Have No Fear

Chapter 2: Father and Daughter

There are two fathers I do not understand:

the one at the bridge,

devil's bargain still warm on his mouth,

kissing his daughter first, saying:

"Do I have a husband for you";

and Abraham, with his traitor's hand,

leading Isaac up the hill to God.

These are not women's stories.

Even before I birthed my three,

and the one bled out before its time,

and the one encysted in the tube,

even before that I would have thrust the knife

in my own breast, before God;

I would have swallowed the kiss,

Gone back to the beast myself. - Jane Yolen

The wind was howling outside the window; sleet and rain slapped violently against the smudged glass. There was still snow on the ground this far north despite being the middle of March, although the downpour was quickly turning it into a cesspool of muddy slush. Jael pressed her nose against the glass and breathed. She watched the fog her breath made on the window, and than resumed glaring at the stormy night beyond it. She wondered idly if the fact that she half-believed the storm outside was a result of her present feelings meant that she was conceited. Probably.

She turned away from the window, and used her wand to relight the torches and the fire in her room. Padding silently across the cold stone floor, she flung herself onto her small bed with a sigh. As she buried her face in her pillow, a thought occurred without warning. I wonder where Fred and the rest of them have to sleep tonight?

"Aarrgh!" Jael growled in frustration. She had been desperately determined to keep her thoughts on something other than Fred, but every time she managed to plant her mind firmly on another subject, it uprooted itself and returned doggedly to that bloody boy.

She flipped herself onto her back, and stared at her ceiling as if it held the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life. 42, whispered a mischievous imp at the back of her mind. She quashed it firmly. This was no time to be thinking about silly Muggle books.

She accepted that Fred interested her; he was a stranger with an unknown past, a prisoner of a war she'd never really experienced. Of course she wanted to speak to him, to learn all about him.

But there were two things that whirled through her head unceasingly that she could not figure out. The first was that she was not simply mildly curious about Fred. She seemed to have fixated on him, become fascinated, obsessed even, after a single conversation. It wasn't a crush, she'd had crushes before (which generally ended after a few agonizing months during which she would try, and fail mightily, to speak at least a few syllables to the object of affection in question). It wasn't physical attraction; he had a nice body, but... for Gods' sake, she thought, his face doesn't even bear any resemblance to a person. How could she be attracted to that?

But the second thing was what worried her the most. It was how disturbed she was by her fascination and burgeoning friendship with him. Just the idea of searching him out again, and starting something very much like a relationship with him unnerved her and felt somehow wrong. And she didn't know why.

Jael considered the possibility that it was because he was technically her enemy; he would surely kill her if it would help him or any of his people escape. But she easily dismissed this idea, since that fact was true of just about everyone she knew. She could not think of one person whom she had met in the past three years who wouldn't kill her to save their own skin. So it must be something else.

An unpleasant thought occurred to her. Maybe the reason that she was so uneasy about Fred was the reason that everyone in the castle had been repeating over and over again for years. "They are only foolish Muggle-lovers and filthy Mudbloods. They are inferior to us. They deserve whatever they get. It is the duty of all purebloods to make sure our blood is clean and our supremacy maintained." Bullshit propaganda, she knew, but wasn't it true that a part of her liked this idea, liked the assurance that she was better than all those others? It was the same part of her that wanted to believe, just a little, when the Dark Lord said that the destiny of all real wizards, pureblood wizards, was being fulfilled. It was the part of her that obeyed her father instinctively, and stopped her from speaking up when someone like Draco or Ana made some completely ridiculously arrogant comment, and everyone just nodded their heads like puppets. It was the fear and insecurity that constantly gnawed at her soul. And now it caused her to squirm uncomfortably at the thought of gasp! talking to someone who was Beneath Her, in case she Did Something Shameful, and Disgraced Her Father.

Underneath even that, there was a much more primal fear of dying. For people died in the castle all the time. If you knew where to stand at the right time, you could hear the death cries of both delinquent Death Eaters and unfortunate prisoners. Jael knew where to stand at what time, and she had heard their screams. She was well aware that even her status as the daughter of Randall Crowther would not be able to save her if her transgression was serious enough. Intuition told her that "becoming friends" with an enemy of the Dark Lord was pretty damn serious.

