head to the ceiling, salty tears itching her cheeks and her jaw on the way down. "Please Merlin help me. Tell me what I should do."

Amora cried until she had nothing left. 

...

really enjoying writing this! i think I'm going to try and post some tiktoks on my account again because I haven't since 2021 lollll

anyway, I hope you liked the chapter! thank you for reading <333

dyiansobrien 

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