The Locket

She ran for her life.

Her bare feet slammed hard into the sharp stones of her trail as she tried desperately to ignore the sharp protests her muscles sent shooting up her legs. The alleyway was her ticket - the city was a veritable maze of them. Having spent much of her young life wandering their twists and turns, she knew she could lose her pursuers there.

Her attackers were close. She could smell their rank odor that overpowered even that of the approaching city. Demnines, she thought. Trust black magic to make a dementor even worse.

The animals were gaining on her, she could feel the cold grip of her more desperate memories clawing to the forefront of her mind. I can't lose it now, she willed herself. Just a few more paces.

Then she felt it, a sharp stone sank deeply into a particular soft spot on her work-roughened feet. With a scream of anguish, she fell to the ground, and flipped over on her back just in time to see countless deathlike grins of demnine fury tear for her throat...

~~~

"Flick?"

Brown curls tumbled over thin shoulders as the girl shot to a sitting position. The familiar reedy music that characterized the brothel flooded her ears, and she could never remember anything sounding so welcome before. She turned to look at the boy sitting at her side. "You know I hate it when you call me that," she managed to rasp through a parched throat.

"Nightmare again?"

She regarded him for a moment, appreciating the genuine concern in his eyes, his large expressive eyes that could never really hide anything from her. "Gods, yes," she answered. "Same as always. I really need to get a grip."

"Even the demnines?" His voice was carefully neutral, but the corner of his lips betrayed him by curling upwards slightly.

She scowled even though she knew he was attempting to lighten the mood. "Yes, even them. Thanks for reminding me."

He grinned. "Anytime. And must I remind you for the five hundredth time that demnines don't exist?"

"Don't you have a client now? Leave me alone."

Her companion raised a blonde eyebrow. "That's no way to talk to me." He pointed to the door. "I could kick you out."

Felicity clambered to her feet, ignoring him. The filthy curtains were partially pushed aside, revealing the dreary alleyways that twisted and turned into the distance until they spiraled out of view. "Why do you keep these damn things open?" she said, bitterness at the depressing sight coupling with the nightmare to produce something akin to anger. "There's nothing to see." She wrenched the curtains closed and reached for her equally filthy tunic and pulled it over her head in a smooth movement. "What are you looking at?"

"Must you always be such a git in the morning?" he asked as he handed her a small flask.

"I have the talent of being one anytime of the day," she replied, but his intent to calm her worked as her expression softened into a flicker of a smile as she took a swig of the flask. Not a moment later, she was spluttering vigorously as the mouthful was deposited on the floor. For a moment irritation flickered through her mind, as she soiled his carpet, but the engulfing wave of indignation soon swept it away. "What the bloody hell is this?" she gasped.

"Whisky, you fool," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Our water isn't safe anymore unless it's charmed. And we both know we can't do that."

She pursed her lips as she regarded the flask. "I'd do anything to have a wand, to use my magic." Her fingers whitened as they tightened their hold. "It's my birthright. I have the right to use what I was given."

Vincent moved behind her and gently removed her fingers from the flask. "Easy, Flick," he said softly. "And for the love of God, don't say such things out loud. We never know who could be listening. Especially here."

She turned to face him, and forced a reluctant smile. "I'm sorry." She took his hand and enjoyed its warmth. "I should be grateful that I have magic."

"Thanks for reminding me of my failures."

"Wha-?" Too late she remembered that her friend did not even have the gift of magic that she did. "Oh. Shit, Vince," she said as she shook her head impatiently. "I should open my mouth wider," Felicity quipped. "Maybe then I could fit the other foot in as well."

He grinned. "The days you don't put your foot in your mouth are the days I worry about you."

Her gaze was out the window again, and she absentmindedly stroked her hip, cold fingers raising gooseflesh along the small brand imprinted underneath the tunic. "I would do anything to hold an actual wand."

The boy moved by her, his face parallel to hers as their eyes took in the bleak vista offered by the rising sun. "At least the option is available to you. We both know the types of wands I get to play with."

She winced at the statement. "Don't say that, Vince...it could be worse."

"I've been here since I was eight...it doesn't get much worse than this."

She looked at him sadly, watching the slivers of light from the candle illuminate his beautiful features and form a slight halo around his silvery hair, making him look like a wayward angel. "Listen...my master, he puts up with me because I'm not a complete lackwit like the others. Perhaps I could put in a word..."

"He can do nothing for me. Not with the clients that come calling for me alone. I'm too valuable to let go..."

"I could try..."

"A master pull strings for a slave? This isn't a fairy tale, Flick."

"He treats me better than it could have been. I could try fo..."

"I will not have you risk punishment for impertinence. Your master has other methods of punishment, we both have heard the rumors. Just because he was spared you from them so far, God knows why, doesn't mean he may never do so."

She shuddered. "I hate the way you won't let me help you."

"Help me by not saying things like that..."

"I'm not saying! I want you to leave this place!"

"Where would I go? I have no skills, save the ones that keep me here. Flick, wake up and smell the..." he waved a hand vaguely out the window. "The corpses. The stink. It's over. There is nothing left to do. Within the hour, I'll go back to work, and so will you." He gripped her shoulders tightly and his eyes burned with a sad intensity. "Your words do nothing to comfort me. They only give me hope..."

Felicity blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill onto her cheeks. "I never thought I would hear hope not being a comfort."

Vincent shook his head, and moved to the window and parted the curtains further. It was dawn, characterized no more by the brilliant rise of the sun, but by the lighter shade of gray that was cast over the once lively streets of Diagon Alley. Smoke rose here and there from the myriad of temporary camps set up by the influx of black arts traders. Gone were the schoolchildren who made the Alley alive, gone were the shops that breathed business to the Wizarding World, and gone were the whispers and secrets of a magical world that was its soul. All that was left was a war-ravaged skeleton, populated by criminals, dark wizards, and those too scared to do anything about it as the Era of the Dark Lord strengthened its grip on the world.

"Hope," Vincent said, so softly that she had to strain to hear his words. "Makes me want tomorrow. But we both know that its will only bring the same as today, Flick." A scream issued forth from one of the alleyways, as if to give an anguished release to his bottled up despair.

"It only brings the same as today."

