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Chapter One: The Girl Unknown

"When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

Narcissa Malfoy gazed across the parlor of their glorious home at her husband, silent words of comfort hung in the air between them. Lucius, an air of shame surrounding him, turned his eyes back to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance, but did not believe he could feel their warmth.

They, and the others in the room, felt as though they walked on glass, waiting for the reason they were called for to be revealed. Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the edge of her seat, eyes glancing between the parlor doors and the man who stood at the windows. He was the only person in the room that she did not recognize, and therefore he was automatically a threat.

In the heavy silence that permeated the room, Narcissa crossed to her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders and resting her pale cheek against his arm. Lucius put a hand over hers, but said nothing. The affection in the gesture, however, was clear. Narcissa murmured something too low for the others in the room to hear and Lucius nodded slightly.

Bella saw and narrowed her eyes. "What are you mumbling about?" she demanded.

"Nothing important to you, Bella dear," Lucius replied with a spark of his old pride.

"Don't you speak to me like--"

"Bellatrix," Narcissa's voice was like a whip. "Just--just stop. Please."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap back--but before the barb escaped her lips, she felt the familiar burn upon her arm. By the way he flinched, Lucius felt it as well. Bellatrix rose swiftly to her feet and hurried towards the parlor doors. Taking his wife's arm, Lucius followed her out into the entrance hall. They, in turn, were followed the fourth man, apparently unnoticed.

Bella started towards the doors to open them, but as she took that first step, they flung open of their own accord.

Lord Voldemort swept inside, cloaked against the icy rain and sleet. Following close behind him was a slight shadowed figure, also cloaked. And while the Dark Lord stepped inside at once, the girl stopped at the threshold, absurdly threatened by the stares of the strangers before her. But all Voldemort had to do was glance at her before she hurriedly followed him in, standing very close as though using him as a shield.

The Dark Lord waited as the four before him bowed in respect and fear.

"Welcome, my Lord," Bella said breathlessly, unable to stop herself from glancing surreptitiously at the girl.

The girl raised a hand to hold the edge of her hood to further hide her face, not wanting to see the stares and wishing she could not still feel them.

Voldemort looked over each face. "Narcissa." The pale woman did her best not to flinch as she stepped forward. Voldemort took the girl's shoulder and pulled her forward a ways. "See to the girl."

"My Lord." Narcissa stepped towards her, offering a hand, but the girl backtracked, flinching away from touch.

The girl looked quickly to Voldemort. "My Lord?" Her words were whispered, barely heard by the others.

"Go with Narcissa," he instructed.

She nodded once and glanced at Narcissa, eyes bright with apprehension. The older woman reached out and gently took the girl's elbow, barely touching her even as she drew her away from Voldemort's shadow and into her own. Narcissa nodded to the Dark Lord to indicate she had it in hand.

Voldemort at once turned on his heel, walking back to the door. "I'll return shortly," he said to the general hearing. "Gavin."

The fourth man, Gavin, walked past Lucius and Bellatrix to follow the Dark Lord. As he passed her, he spoke in hushed tones to the girl. "I told you so."

Beneath the shadows of her cloak, the girl's face contorted into extreme dislike. When he dared to reach out to touch her, she made a low warning sound akin to a growl. Gavin scowled, but quickly followed Voldemort out the doors, closing them sharply behind him.

"Watcher," the girl murmured too low for Narcissa to hear.

The moment that the doors closed, Bellatrix turned threateningly to the girl. She was disappointed and insulted that Voldemort had said not a word to her. "Who are you?" she demanded ruthlessly. 'Why have you come here?"

"Bella," Narcissa began in warning, ever cautious eyes flickering to the doors.

"No," Bellatrix said, cutting her sister off. "Let the wretch answer."

The girl's spine stiffened. "I didn't come here, I was brought." Her words are low, but harsh. "As far as the first question--save it for our Dark Lord, for I do not know."

Narcissa looked at the girl questioningly. "Your name?"

"I don't know," her voice is softer for the gentler question. "The Dark Lord said he would give me a new one."

"Ah." Narcissa pulled gently on the girl's arm. "Come upstairs," she instructed. "We'll get you cleaned up--maybe find something besides those rags for you to wear."