The door to her room flew open, and banged loudly against the wall. Jael sat up with a guilty start, pulled forcefully from her treasonous ponderings as her father stormed into the room with all the benevolence of a Blast-Ended-Skrewt. Her keen intuition informed her that he was definitely not happy.

Jael's father was not an especially intimidating man, but the look in his eyes was enough to make her insides churn. It wasn't possible that he had found out about the boy, was it?

Don't be ridiculous, she reassured herself. How could he possibly know about that? And it's not like we were even doing anything wrong...A more pragmatic inner voice begged to differ.

*

Randall Crowther glared down at his daughter. He was having an extremely bad day. Despite his endless tinkering and experiments, he still had no success with the tracking spell that his Lord so badly wanted. He had met with his master this afternoon, in private, to discuss his need for more time, and Randall was still aching from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse. He knew of course that the Dark Lord was not a patient...man, but he had not expected the sheer ferocity of anger that had been directed his way. And of course, he sighed wearily, the first person I had to meet upon leaving the room was that smug bastard Malfoy. It had taken all of his self-control to speak calmly to Lucius Malfoy, because he would have much rather taken a swing at him and wiped that insufferable smirk off his face. However, his business with Malfoy was far too important to be ruined by a childish (but gratifying) punch, so he had kept his temper. But now his daughter was apparently once again exhibiting that streak of irresponsibility and selfishness that reminded him so much of her mother. Randall did not like thinking about Jael's mother. It had been nine years since she'd left him, but his pain and resentment remained deeply embedded. In light of all these factors, it was not terribly surprising that his temper had not only flared, but had become bent on incinerating everything in its path.

So when he burst into his daughter's room only to see her sitting idly on the bed, without a care in the world, he thought it was a small wonder his head didn't explode.

"Where have you been?!?" he bellowed. Jael stared at him with wide innocent eyes, looking bewildered, and, he noted, somewhat shifty.

"Wh-what do you mean? I was just-"

He cut her off mid-sentence. "I know where you were "just". Wandering around the castle, like some stupid sheep that can't find its way home, day-dreaming without for a minute thinking of anyone but yourself!"

Her face flushed red, and she stared down at her hands. Randall knew he was right and so pressed onwards; he was calmer now, and his voice became cold and hard.

"I suppose it didn't even occur to you to try and remember if anything special was going on tonight, anything like an important banquet!" The last words were very nearly a shout; he just managed to rein himself in.

Jael's head shot up as her face filled with comprehension.

"The banquet! Oh my God, I forgot! I'm so sorry, I was thinking - about something else, and I totally forgot! I didn't mean-"

He interrupted her again. "You forgot, you forgot! That's all I ever hear from you, Jael! When are you going to grow up? You tell me I should treat you like an adult, but you behave like a careless child. Why do you think I don't trust you? You can't even get yourself ready on time for something that I've reminded and reminded you about."

She was burning red now, and she lowered her eyes. He noticed her hands were twisting together in agitation, something that always happened when she was nervous.

She spoke softly, "I'm really sorry. I'll get ready right away."

He nodded sharply at her, and turned to head for the door when her voice stopped him.

"Dad? You said, um, you said before that you were gonna tell me something important about tonight. Er, so, what is it?"

He turned to face her, and she eyed him warily, apparently unsure of his reaction. Randall had been dreading this moment, and so had been putting it off. He replied to her question quietly, since he knew the answer would upset her.

"I've been speaking with Lucius Malfoy about a marriage arrangement between you and Draco."

He watched as her blank look gradually changed into an almost ridiculous expression of incredulity.

"What?" she said slowly, as though she couldn't quite wrap her mind around such an unbelievable concept. As he opened his mouth to explain himself, she transformed before his eyes. She had been his chagrined, obedient daughter, sitting meekly on the bed, and in the instant in which she had leapt to her feet, she had mutated into a seething, defiant teenager who looked as though her temper was about to do some incinerating of its own.

"I'M NOT MARRYING DRACO! Are you fucking crazy?! He's a complete ass! And you promised me, you promised me we'd have nothing to do with that arranged marriage crap, you said-"

Randall could no longer contain his anger and slapped Jael hard across the face. She staggered back and stared at him in shock, her mouth hanging open. She touched her cheek, upon which a red handprint was already appearing.