~~~

The wind scattered dust and ashes into the air, and Felicity closed her eyes and wrapped her flimsy cloak about herself. Despite the rising sun, everything was gray, the streets, the stores, the ragged tents scattered about. Vincent had once shown her a painting on a small page that a client had dropped. It had been a sunrise, with a bright yellow sun surrounded by rays of blues and purples, reds and oranges.

"This," he had said. "This is what things used to be like,"

She had stared at it for hours, her mind refusing to believe that something so beautiful and vibrant could have once been, and that it could have been simply washed away by the evil and decay that seemed to pervade everything nowadays. But she had known it was true. She remembered, in a memory so old that it seemed a dream of a dream, of sunrises and sunsets of all colors, of lullabies whose words she felt but did not know, and laughter and warmth that she could taste. I would rather rule a patch of garden that had all the colors of the world, she thought, than an entire universe of gray.

So preoccupied was she in her reflections, that she did not notice the shadow that had appeared beside hers until a warmth breath tickled her ear.

"'ello, missy."

She spun around, to be greeted by the leering grin of some stranger. His yellow teeth were enough to make her look away, and his breath, she felt, could melt steel.

"How 'bout a little tumble then?" If possible, his leer intensified. "Not that I'm askin' permission."

Felicity looked him square in the eye, and decided to counteract boldness with boldness, although her fingers trembled as she lifted her tunic. "Still want that tumble?" she said, exposing her hip, and ignoring the rest of her that was revealed in the process. Technically, she told herself, her body wasn't even hers. Technically, she was only displaying a piece of property. The small black brand, denoting her status of a slave would not deter him, but the other one would. The larger intricate insignia marked her as property of Master Nott, the Dark Lord's personal potions Master.

