Black Blood

028 - Flee Market

Cassiopeia groaned as a foot, not her own, and possibly not even her cousin's, landed firmly, heel first, straight onto her soft, gown-covered stomach.

"Bloody hell..." Weasley croaked out from somewhere to her right.

"Oh, god, what...happened?!" Granger moaned from her other direction.

"C...Cass?!" someone asked, though it didn't quite sound like her cousin's voice, as it seemed a tad too low-pitched.

"Draco?" she raspily queried, shoving the leg from her body, which belonged to Weasley.

"Kreacher..." her cousin groaned in reply, his tone lower than normal, indicating that it had, in fact, been he who'd called her name. "What did...you do...?!"

"Kreacher is sorry, Young Mr. Malfoy," the old house elf croaked out.

Cassiopeia felt simultaneously enraged as well as saddened that her family house elf had felt so frightened and alarmed by the sight of The Dark Mark that he'd seen the need to apparate the five of them from the forest without warning.

"Kreacher, where have you whisked us to?" the girl quietly asked, sitting up to survey who was where and if there were any injuries due to the sudden apparition.

"You are home, Miss. Kreacher felt it would be the safest place," he raspily answered, his tone both remorseful and anxious.

"I...see," she simply stated, glancing one way then another, starting with Weasley, who looked quite ill, to Potter, who was upon his hands and knees and sending her a look of confusion, to Draco, who was lying upon his back and rubbing at his temples, and finally to Granger, who was sitting up and squinting at the house elf.

"Damn you...Kreacher," her cousin groaned out as he too sat up, only to look quite ill in response.

"Language...Draco," Cassiopeia chided, although her heart wasn't, in the least, behind the deserved scolding. "Is...anyone injured?"

"Are...are you okay?" Potter quietly queried, sending the girl a concerned look.

"I'm fine, thank you for...asking," she murmured, closing her eyes to fight off a sudden bout of sickness. "Kreacher, where is father? Does he know of our presence?"

"Master is in his study, entertaining a guest. He does not yet know of Miss' arrival," he responded, and glancing his way, she sent him a questioning look as he began to nervously wring his old, leathery hands.

"Is it an important meeting? Is he able to see us now?" the girl queried, certain that no rendezvous could be more important than the one he would soon have with her, and certain that no talk needed to be heard more than the urgent news she'd brought.

"Kreacher is...not able to speak on behalf of the guest, Miss, and he thinks Master wouldn't like to be interrupted," the house elf responded, doubling the speed at which he wrung his ugly hands.

"Wha-" the girl began, gobsmacked by what she'd heard, only to stop herself short as realization settled in. "Is...is he with...someone...from...the campsite?!"

She didn't need to elaborate on who 'someone from the campsite' was, and if it turned out to be true, the girl was certain her world would soon alter in a most unpleasant way.

'Father wouldn't!' the girl silently denied, certain of herself and her sire.

Whilst she'd been brought up to respect traditional pureblooded views, at no point had the man who'd fathered her led her to believe that the House of Black had aligned itself to The Dark Lord during the last war. She was to respect his cause, but never had any family member, aside from her late grandmother, implied that the House of Black agreed with his atrocious methods.