Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

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CAGED

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I have always lived in a cage.

At times, I'm not even sure it's a gilded one. I am a beautiful ornament, a living decoration for the House of Black. My life does not need meaning, so long as I retain my beauty and bear an appropriate number of heirs.

I am an ungrateful child, according to my parents. I have a companion in my sister -

(sisters - don't think about Andromeda, don't think about her screams, don't think about the blood on the doorstep the day after Mama cast her out)

- and I am provided with everything I could ever hope for. A wand, education…

It does not change the fact that I am a lamb that was raised for the slaughter.

Narcissa bows her head when Lucius Malfoy comes to call, bending to our family's will. The Blacks have lost some status, due to the disobedient children of this generation

(I am one of them)

and our parents are desperate to regain it. Narcissa understands. I do not care.

I bare my teeth, when Rodolphus Lestrange comes to call, oozing with smug propriety as he bends over my hand.

I will not be his obedient little wife.

(Tom promised me a kingdom.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Malfoy Manor greets me like an old friend. I can apparate in now, and I bypass the front gates completely. Lucius doesn't bat an eye when he sees me storming in through the front doors, and merely nods towards the stairs - not the ones that go up, the ones that go down, into the deep dark dungeons.

"He's in his laboratory," he says. There's a tiny flinch when he says it, and I sneer.

Lucius is weak - he can't stand the screeches of the lab rats, he can't stand to watch muggles suffer, for all he lives by the pureblood code.

I clatter noisily down the stairs, each step a stomp (oh, how Mother would wail - but I will not be quiet here, here, where my power is recognized and I am more than just a daughter to marry off) announcing my presence before I make it to the stone room where the Dark Lord conducts his experiments.

I pause in the doorway.

He knows I am there, but he does not move, his back towards me.

(You trust that I won't attempt to kill you, to overpower you. You shouldn't.)

"Rodolphus Lestrange," I seethe. Tom doesn't even turn around, his dark head bent over whatever ancient text has caught his fancy this time around.

"Ah, yes," he murmurs. "He's to be Marked next week, I believe."

Rage overcomes me, a powerless, potent feeling. (I would bring down the walls around Lord Voldemort's ears if I could.)

"So I am to be married off, then," I say, "to one of your followers."

The air is beginning to spark with magic. I am sure it is mine, all of the firm control that has been ingrained into me over the years falling free and letting my power run wild.

"It is the best solution," he says, as detached as ever. "Your husband being one of my men will leave you free to come and go as you please. He will not try to control you - as I control him, you shall have everything you ever wanted."

He does not know everything I want. It appears Tom does not listen to pillow talk. Conditional freedom is not the same as power.

In that moment, I want to bring down the horrible cage of a world I was born into, shatter it into pieces with all that I have. I don't care if I die in the process - I will not be just another wife.

"Look at me!" I scream, yanking Tom off of his chair, pulling at his shoulder.

(He doesn't deserve for me to use magic against him, not now, now when he's going back on all his promises -)

Tom whips himself around, shoving me away and into the air, his magic pinning me. For a moment, his eyes flash red.

I am too angry to remember to be afraid.

"You promised," I snarl, my voice rasping in my throat. "You promised that I would be the queen to your king. You promised that I would never have a husband to lord it over me…"

"I keep my promises," Tom snaps. "Rodolphus will bow to you when I tell him to. Such is the nature of my leadership."

"It is not the same, and you know it," I spit. I am panting, and my magic is rioting inside me, seeking a way out. "You said you love me."

(Pathetic - I sound like a whining mistress - which is apparently what I am, when it comes down to it…)

(All that time and effort spent cultivating Tom. For naught.)

Tom strokes a finger down my cheek, tracing the bone. "Some things matter more than love, my dear," he tells me.

I don't move. I won't move. I won't let him deny me, I won't let him toss me aside, leave me behind to be caged in that monotonous, painful life like a serf, like a powerless woman, like someone who will always obey -

(Mama slaps my cheek after Rodolphus leaves, and my teeth slice open the skin. I am still grinning, and I don't stop grinning, not when she threatens me, not when she Crucios me…
How dare they. I am more powerful than they will ever be.)

"Marry Rodolphus," Tom orders.

I am shaking. I no longer know if it is with rage or with fear.

Without Tom's protection, I have no one but myself - and I do not think I am brave enough to protect myself from my fate.

"My lord." I curtsy, a low curtsy, almost prostrating myself on the ground. But I line my obeisance with as much vitriol as I can manage.

I make sure he can hear it.

(I can turn on you in a heartbeat, if you will not give me what I desire.)

"Marry Rodolphus," he repeats, "and I will Mark you."

I inhale sharply, the air stinging my lungs and restarting my heart. A Mark. That's infinitely better than being a wife, or a mistress.

Tom clasps my left forearm, and drags me up from the floor, yanking me against him. Exhilaration flies through me at the thought of what he has promised.

(Marked as an equal is better than claimed as a wife.)

His dark eyes flash at me, a cruel grin knifing through his face. "My right-hand woman," he says, caressing my cheek. "You deserve the status I can bestow upon you. Follow my rules, and society won't matter anymore."

I catch his wrist with my hand, squeezing it tight enough to bruise. He doesn't flinch, smiling at me.

"I want to be Marked first," I demand.

"Before Rodolphus," he muses.

(Before Rodolphus, before anyone else, prove to me that no one will have power over me so long as I stand by your side -)

"That can be arranged," he says, and he slams me against one of the cages. Pain shocks through me, but I sneer at it. I feel like I'm floating.

(No one will have power over me but you.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Voldemort gives me a Marking ceremony with as much pomp and circumstance as I could ever desire (more, even).

Death Eaters line the walls, hoods and masks up. He stands at the center of the room, a throne-like chair behind him.

In the back of the room, I see the other prospective Death Eaters. They will not be Marked today. Today is mine, and mine alone (Tom promised, and Tom always keeps his promises).

Rodolphus meets my eyes for a fleeting moment when I walk in. He looks like a cowed dog.

Tom - Lord Voldemort - stands before me. His wand is out, and he begins to cast enchantments as he leads me through my vows.

The vows are rote, but I feel them in my very soul as I promise myself to his service.

When he begins to Mark me, the pain is absolute.

(This is my future.)

It is overwhelming, but I refuse to scream. I stare straight into his black, black eyes, and I grin, my face in a painful rictus.

(This is my destiny.)

I breathe in the magic Tom is pouring into me, and I revel in the pain.

a/n: review :)