The man's eyes bulged when he comprehended the mark, and he disappeared just as fast as he had appeared.

"Anyone else?" Felicity yelled. No one appeared, and she tugged down the tunic, her face somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. Thought so. At the time of the branding she had cursed and screamed her throat raw during the process, but as time had passed, she knew it had saved her from far worse happenings.

Increasing the speed of her steps and the length of her stride, Felicity continued on. Master Nott was absent from his manor from Sunday evenings until Monday mornings, and since she normally sat idle during that period, she had seized that time as her own. If he knew of her activities, which she guessed he did, he said nothing of it. But she knew if she appeared in the manor a second past seven fifteen on Monday morning, he would not be pleased.

Shit, she cursed. I'm not going to make it. Master Nott had been relatively generous in his dispensation of punishment on her, but she knew his limits would be sorely tested if she were ever late. Lack of punctuality in his own colleagues was something he raged about, and she was not eager to see how her lateness as a slave would be dealt with. Luckily, she did have a possible shortcut.

Taking a quick detour, Felicity turned down a particularly grey alley and looked out for a familiar sign. 'Neville's Plant Shop' flapped miserably in the wind, and paint chips were starting to crumble off. He'll need a repainting soon, she thought as she rapped on the door.

A tall, stocky man with thick, shaggy brown hair that curled slightly about his cheeks opened the door.

"Felicity, child," he said softly, his tired, brown eyes moving up and down her form. "Come in."

Why does he always look so sad when he sees me, she thought as she entered the shop and was promptly engulfed by the warmth and humidity. Because he is always so kind.

Neville Longbottom had been an unexpected, but most welcome discovery for Felicity. He was one of the few wizards she had known who was not one of the wealthy elite or a member of the Dark Knights. She had known that the upper class in wizarding society was not as large as she had assumed, but they were the only world she had been exposed to. She had a scant wisp of knowledge about the others, the large population which lived day to day in sadness and despair, scraping an existence out of something meaningless.

She had been returning from the brothel, when her stomach started clenching in painful and violent spasms that made it difficult for her to walk. Delirious with pain, she stumbled into a side street, and collapsed. She did not remember making a sound or how long she lay there, but she did recollect the strong, callused fingers that wrapped about her chest, underneath her arms, and lifted her as though she were a child.

"You drank contaminated water," a kind voice told her, when she had managed to open her eyes. She regained her senses almost immediately at his words and gasped with the realization that she would be late to Master's Nott's manor.

Her terror had come out in a torrent of words, and looking back, she was positive he had no idea what she was saying. He was looking at her with a strange expression, as though if he touched her, she would crumble into a thousand pieces and blow away like ash on the street. The two things he said and did next, she never forgot.

"Are you really here?" he had said, and she wished that he would blink or look away to stop the intensity of his scrutiny.

She had not replied immediately, giving him time to collect his senses. These days, who knows what is real and what is not. I probably scared him more than he scared me. In any case, she had reasoned, he saved my life.

She repeated, a little slower, her situation, and almost passed out when she caught sight of the clock. He had calmed her, told her that he would take care of everything. And then he did the second thing she would never forget.

He had gathered a few bottles from his back shelves, and flooed with her to Master Nott's Manor. Master Nott had a strange expression when he caught sight of the pair of them, or perhaps it was not simply one expression, but a flicker of many. In any case, she did remember the look that passed between them, a look of familiarity mingled with something else.

I used her to cart some packages, Neville apologized. I gave her some water. It must have been contaminated. He gave Master Nott the bottles, which must have contained something special, for his expression relaxed somewhat, and when Master Longbottom left, he did not punish her.

From that point on, she made sure to visit him, not only for use of his floo, but for his company. She ignored the way he watched her when he thought she was not looking, and otherwise, she loved him as fondly as a slave could a citizen.

Now, she beamed as he handed her a small piece of bread with a generous slice of cheese. "And how is your friend at the...how is he?" he asked in his soft voice. Felicity wondered why he had not married. Such sweetness and tenderness in a partner seemed like it would be a great comfort in dreary times.