Voldemort walked silently along the path that led away from Malfoy Manor, Gavin a step behind him. "You've done well," Voldemort said. "Certainly enough to excuse your earlier blunder."

"I am glad to be of service to you, my Lord."

"Be glad to be alive, Gavin. You very nearly cost me everything."

Gavin flinched, but wisely remained silent.

"Her loyalty is an unexpected element," Voldemort continued. "One that can be used to great advantage. Her purpose shall be redefined to suit. I want to see what she will do with her power." He paused on the path. "Did you know she calls you her 'watcher'?"

Gavin blinked. "Oh, yes," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, I never properly introduced myself, really. I thought a good level of distance was best."

"Hm. I cannot deny the results." Voldemort began walking again, going over that first meeting in his mind. "She's frail, in body, I mean. She seems to have trouble standing for very long. A nuisance."

Gavin swallowed. "I apologize, my Lord," he said quickly.

Voldemort waved the useless words aside. "No matter. I've waited eighteen years for this creature--I can wait a little longer while she builds her strength." He glanced through the trees at the Malfoy's grand home. "We'll keep her here. It will keep Narcissa occupied as well."

"A sound plan, my Lord."

"She's forgotten her own name, Gavin."

Again, Gavin felt the flutter of panic in his chest, not knowing whether or not Voldemort was angry with him or just stating a fact. "Her name was something Christine gave her. I didn't wish to encourage the connection."

"It is well enough," Voldemort said. "It is rather proper, after all, that I be the one to name her."

Upstairs, Narcissa ran a bath, filling the water with several salts and scents she found soothing. The girl stood at the corner of the room closest to the door, as though waiting to bolt at the first opportunity. Patiently, Narcissa held out a hand. "Come on then, dear. Let me take your cloak."

The girl slowly lowered the hood and unclasped the catch at the hollow of her throat. As she passed it to Narcissa, the older woman noted that the robes beneath the cloak were ragged and gray. She was surprised the girl wasn't shivering, for although the cloak had held off most of the rain, it could not stop all of the torrent.

"Aren't you cold?" Narcissa asked, and despite the instinct that told her not to, lifted her eyes slightly to look at her face. The girl--no, Narcissa realized, the young woman--met her gaze unflinchingly. And meeting those eyes Narcissa found that she could not look away.

"Why do you stare so?" the younger woman asked. She could not help but wonder what she looked like.

"Your--your vision," Narcissa stammered. "Is it clear?"

After a blink of surprise, she nodded. "Yes," she replied slowly. "Why?"

Unable to put what she saw in words, she drew the young woman over to the mirror.

Looking into the glass for the first time she could remember, the young woman almost wished she hadn't. She thought at first that Narcissa stared because she looked so akin to a corpse, the wretch that Bellatrix had called her. But then she saw her own eyes. Frowning, she leaned closer to the mirror.

Her eyes, a pale crystal blue that seemed rather glass-like, were--cracked. Within the pale color were tiny line, little fissures that went from the center to the edge.

"Oh."

"Have they always been like that?" Narcissa asked.

"I don't know," her guest replied uneasily. In her mind's eye, she could see the pale color unmarred, but she didn't know if it was memory or imagination.

Narcissa considered her. "Well, I suppose there aren't many mirrors in Azkaban."

The young woman stiffened, meeting her eyes in their reflections. "How did you know?"

"My husband was locked within Azkaban," Narcissa told her. "My sister, Bellatrix, spent over a decade there. I recognize the mark that it leaves."

"Bellatrix--the other woman downstairs?" The young woman turned. "She's your sister?"

"Yes."

She turned back to the mirror, contemplative. "I would appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," she murmured in her low voice. "My time in Azkaban, I mean. I'd like my past to stay mine."

"I understand," Narcissa replied. She lifted a hand to touch the young woman's shoulder in comfort, but then seemed to think better of it. "I'll leave you to your bath, my dear."

It was only after Narcissa had shut the door behind her that those broken eyes turned back to the mirror and remained there. What does my reflection say of me? She wondered silently, looking from her own strange eyes to the hollow cheeks, the thin, colorless lips. She'd never had a reflection to contemplate before. It was strange for her to have one now. No reflection--no name--had I nothing at all before he came?

She breathed deep and forced herself to turn away from the mirror. It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. I have something now. I have him.

