Dark Heiress

Chapter 3- ... And then some

Melantha Apparated into the Entrance Hall drenched, cold and humiliated. She couldn't believe what had happened; she had allowed herself to fall into a situation where she could be utterly taken advantage of.

She made her way to her room ignoring the house-elf that tried to attend to her. As she entered her room, she sunk to the floor in a state of disbelief. She was so caught up in trying to comprehend the afternoon's events, Melantha failed to hear her mother approaching.

"You're back; you could have at least announced your arrival. So how did it go? Did you make a good impress--" Her mother stopped speaking abruptly as she took in her disheveled appearance.

"You're an absolute mess! Please tell me Lucius did not see you in such a state! What- what is that on your neck? And for Merlin's sake, why are you so scantily clad?" The tell tale signs of bruising from a love bite were visible at the base of her neck and her bra strap was protruding from the discarded pile of clothing on the floor.

Melantha lifted a sullen gaze towards her mother. "Lucius, that filthy pig, had his repulsive hands all over me and he-he forced himself..." Melantha broke off, unable to continue.

"No, it's not true, Lucius is beyond reproach! He would never commit such a disgraceful act- You! This is entirely your fault! You've gone and shamed yourself and this family too! No self-respecting wizard could ever have interest in used goods! You've ensured that all our ties to a noble family like the Malfoys have been severed. Just wait until your father gets home. I cannot believe you would be so foolish, behaving like a common slag, you couldn't manage to keep your legs closed for one afternoon!"

Her irate mother stormed off after her little diatribe, leaving an incredulous Melantha glaring at the doorway that had just been vacated.

That woman! That bloody woman was supposed to be her mother, and all she was concerned about was how she had apparently sullied their name. She had long gotten over hoping that Peony would be able to portray some semblance of maternal instinct, but this, this was unbelievable. She didn't want to even imagine how her father was going to react.

She was nothing but a pawn to these people. Melantha had had enough. Anything would be better than this; no one deserved to live this way and she was ending it once and for all.

Resolved, Melantha hurriedly made her way to her shower trying to ignore the protests of agony from her body. She allowed the warm water to run over her body trying to wash away the lingering feel Lucius had imprinted on her. She watched a stream of red flow down her legs and down the drain until the water ran clear, before furiously beginning to scrub at her skin. When she was through, her normally pale skin was glowing red, with her fingertips and inner thighs scrubbed raw.

Within minutes, she was somberly dressed and had pulled on a traveling cloak. She picked up her necklace from the floor and stashed it in her cloak. Taking a final glance around her room, her gaze fell to the desk before the window. It was scattered with numerous drawings she had done. It was one of her favourite pastimes, sitting outside and trying to capture a bit of the scenery in a hastily drawn sketch or sometimes a piece painted to perfection.

She shrunk a few of her favourite pieces of art and slipped them inside her cloak. It was all she had decided to take with her; she would make it on her own as far as possible.

* * * * * * * * * *

Melantha knew that there was no turning back. From this moment on, she was on her own and the only one she could depend on was herself. She had Apparated into the middle of Diagon Alley with a hastily formulated plan.

With her necklace now being her only item of value, apart from her old wand, which she would not part with under any circumstances as it was practically her lifeline, she determinedly made her way towards Gringotts.

With a haughty air, the likes of which would have made even her mother proud, she strode up the large marble steps into Gringotts, the only Wizarding bank in Diagon Alley. Having just stepped up to the front desk, she was promptly attended to by one of the bank's goblins.

"How may I be of assistance?" The goblin bared his sharp pointy teeth in what Melantha could only assume was meant to be a smile.

"I have reason to possibly be in need of a Gringotts account," she said in her most level, self-assured sounding tone. "You see, I have a family heirloom that may be better off in one of your vaults, but I am a little wary of its value."

"Perhaps if I were to see the piece I could better advise you," he replied.

Melantha quickly withdrew the necklace from her cloak, which she then handed to the goblin.

Turning it over in his hands, the goblin closely scrutinized the necklace before saying, "The work on this could only be elven. It has even been wrought from elf-mined steel" --pointing to the diamond, which she now noticed was perfectly clear, he continued-- "and this, is a Concealment Crystal. This necklace is used to suppress the magical power of its wearer and drain the excess magic into the crystal where it is stored. The witch or wizard who places this necklace on their victim, enchants it so that the wearer cannot remove it. The magic in the crystal can be later harvested and used to increase another's power."

Melantha was unable to disguise the look of utter shock and revulsion on her face and was momentarily left speechless.

Unperturbed by her reaction, the goblin continued, "As for the value, while not unheard of, enslavement artifacts are not all that popular. Its worth is around nine hundred Galleons, if you're lucky, and then only if you manage to find someone interested in such a lucrative sale," he ended with a condescending smirk.

Feeling her ire rise, she snatched the necklace out of his hands.

"Some family heirloom," said the goblin in amusement.

Melantha sent a withering glare at the snickering goblin and stormed out. She had only one option, and that lay in Knockturn Alley.

* * * * * * * * * *

"What! That's sheer robbery!" Melantha yelled at the old proprietor in indignation.