"Vincent?" she replied. "He is well, thank you. Well as one could be, these days, I suppose." She took a bite of the bread and savored the sharpness of the cheese before speaking again. "Master Longbottom," she said. "I was wondering...well, I was wondering if I could use your floo. I only have ten more minutes to get to the Manor, and I am awfully late if I must walk."

"Never one to mince words, are you my girl," he said, patting her head in a fatherly way. "What will I tell Master Nott if he finds out this time?"

"Your sign needs repainting," she said, remembering the paint chips flaking down to the ground. "I suppose you would lend me your floo for a free painting job."

"We both know you don't have time for that." He sighed and busied himself in some strange plant with small glowing orbs for flowers. "And I won't have you losing sleep on my account. No one gives much attention nowadays to how things look. It doesn't matter. Go ahead and use it."

"I have Sunday nights," she corrected. "Master Nott does not wish me about the Manor then. I can repaint it then. Plus, he'll find it strange if he thinks I just asked you for use of your Floo. I don't want you to get in any trouble."

Neville chuckled and shook his head. "I don't care anymore," he said softly, thinking she could not hear. "Very well then," he said to her. "I expect you next Sunday night. I have some materials here. I suppose that will suffice."

Felicity grinned and squeezed his forearm before she could control herself. It was inappropriate for a slave to touch a citizen in such a familiar way. "Thank you so much, Master Longbottom!" she said, embarrassment rendering her voice a touch too loud as she quickly removed her hand.