Randall stared back at her, his face set with anger and his gray eyes glistening like hard polished stones.

"I am your father. You'll do what I tell you to do. If I wanted you to marry a filthy Muggle off the street, you'd bloody well do it! So if I tell you to marry Draco Malfoy, you will. I don't give a damn what your feelings on the matter."

He took a step towards her, and she cringed away from him, her dark eyes filled with a combination of fear and hatred. He sighed at what he perceived to be her typical teenage dramatics.

"Don't be ridiculous. You know I'm not going to hurt you." He sighed again, and rubbed graying temples with the tips of his fingers. He really was very tired, and had neither the time nor the inclination to play games with a silly girl.

"Look, I'm not even sure it's going to happen. We're still negotiating. And even if it all gets agreed, you wouldn't have to actually marry him until you were nineteen, I made that very clear. In three years, so many things will have changed that you probably won't get married anyway. So for God's sake, be sensible and don't worry about it. Now get ready for the banquet, and be quick."

Without another look at Jael, Randall strode out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

*

For one moment, all Jael wanted to do was scream for as loud and as long as it was possible. But than reality kicked back in, and she walked over to her wardrobe and flung its door open as hard as she could. She stared blindly at the hanging mess of clothes as the tears overflowed down her cheeks. Her throat felt tight and sore and she seriously considered throwing herself onto her bed and sobbing for an hour.

Instead, she kicked the bottom of her wardrobe with all her strength, removing a large piece of the already flaking paint. She whispered hoarse curses under her breath all the while as she flung out some dresses, and roughly pulled on a dark green one, with embroidered silver snakes. After all, she thought viciously, gotta impress the Malfoys.

She flew across the room to the mirror, and raked a brush through her long hair. Jael looked at her own snarling, tear-stained reflection in the mirror and abruptly drew her arm back, preparing to smash the hard wooden brush into the glass, fragmenting her face until it was unrecognizable. Some giddy, half-hysterical part of her thought: just like Fred.

She dropped the brush. Buried her face in her hands. And sighed. She definitely had enough problems already; this was no time to acquire her very own seven years of bad luck. The next seven years would probably be crappy enough as it was.

She felt her blood begin to boil again. To think she had actually felt guilty because she had forgotten about her father's stupid banquet. That prick! How could he do this to her? He had promised...

Jael laughed, soft and bitter. She knew better than to believe the promises of a Death Eater. Hell, she knew better than to believe the promises of her father, Death Eater or not.

Some practical part of her said: well, at least Draco's a rich, young, handsome ass. He could have set you up with an old, ugly ass. But not a poor one, no, definitely not a poor one. Her father had status; what they needed now was money. And that's one thing the Malfoys had in spades, God curse their greedy little hearts.

She wiped the tears from her face and eyes, and began braiding her dark hair, humming quietly. Swollen eyes in a sullen face stared back at her. Than a nasty little smile spread itself across her countenance. Her father was right about one thing: she did have to do what he told her. What else was she going to do? Run away? Join the "light side"?

Hah. Bugger that.

Only a total moron would try to run away from a castle like this, at a time like this, with a father like hers. So, she would marry Draco Malfoy. Fine, she could deal. It wouldn't exactly be a fate worse than death, no matter what romance novels said. But until the day when she walked down that accursed aisle, with her father guiding her (and probably holding her arm in a vise-grip), she would do whatever the hell she wanted to. Hopefully, though, without getting caught. She seemed to have acquired a sort of wild recklessness, but she wasn't an idiot.

Firstly, she'd try to find Fred again, although it would probably take a while in a place this big. Secondly, she was going to take Fred's inadvertent advice, and find another prisoner who she could talk to, or more correctly, one who would talk to her. Maybe she could start looking at the banquet tonight...

She wore a wide smile as she headed for the bedroom door. Jael's last thought, as she crossed into the next room to meet her father, was: If all else fails, I'll have something new to add to my list. Right under #32 - He always says my clothes don't match my complexion, no matter what I'm wearing, I can put #33 - He's forcing me into an arranged, unwanted and most likely miserable and abusive marriage with the Ass of Slytherin.

It would certainly make her list more interesting.