Knowing that what she owned was in all likelihood a dark artifact, she had gone to the only place she that she knew where such goods were exchanged: Borgin and Burkes.

She hadn't really expected to receive a fair offer from either of the niggardly old proprietors, but this was simply ludicrous!

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Burke," she began forcefully, "but I know for a fact that this piece is worth at least nine hundred Galleons!"

"Perhaps, but then given the rather precarious nature of this particular piece, I doubt you'd find many who would be as amenable as I to so graciously take it off your hands," came the smug reply.

After so many years as one of the proprietors to the infamous antique shop, it was second nature to spot the desperate ones, and therefore quite easy to hold them in the palm of his hand.

"Graciously! Why you spiteful old--"

The old proprietor had seen the fury growing steadily in her dark eyes. He began to grow extremely uncomfortable and the feel of magic was tangible in the air around them. Deciding that it was in his best interests to draw their meeting to a close, he hastily interrupted her, "One hundred Galleons, Miss. It is my final offer. You are of course, free to take your business elsewhere if you feel my terms are not to your liking."

Seething, she replied through clenched teeth, "Fine, it will do."

They completed their transaction with the old proprietor smugly offering, "Please do come again, I am always willing to do such satisfactory business."

Melantha glared at the shopkeeper in disdain. "Yes, your kindness astounds me," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

She stashed the small bag of coins into her cloak, and left the old misers shop highly disgruntled. She could feel her magic bristling beneath her skin waiting to lash out. The door to the shop banged shut seemingly of its own accord, rattling on its hinges.

She had only ventured a few steps, trying to decide her next plan of action when she felt her body go rigid. Oh no. This is not happening. She had felt this way before, perhaps too often. It was one of his favourite ways of meting out her punishments.

She felt herself being levitated behind a large figure that was leading them into the depths of a dark alley that was devoid of any other beings. She was helpless with no apparent chance of being saved. Her earlier anger and bravado had deserted her, and she was left feeling small and scared as she always did when she was rendered helpless like this.

She was suddenly thrown painfully against the wall. Her rigid body rolled over and were it not for the fact that her face, which like the rest of her was frozen, she may have been able to express the turmoil she felt.

The large figure that was now looming over her, gazed at her with obvious disgust, his features contorted in rage. "Finally, you're in the gutter where you belong. I can't believe I actually put up with you for so long. You've been nothing but a worthless burden. You've ruined all my plans."

A well-aimed kick to her middle and Melantha was in agony as she felt her one of her ribs break. Her eyes began to water, the only evidence that she had felt anything.

Grabbing her by the hair, he pulled her up as he growled menacingly in her ear, "You're a filthy little bitch who has brought nothing but disgrace to my name." Releasing her, he let her fall to the rubbish strewn ground.

A moment later she heard the word that she had been dreading, "Crucio!" Her body was on fire. It felt as though a million hot knives were instantaneously piercing her body, while lava flowed through her veins. She had been in silent agony for a full minute before she was released from her petrified state. She let out a scream that seemed to bounce off the alley walls in an echo.

Half a block away, a tall, thin figure, having finally managed to venture on his own, heard the unmistakable sound of a scream. While frequent patrons of the notorious Knockturn Alley knew better than to pay heed to affairs not their own, this young man did not, or rather allowed his morbid curiosity to get the better of him. Following the sound of the echo, he eventually found himself at the entrance of a filthy, dead-ended alley.

Keeping to the shadows, he hunched low behind a pile of garbage when he saw a broad figure aiming his wand at a mound on the floor. His precarious position did not afford him both a clear view and cover, so he was unable to see who or what it was on the receiving end of the figure's wand.

He was glad that he had worn his usual black robes, which, in combination with his long black hair that hung loosely in his face, he was able to blend into the shadows with ease.

The large figure began to speak, "Good, wasn't it? I hope you enjoyed it; that was just a warm-up compared to what I have in store." This time, he placed a hard kick to her stomach. Melantha began to cough and sputter. She was clutching her ribs and stomach, and had curled into a fetal position.

Vainly trying to quell the assault, Melantha began to plead, "I'm sorry, please just let me go. I'll stay away, Father--" She never managed to complete her sentence as she was grabbed by the throat and forcefully thrust against the wall. She could feel a warm trickle running down her neck as her head made contact with the wall.

Tightening his grip around her neck, her attacker snarled, "Don't. Call. Me. Father. You are no daughter of mine. You're a despicable little whore that isn't fit to lick the scum from my boots!"

What! Her own father is tormenting her! The skulking figure began to grow irate. He knew only too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of such confrontations.

Her hair, which had fallen over her face, obscured it from view. She began to gasp for air and was roughly flung to the floor in response.

She couldn't take it any more; at this rate, she would be dead within minutes. She began to reach for her wand but was knocked back with a Disarming spell. Her movement had not gone unnoticed, with the result that she was now unarmed and was completely at the non-existent mercy of her father. He picked up the offending wand and obliterated it with a flick of his own.

"You dare try to pull your wand on me? You insolent wretch!" Her father brought the heel of his foot down hard on one of her hands, efficiently breaking a few of her slender-boned fingers.