He watched her disappear into a flash of green fire, and turned his head back to his work.

~~~

She tumbled out of the servant quarter fireplace, coughing up copious amounts of ash. Gray, gray, and more gray, she thought, brushing the dust off her clothes, and at the same time wondering why she bothered.

"Flick!" hissed one of the other servant girls, scurrying toward her, trying to warn her without being caught. Chatter amongst slaves was not looked upon favorably. "Master Nott has been looking all over for you," she whispered. Her eyes expressed her worry more eloquently than the soft tone of her words.

Felicity quickly nodded in gratitude, although she was unable to stem the flicker of irritation always caused by use of her pet name.

Fuck, she swore, glancing at the clock overhead. But I'm not late.

Nevertheless, she was expected at her master's beck and call, and she knew she had no excuse as she hurried to the atrium, trailing a wispy cloud of ash behind her.

A small weight dropped in her belly when she saw the tall form of her Master waiting for her, the set of his body hinting at his displeasure.

"Slave," he said quietly when she arrived, his lips taut, and his countenance dark.

"Master Nott," she replied, eyes downcast, posture submissive, voice soft, deferential. "I beg forgiveness at my tardiness when needed. It shall not happen again."

He merely looked irritated. "I know you're sorry," he said without raising his voice. "You would be a fool not to be." He waited for a moment, taking in her appearance. "What I am determining now is what punishment should befall you. My time is precious."

So is mine, she thought defiantly, but remained silent, and immediately regretted thinking so insolently. While her body was reasonably easy to control, Felicity struggled with her mind. It refused to submit where her body would bow down, refused to stay silent when the rest of her was still. She knew if anything, it would be her undoing, especially since even the private recesses of the mind were no longer a slave's refuge.

Whether Master Nott read her thoughts as she knew he would do on a whim, or merely her expression she did not know, but he let out a soft hiss of anger. Dipping a long-fingered hand into his robes, he pulled out a small box, and immediately Felicity struggled to keep her knees from buckling.

Master Nott was considered by others in his social class to be mildly eccentric in his handling of slaves. While more than adept at spell work, he found curses and hexes to be much too overt. For the very same reason, he also did not favor whips and rods. Of course, he utilized the occasional punishment of mild physical violence, but always with his own hands, never with instruments, never with a wand.

Too barbaric, she had heard him say once to a visitor, a Master Zabini. It's too common, too easy. Slaves can grow accustomed to it, and taken to an excess, it can ruin productivity. His matter-of-fact manner of discussing what essentially was the subjugation and torture of human beings due to his ideals made her nauseous. On the other hand, he seemed to spare her, for reasons she could not fathom.

She was the weed in the garden that was his perfectly ordered household, the cog that did not quite fit in with the rest of the machinery. She was too loud, too outspoken, even if it was only in her mind, too...unbroken. Perhaps that fact intrigued him, when so little in the world did anymore.

Theodore Nott graduated from Hogwarts, and unexpectedly went on to train as a Healer at the prestigious Academy of Medical Arts in Taiwan. He had finished the three year program within a single year, and then pulled an unusual move my going to study muggle medicine in a muggle university. Exactly what he did, or from whom he learned was a mystery. It was rumored that even the other Dark Knights knew nothing of what he had learned. Nott shared his secrets with the Dark lord only. All that was known, was that at the age of twenty-one, he emerged as a master of potions and poisons, and played an integral role in the Great War.

What his slaves especially knew was the box that he carried with him at all times. Instead of the whips and corkscrews, the curses and the hexes, he had bottled substances that could imprison a slave in his own mind, and cause him pain and suffering there.

"Inside a man," Nott had whispered to her once, "in his mind, is the greatest source of untapped fear and cruelty. The Dark Lord showed me this, and I had certainly learned it before during my studies." He had looked at her thoughtfully, and she could swear she felt him inside her mind, probing softly, carefully in that dark room.

"Your mind is capable of producing fears much greater that I could ever hope to emulate. All I need do is lock you inside there and unleash them."

She had looked at him then, and for the first time she saw directly into his face, directly into his dark eyes. She knew she had seen something there, because her stomach clenched and her heartbeat jumped, but afterwards she could never bring herself to remember what it was.

Nott rattled the box gently, making Felicity jerk to attention. To her surprise, his expression seemed almost...amused.

"You must share your secret recipes with me, Nott," another man's voice rang out from behind her. "Even my slaves don't respond this violently when I threaten to have them disciplined."

Startled, Felicity turned and was greeted by the sight of a wizard she had never seen before. Keeping her eyes downcast, she studied him through her lashes, an acquired skill that had proved useful in the past. He was tall and had a pale, chiseled face, surrounded by fine, white-blonde hair worn long over his shoulders. He was the epitome of the wizarding elite - handsome, rich, and by his expression, very well aware of the first two, and willing to remind everyone else of that.

She wanted to say something, but didn't know what, so ended up open and shutting her mouth like a fish.

Nott ignored her and looked to his colleague who now stood by his side. "Are you sure of this?" he said, running a hand through his long, dark locks.

"More than ever," the other wizard said, looking at her in a way that was making her squirm. "Is she always so filthy?" he shook his head, as if he knew he had asked a stupid question. "What am I saying? She's a slave." He sighed as if she were a speck of dirt that no wiping could remove. "Perhaps not all physically, but ..." He turned towards Nott. "She is intelligent?"

"Of all my slaves, yes."

"The only requirement my daughter has, though by Merlin I know not why."

What in the name of all things are they talking about? Felicity thought, sneaking another glance at the attractive blonde wizard.

"I will take her for the trip," the he was saying. "She will be returned unharmed. I will instruct my daughter as such."

Nott looked at her, catching her regard of his colleague. His eyes narrowed somewhat, but he nodded. "Unharmed, do not forget."

"Why Nott," the blonde said, clasping a hand to his chest, mocking his friend. "Are you looking out for your little slave-girl?" In a leering undertone he added. "Does she please you so much?"

"Her work here is none of your concern," Nott replied calmly, with a slight steel undertone.

Malfoy grinned and removed what looked like a small dog collar from his robes, and clasped them about her neck. "Here mudblood," he said, wiping his gloved hands on his robes fastidiously after contact with her neck. "I shall need her by noon," he said to Nott. "Until then." He disappeared around the hall, and a few moments later, the sound of a horse was heard galloping away.

Nott did not look to his friend's departure, but continued to watch her. He was temperamental to the extreme, so she maintained her submissive posturing, until she heard him sigh and draw his wand.

"There," he said as the collar snapped off, and flew to a pocket of his robes. Felicity watched it go, envy mixed with bitterness.

"That ridiculous thing does not need to be worn until you leave." Nott said.

"But where am I going?" she said. Shit, shit, she cursed. "Er...Master, if it is possible for your slave to know, of course." She bit the inside of her lip until she felt the salty, metallic taste of blood.

Again, Nott looked at her for a long time before finally speaking. "Master Malfoy is about to visit the Temple of Kali in India. His daughter will accompany him. You are to attend to the girl as her personal slave."

Felicity wrinkled her nose but deigned to speak. If the girl is anything like her father, I doubt this is going to be a pleasant experience.

Nott read her silence accurately. "I have never met the girl," he said. "But I have ensured that you are to remain unharmed." He drew his face close to hers. "Only I have the power to hurt you. And that will remain unchanged."

"Master is most merciful," she whispered, and dared to look back into his eyes.

They stood like that for some time, but their gazes were averted by the arrival of Wheezus, the house-elf in charge of the grounds.

"Master Nott," the elf squeaked. "Master Malfoy's horse has left droppings all about the pathway. Wheezus wants Master's permission to use magic to remove them."

"That foolish man," Nott said, shaking his head. "Why he rides a bloody horse when a simple Floo works is beyond me."

"The image," Felicity replied, speaking aloud without really thinking. "The Black Knights of the Dark Lord. What better way to show it as much as possible by riding a horse?"

Nott raised an eyebrow, but nodded as he grabbed the collar of her tunic. "The attic needs a scrubbing," he shoved her roughly in the direction of the stairs. "Slaves who speak out of turn do a rather good job cleaning them I find."