Description
Chapter One: The Girl Unknown

"When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

Narcissa Malfoy gazed across the parlor of their glorious home at her husband, silent words of comfort hung in the air between them. Lucius, an air of shame surrounding him, turned his eyes back to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance, but did not believe he could feel their warmth.

They, and the others in the room, felt as though they walked on glass, waiting for the reason they were called for to be revealed. Bellatrix Lestrange sat on the edge of her seat, eyes glancing between the parlor doors and the man who stood at the windows. He was the only person in the room that she did not recognize, and therefore he was automatically a threat.

In the heavy silence that permeated the room, Narcissa crossed to her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders and resting her pale cheek against his arm. Lucius put a hand over hers, but said nothing. The affection in the gesture, however, was clear. Narcissa murmured something too low for the others in the room to hear and Lucius nodded slightly.

Bella saw and narrowed her eyes. "What are you mumbling about?" she demanded.

"Nothing important to you, Bella dear," Lucius replied with a spark of his old pride.

"Don't you speak to me like--"

"Bellatrix," Narcissa's voice was like a whip. "Just--just stop. Please."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap back--but before the barb escaped her lips, she felt the familiar burn upon her arm. By the way he flinched, Lucius felt it as well. Bellatrix rose swiftly to her feet and hurried towards the parlor doors. Taking his wife's arm, Lucius followed her out into the entrance hall. They, in turn, were followed the fourth man, apparently unnoticed.

Bella started towards the doors to open them, but as she took that first step, they flung open of their own accord.

Lord Voldemort swept inside, cloaked against the icy rain and sleet. Following close behind him was a slight shadowed figure, also cloaked. And while the Dark Lord stepped inside at once, the girl stopped at the threshold, absurdly threatened by the stares of the strangers before her. But all Voldemort had to do was glance at her before she hurriedly followed him in, standing very close as though using him as a shield.

The Dark Lord waited as the four before him bowed in respect and fear.

"Welcome, my Lord," Bella said breathlessly, unable to stop herself from glancing surreptitiously at the girl.

The girl raised a hand to hold the edge of her hood to further hide her face, not wanting to see the stares and wishing she could not still feel them.

Voldemort looked over each face. "Narcissa." The pale woman did her best not to flinch as she stepped forward. Voldemort took the girl's shoulder and pulled her forward a ways. "See to the girl."

"My Lord." Narcissa stepped towards her, offering a hand, but the girl backtracked, flinching away from touch.

The girl looked quickly to Voldemort. "My Lord?" Her words were whispered, barely heard by the others.

"Go with Narcissa," he instructed.

She nodded once and glanced at Narcissa, eyes bright with apprehension. The older woman reached out and gently took the girl's elbow, barely touching her even as she drew her away from Voldemort's shadow and into her own. Narcissa nodded to the Dark Lord to indicate she had it in hand.

Voldemort at once turned on his heel, walking back to the door. "I'll return shortly," he said to the general hearing. "Gavin."

The fourth man, Gavin, walked past Lucius and Bellatrix to follow the Dark Lord. As he passed her, he spoke in hushed tones to the girl. "I told you so."

Beneath the shadows of her cloak, the girl's face contorted into extreme dislike. When he dared to reach out to touch her, she made a low warning sound akin to a growl. Gavin scowled, but quickly followed Voldemort out the doors, closing them sharply behind him.

"Watcher," the girl murmured too low for Narcissa to hear.

The moment that the doors closed, Bellatrix turned threateningly to the girl. She was disappointed and insulted that Voldemort had said not a word to her. "Who are you?" she demanded ruthlessly. 'Why have you come here?"

"Bella," Narcissa began in warning, ever cautious eyes flickering to the doors.

"No," Bellatrix said, cutting her sister off. "Let the wretch answer."

The girl's spine stiffened. "I didn't come here, I was brought." Her words are low, but harsh. "As far as the first question--save it for our Dark Lord, for I do not know."

Narcissa looked at the girl questioningly. "Your name?"

"I don't know," her voice is softer for the gentler question. "The Dark Lord said he would give me a new one."

"Ah." Narcissa pulled gently on the girl's arm. "Come upstairs," she instructed. "We'll get you cleaned up--maybe find something besides those rags for you to wear."