"Aagh! You fucking bastard!" she retaliated.

If death was her imminent journey, then she was paying for her ticket kicking and screaming, and pissing off her father as much as possible.

She continued her verbal assault, "You're nothing but a weak son of a bitch! I hate you, you disgusting prick!"

Her tirade was abruptly halted by another turn of the Cruciatus Curse. She writhed on the floor and screamed in agony, striking the young observer to the core. He had been amazed to hear the girl stand up to her father, her tormentor; especially after all she had endured. He was now horrified to hear her scream and see her in such obvious anguish.

"That'll teach you to keep your filthy mouth shut. You never did know when to hold your fucking tongue."

"Fuck...you!" she spat.

"I'm through playing games with you. This ends now. You can rot in the filth where you've always belonged. I wipe my hands of you Melantha, I revoke my noble name. Henceforth, let it be known that you are no kin of mine." He ended with a parting kick to her hip that caused her to whimper.

Melantha. The girl's name is Melantha. The young stranger could stand it no longer. If he didn't do something right now, he would witness her die. He would feel somewhat responsible, ridiculous though that may be.

Melantha was lying facedown, resigned to her inevitable death. At least in this position she wouldn't have his face as the last thing she saw before kicking it. Granted, the ground wasn't very appealing, but it was a damn sight better than having to look at his miserable mug.

She was too weak to offer resistance, and she was struggling to remain conscious, but perhaps with death imminent it didn't really matter anyway... maybe she would just drift off and simply never wake.

She heard him begin what would soon be her end, "Avada Ke--" when a movement at the entrance of the alley halted her father, interrupting his completion of the curse.

Trusting that she would most likely die with or without his completing the curse, he quickly Disapparated. It would do no good to be found in such a compromising situation. Azkaban was not worth the pleasure of personally watching her die.

He had heard the loud crack and seen the man disappear, but had waited a further five minutes before approaching the injured girl. She wasn't moving and her hair was matted with blood. He carefully prodded her arm eliciting a low groan in response. Good, she's still alive.

He turned her slightly to her side. It was difficult to see her face clearly as her matted hair was stuck to her face. The little of her face that was exposed, was either smeared with dirt or blood, or distorted due to its bruised and swollen state. He was tempted to use his wand but it wouldn't do to alert the Ministry to his presence at a crime scene. His Slytherin instincts reminded him of self-preservation above all else. An underage wizard, unaccompanied in a notorious part of town, would be hard to explain.

Resolved, he hastily reached into his robes to pull out two vials of potion. He had enough experience to ensure that he always carried the necessary healing potions on him.

Melantha was in pain. So much pain, she couldn't tell where it began and where it ended, if it did at all. The cold dampness from the ground only seemed to exacerbate her situation as it seeped in. She was unaware of the figure crouching over her still form until she heard a low soothing voice in her ear, which seemed to be a great distance away, say, "Drink these, the first will help with the bleeding, the other is a strong healing draught, it'll- it'll help with everything else."

Melantha whimpered in response. Someone was there; he was trying to help, but whom? Knockturn Alley patrons were not known to bat an eyelid where others were concerned.

She tried to roll over, to open her eyes, but the pain, the pain was unbearable and she was too weak to do anything but moan pitifully, before the darkness that was threatening finally claimed her.

She had stopped moving and he was unable get any other responses from her. He could feel the swells of panic twisting in his gut: she was going to die after all, but he knew he had to try.

Without wasting another second, he deftly uncorked the first vial and poured a meager trickle down her throat before doing the same with the other potion. It would be senseless to empty both vials down her throat only to have her choke to death.

He set the remainder of the potion next to her as he gazed tentatively at her. It's not working! He had waited too long- but then, after a minute, she seemed to be breathing somewhat easier.

Now that he was certain the potion was taking effect he could take his leave with a clear conscience, especially before he was somehow implicated. Rising from his crouched position, he had just turned when an annoyed voice rang out, "There you are! Do you realize how long I have been searching for you? I had to use two Locator Spells, only to find you here of all places."

To his chagrin, the voice was clearly not finished in their chastising, "What were you thinking? You know how your father feels about us spending too much time here."

Gazing at the face that, in its pallor, was not dissimilar to his own, he replied trying to sound nonchalant, "Well, I suppose if you're in such a rush to return to that, then by all means, let's go. Wouldn't dare dream of displeasing him. Merlin forbid we were to shatter his esteemed view of us!" he stated with well-practiced sarcasm rolling of his tongue.

A pair of black eyes bore into a younger identical pair in annoyance. "Do not speak about your father that way! You know he cannot help the way he is; it is really not his fault. You should not provoke him so."

"Funny, I never knew deranged Muggle was a diagnosable condition," he retorted under his breath. However it was not quietly enough as his mother had grabbed his arm harder than necessary as she pulled him to Apparate home. He afforded a fleeting perfunctory glance at the girl in the alley, before his surroundings disappeared.

With another loud 'crack', the alley was deserted, save a single tortured soul who was slowly fighting to regain consciousness and awake to a new beginning.