~~~

The Mandrakes had been repotted and placed carefully along the back shelf. Neville wiped sweat from his brow as the bell on the front of his door rang softly. He made it to the front of the store to see a familiar face step inside.

"Ginny," he exclaimed in pleasant surprise. "I see you are well. It has been quite some time."

The thin, red-headed witch smiled, but it did little to erase the defeat in her eyes and the hollows that were her cheeks. "Neville," she replied, in a voice that was still as lovely as the day she was at Hogwarts. "This shop is like a rose among the thorns that is the rest of Diagon Alley. It's the only thing that really reminds me of the old days."

He laughed bitterly. "There's still the old ice-cream parlor. They've left that building alone. As long as you prefer whores over ice cream."

"Actually, I was looking for nightshade."

"Ron?" He hadn't seen his classmate in years, but was aware of the sad incident that had befallen him.

"I keep trying to help his mind realize what it already knows. There are no limbs to hurt. But the pain he seems to feel in his 'phantom' limbs makes things difficult. For both of us..."

"...Ginny..."

"I can't help but think, Neville, that all I must do is add just a little bit too much nightshade to the tincture. I don't believe Ron wants to live like this. I don't have the strength anymore to have to treat my older brother like a child...like a baby..."

"...Ginny..." he repeated, and embraced her tightly. His smell of herbs and spices comforted her and yet raised unstopping tears as memories of Diagon Alley, and Hogwarts, and home came rushing to the front of her mind.

"I don't understand how someone with no arms and no legs could still want to live. Tell me, Neville."

Marveling at the unexpected turn his day had taken, Neville held her tightly, stroking her hair and wishing things were different, that the circumstances were different. Oh Ginny Weasley. If I had known twenty years ago that I could hold you in my arms, I would have given anything. But no one could have guessed the sheer horror that those twenty years actually brought upon wizarding and muggle worlds alike. He wondered what words he had that could possibly give her a measure of comfort. She doesn't need comfort right now. She needs the truth. The truth and a strong pair of arms to hold her as it hurts.

"Because he knows..." he said softly. "Because he knows...without him, you too would have nothing left."

Ginny wiped her eyes and looked at him, surprised and at the same time strangely appeased by his answer. "You know," she whispered after a moment. "He's right."

~~~