Voldemort walked silently along the path that led away from Malfoy Manor, Gavin a step behind him. "You've done well," Voldemort said. "Certainly enough to excuse your earlier blunder."

"I am glad to be of service to you, my Lord."

"Be glad to be alive, Gavin. You very nearly cost me everything."

Gavin flinched, but wisely remained silent.

"Her loyalty is an unexpected element," Voldemort continued. "One that can be used to great advantage. Her purpose shall be redefined to suit. I want to see what she will do with her power." He paused on the path. "Did you know she calls you her 'watcher'?"

Gavin blinked. "Oh, yes," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, I never properly introduced myself, really. I thought a good level of distance was best."

"Hm. I cannot deny the results." Voldemort began walking again, going over that first meeting in his mind. "She's frail, in body, I mean. She seems to have trouble standing for very long. A nuisance."

Gavin swallowed. "I apologize, my Lord," he said quickly.

Voldemort waved the useless words aside. "No matter. I've waited eighteen years for this creature--I can wait a little longer while she builds her strength." He glanced through the trees at the Malfoy's grand home. "We'll keep her here. It will keep Narcissa occupied as well."

"A sound plan, my Lord."

"She's forgotten her own name, Gavin."

Again, Gavin felt the flutter of panic in his chest, not knowing whether or not Voldemort was angry with him or just stating a fact. "Her name was something Christine gave her. I didn't wish to encourage the connection."

"It is well enough," Voldemort said. "It is rather proper, after all, that I be the one to name her."

Upstairs, Narcissa ran a bath, filling the water with several salts and scents she found soothing. The girl stood at the corner of the room closest to the door, as though waiting to bolt at the first opportunity. Patiently, Narcissa held out a hand. "Come on then, dear. Let me take your cloak."

The girl slowly lowered the hood and unclasped the catch at the hollow of her throat. As she passed it to Narcissa, the older woman noted that the robes beneath the cloak were ragged and gray. She was surprised the girl wasn't shivering, for although the cloak had held off most of the rain, it could not stop all of the torrent.

"Aren't you cold?" Narcissa asked, and despite the instinct that told her not to, lifted her eyes slightly to look at her face. The girl--no, Narcissa realized, the young woman--met her gaze unflinchingly. And meeting those eyes Narcissa found that she could not look away.

"Why do you stare so?" the younger woman asked. She could not help but wonder what she looked like.

"Your--your vision," Narcissa stammered. "Is it clear?"

After a blink of surprise, she nodded. "Yes," she replied slowly. "Why?"

Unable to put what she saw in words, she drew the young woman over to the mirror.

Looking into the glass for the first time she could remember, the young woman almost wished she hadn't. She thought at first that Narcissa stared because she looked so akin to a corpse, the wretch that Bellatrix had called her. But then she saw her own eyes. Frowning, she leaned closer to the mirror.

Her eyes, a pale crystal blue that seemed rather glass-like, were--cracked. Within the pale color were tiny line, little fissures that went from the center to the edge.

"Oh."

"Have they always been like that?" Narcissa asked.

"I don't know," her guest replied uneasily. In her mind's eye, she could see the pale color unmarred, but she didn't know if it was memory or imagination.

Narcissa considered her. "Well, I suppose there aren't many mirrors in Azkaban."

The young woman stiffened, meeting her eyes in their reflections. "How did you know?"

"My husband was locked within Azkaban," Narcissa told her. "My sister, Bellatrix, spent over a decade there. I recognize the mark that it leaves."

"Bellatrix--the other woman downstairs?" The young woman turned. "She's your sister?"

"Yes."

She turned back to the mirror, contemplative. "I would appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself," she murmured in her low voice. "My time in Azkaban, I mean. I'd like my past to stay mine."

"I understand," Narcissa replied. She lifted a hand to touch the young woman's shoulder in comfort, but then seemed to think better of it. "I'll leave you to your bath, my dear."

It was only after Narcissa had shut the door behind her that those broken eyes turned back to the mirror and remained there. What does my reflection say of me? She wondered silently, looking from her own strange eyes to the hollow cheeks, the thin, colorless lips. She'd never had a reflection to contemplate before. It was strange for her to have one now. No reflection--no name--had I nothing at all before he came?

She breathed deep and forced herself to turn away from the mirror. It doesn't matter, she told herself firmly. I have something now. I have him.