Chapter Four
“I am never drinking coffee again,” was my first waking thought. Bastard. That bastard had drugged me. I rolled over onto my side, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to subside. I ran my hands over my body. I was still fully clothed. That was a good thing. I was sprawled out on my bed, as if someone had dumped me there. My bedroom was a mess. The closet doors were open, and all the storage boxes had been flung about. The vanity next to my bed had been searched, the drawers pulled out and piles of my bright, silky underwear were dumped on the floor. Ugh. That man had touched my panties! I sat up and caught a glimpse of my face in the vanity mirror. It was pale, and my eyes were wide and confused.
Something fell in the living room, and I heard Mr. Malfoy cursing loudly. I panicked. My thoughts raced wildly. Damn. My phone had been disconnected since I couldn’t pay the bill. The bathroom window wasn’t large enough for me to crawl out of. Was there anything I could use as a weapon?
Next to my closet door, Mr. Malfoy’s black and silver staff was propped up against the wall.
I had seen sticks similar to this in the French market with sharp sword blades hidden inside them. I tugged on the silver snake’s head, but to my puzzlement, I only pulled out a black stick, not much longer than a chop stick. It was carved with tiny intricate designs. “What the-“
A hand grabbed my wrist hard from behind me. I jumped. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Mr. Malfoy snarled.
He grabbed the pieces of the staff away from me. He looked at me and his stick. “You should not have been able to touch that.” He looked at my hands. “The viper’s head should have bitten you. Its venom is lethal, and there is no antidote.”
This man was insane. “Draco touched it,” I told him, rubbing my wrist, “at the café.”
“My wand is protected by a blood charm, to prevent enemies from taking it and using it against me. Only someone with Malfoy blood could touch it and survive.” He stared at me for a moment, before something like horror or recognition dawned on his face. “How old are you?”
“I’m nineteen. Next week.”
“Older than I thought.” He stalked toward me. I retreated, but he pushed me down into the chair facing the vanity mirror. Standing behind me, he wrapped his arm across the base of my throat to keep me seated. His breath was hot against my neck. He smelled like expensive cologne, soap and coffee. His hair had shaken loose from the hair-tie and it drifted across my neck like pale silk. I started to panic, but he gripped my jaw with his other hand. He stared at my face in the mirror.
“Let me go!” I tried to sound demanding, but it came out more like a breathy squeak. “You’re hurting me.”
“You have the most gorgeous eyes,” he finally drawled against my cheek. “All witches should have green eyes. They remind me of someone. How odd that I didn’t see it before. Perhaps I was distracted-“ he gingerly pulled up my long braid and sneered at it. “By your hair.”
“This isn’t my natural hair color,” I whispered, still gazing into the mirror. “It’s a hair rinse.” Honestly, everyone was a hair critic.
He tapped my head with his stick, and muttered something. I gasped. My hair was back to its original color. It wasn’t silver-blonde, but rather a dark golden color with buttery highlights.
“Well,” he muttered, as if to himself. “This does explain a lot.”
He waved the black stick toward me, and then toward the mirror. “Revelo Imago Paternus,” he said.
The surface of the mirror rippled with silver light. Our images in the glass faded away, and instead I saw a man. He reminded me a little of Mr. Malfoy, but he had the same dark golden hair, high cheekbones and green eyes that I did. He was quite handsome, but did not look happy. There wasn’t a hint of cruelty in his face; rather, he looked trapped and desperate.
I tried to turn my head toward Mr. Malfoy, not quite believing what was happening. “How did you do that?”
“Mirror magic. I’ve always been fascinated with it. It’s quite useful.”
“Is that my father?”
“Yes, my dear,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Your mother Miranda was my half- brother’s mistress.”
I swallowed. “Where is he now?”
“My brother, Gaius Malfoy, was a Death Eater, a servant of the Dark Lord. Although the Dark Lord did not make your mother a Death Eater, he forced her into serving him. She was a Mirror-Mage, a witch who was quite skilled at creating enchanted mirrors. Gaius was responsible for her. I’m afraid that when Gaius allowed Miranda to escape, he paid for it with his life. None of us realized she was pregnant when she disappeared, of course, and if Gaius knew he told no one. It was a few years before Draco and that Potter boy were born, before Potter vanquished the Dark Lord.” Emotions flashed in his eyes, regret, thoughtfulness, and finally, his eyes narrowed as if he was rapidly calculating something in his mind. He looked at me as if I was something expensive he was considering to purchase.
“We’re leaving,” he announced.
“Leaving? Where? I can’t just go.”
“You can’t possibly want to stay here?” He stood and looked around my room with disgust. “How revolting that a pureblood witch, with pure Malfoy blood, should be living like a Muggle. Like a street urchin.”
That was going too far. “Hey, I have a job.”
“Serving like a house elf!” Now he looked like he was really going to be sick. “Yes, Draco told me all about it.” He turned toward me, and for a strange instant his silver eyes seemed to see inside of me, to my most secret thoughts. “Miss Silverthorn, What do you have to stay here for?”
My heart pounded. I had a strange, detached feeling, like everything was surreal or I was in a dream. I was filled with conflicting emotions. I felt a plunge of disappointment that I would never meet my father. I hated my life here, hated being poor and working all the time to pay the utilities, car insurance, and eat. I hated feeling alone after my mother’s death, of not knowing where I belonged anymore. I was afraid of this man, but I was also intensely curious. My mind swirled with questions. Who was this Dark Lord? What Mr. Malfoy had done with his wand was amazing. I touched my braid, looking at the color again. A chant went through my mind. “Was that magic? That can’t be magic. Magic doesn’t exist. Magic...”
I realized that Draco was standing in the doorway to my room, staring at me. “Father, is Miriel my cousin?”
“What?” Mr. Malfoy looked surprised, as though he had just realized something significant. “Yes, a half-cousin, I suppose.” He shot his son a sharp glance. “We will discuss this privately at a later time, Draco.”
Draco gave me an evaluating look, and a smile slid across his face. It was quite pleased and a little smug at the same time, as though he knew something very important that I did not. That kind of smile made me feel rather uncomfortable.
“Well?” Mr. Malfoy arched his eyebrows at his son.
“I didn’t find any other mirrors, Father.”
Mr. Malfoy held up the small silver hand mirrors he had obviously found in my closet. “Are these all the mirrors you possess, Miss Silverthorn?”
“Yes.”
His lips tightened with impatience. “But these are worthless. These are just Muggle mirrors.”
“What else would they be?”
“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Magical mirrors. Mirrors of power, like the one found at the French market. Mirrors that would actually be useful.” He sighed with disappointment. “Your mother’s skill at creating magical mirrors was legendary. I expected to find something more.”
“Sorry,” I muttered sarcastically. “I still want them.” I was beginning to realize what the word “Muggle” actually meant. Coming from Mr. Malfoy, it sounded like a curse word. No wonder Draco had laughed at me when I thought the word meant “American.”
Mr. Malfoy pushed the mirrors at me. “Grab whatever else you might possibly want to take with you.” The look on his face implied that there wasn’t anything in my apartment worth taking. “I don’t have time to dawdle.”
I glanced around the room. I didn’t have a lot of belongings, but I was quite attached to my books. I grabbed a small suitcase and stuffed a few clothes into it, some toiletries and a few books as well.
“What about my mother’s chest?” I asked Mr. Malfoy. “I can’t just leave that behind!” It was a beautiful cedar chest, full of my mother’s belongings, photo albums, and a set of my favorite books she had bought me.
Mr. Malfoy pointed his wand at it and said, “Reducio.” The chest shrunk to the size of Barbie furniture. He placed it inside the bag.
I swayed and sat down on the bed. I felt dizzy, and a wave of weariness swept over me. I didn’t know if it was the shock of it all, or that drug Mr. Malfoy had put into my coffee, but I really needed to lie down. Mr. Malfoy’s voice drifted toward me as if from a distance.
“Draco, I can’t Apparate with both of you. Intercontinental Apparating is quite draining as it is.”
“I can do it myself, Father. I-“
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Malfoy snapped. “You’d end up splinching yourself. Do you want your mother and me to find your body parts splashing about in the Atlantic Ocean?”
Draco grimaced. “No, Sir.”
“Take this.” Mr. Malfoy shoved my suitcase at him. “I will return for you after I’m finished with her. Do you understand me? Do not leave this flat. Do not wander off and get lost again.”
“Yes, Father.”
“What are we doing?” I asked as Mr. Malfoy pulled me to my feet.
“We’re going to my family home in Wiltshire. We can’t Apparate directly on the grounds because of the spells protecting it, but we can arrive nearby and then Floo there.”
“What...”
The next thing I knew, Mr. Malfoy was holding me tightly against him. He held his viper’s head wand in his hand, and with one word, the world began to spin around and faded to black.