Not Dead Yet

1991 December

Melanie Zabini leaned against the large mahogany desk pensively. Her mind drifted back to the young woman who had been sitting across from her mere days ago. She had been a petit thing, all slender grace with not a sign of seductive curve, unlike herself. At thirty-four years old, the only female of the Zabini bloodline looked no older than twenty. She was blessed with gold, almond eyes that illuminated high cheekbones and dark, flawless. Her hair was a lively mass of chocolate curls that simultaneously bewildered and enticed the male species. Her lips were luscious roses that begged any passer-by for attention with a sly smile. She was s.e.x on legs, the envy of Britain's social circles, the perfect woman. She was also in dire need of an assassin.

If it had not been for Otavio - s.e.xy, talented, unfortunately celibate, and ever so helpful Otavio – the woman would not have even considered the deal she had been presented with. She wouldn't have believed a small child had the necessary contacts to accomplish the task she required. However, when she'd heard the name of the child's bonded, she couldn't help but revaluate the girl. Alana Vincent, Alana de Azrael by right of magic. The name held promise. The promise of freedom.

Otavio had long been a friend of the Zabini family. Ever since his bonding with her great grandfather, the vampire had provided counsel to the line pf wand-users. She suspected that the rumours of vampire bonds being stronger than a wizards was true as the creature had no reason to favour the bloodline with his presence welcomed as it was. The woman allowed her eyelids to slide down as she envisioned her the man in question. He truly was a marvellous being. With that thought, she slid off the desk and awaited her prey.

Mikhail Dawnrite was immensely amused to find his delicious wife perched on his desk when he entered the office of his Ess.e.x mansion. The vixen seemed quite content to lounge against the piece of wooden furniture, but he could sense her force her muscles to relax as he approached. He was inches away now, trapping her with arms on either side of her curvaceous form and gently admiring the curvature of her neck. She truly was beauty. He chuckled. It was a warm sound that sent a pool of heat to the woman's lower regions despite her previous resolve.

"Something you needed, flower?" The man practically purred as he hovered over her. His head dipped to affectionately, if not teasingly, brush his lips along the length of her neck.

Malanie clenched her jaw at his words. She had asked him about the endearment a year ago in a rare moment of weakness and long since regretted the action. 'Because you look like the innocent flower despite being the serpent under it,' he had replied. She'd known at that moment that she'd gotten in over her head.

Mikhail was not her first husband, the previous six having died of various 'mysterious' illnesses. The protectiveness of her father and brothers was most notable although half found their end at her own hands. This time, however, her family had approved of her choice. Mikhail was successful, polite, and went above and beyond for her only son (wasn't that a miracle with six men under her belt) Blaise. He was also exceedingly intelligent, a trait she hadn't expected to backfire in her face so spectacularly when she married him. He was her seventh husband and the influential head of the administrative branch of Britain's department of law enforcement. If the magically significant number seven hadn't been enough to deter her superstitious relatives from offing the man, his position would have.

He was an attractive man, she would admit, all dark features with sharp cheekbones. Not to mention that hair that just demanded to be stroked. She should have been happy under his doting. But she was not. His 'love' was suffocating. He humoured her when she spoke and his condescending gaze was one she longed to burn from her memory. He was marvellous in bed, but she loathed his controlled dominance, his faked affection, his practised touch. S.e.x felt too much like a means to stroke his ego for her too gain any true p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e from the carnal act. There was too much that went unsaid between the two of them and that scared her more than anything else. She hated being afraid.

She brushed her thoughts aside and forced an indulgent smile on her beautiful face.

"Is it a crime to greet my husband after such a long, lonely day." Her own purr lacked just as much innocence as his own growl of response. He was, of course, aware of what she was doing. He would humour her though, just as he always did, and discover her motives in the afterglow of the next hours' activities.

1991 December

Alana had decided that she was going to die a horrible, violent, painful death. Between the grey-eyed blond and his older cousin, she wasn't sure who she was trying to fool when she'd told Marius she would avoid causing trouble that Yule.

"Why didn't you wear a cloak? It's freezing today." The sharp comment came from Lucian whose breath came out in clouds of fog as he pulled his clothing tighter around him. The streets branching off from Knockturn Alley were covered in a thin layer of snow that melted beneath their boots. The two boys had spared a moment of skittishness before entering the Alley, neither sure their parents would approve. Fortunately, Alana was there to guide their way.

While her uncloaked self hadn't the murderous reputation of her masked counterpart, she still did legal jobs as her short self and was thus considered a familiar member of the underground nation. She was acquainted with most frequent occupants of the taverns, so she had little scruple marching up the street with cloaked company. She recalled having helped the local mortician design coffins at some point. It was her small way of giving back to the community not to mention she found the thought of her filling her own coffins amusing. Morbid hobbies aside, no one bothered the trio of travellers unless to give the odd greeting. It wasn't until they slid deeper into the shadows that the passerby's become more adventurous.

Such was the case when a white-eyed witch pinned the shortest of their group, Draco, to the wall. Not knowing the identity of the cowled child, the woman screeched an indecipherable demand. She was promptly slammed into the gravel by Alana who proceeded to jab her untraced wand into the woman's collarbone and knock her out. The body slumped in defeat. After establishing that Draco's hair had not been irreparably disturbed by the assault and that yes, he did look suitably authoritative, the group continued. There wasn't anything else particularly remarkable about the journey down twisting side streets except for the vampire they passed. The red-eyed woman had looked rather uncomfortable to be around children and was quick to scurry off.

Dawning on the edge of a dishevelled property, Alana tapped her wand thoughtfully against the wards before she entered. It was only polite to inform their host of their arrival after all. The door was unlocked, and she gestured the two boys to follow her lead. Down a staircase and through a series of temporarily disillusioned corridors, they found a barefoot woman bent dangerously close to a burning forge. The heat in the room tempted the other two males to discard their coats but they refrained uneasily.

"Georgia Shephaestus," Alana introduced the woman. She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties with large eyes the same colour of the fire in her forge. Her build was stocky with a shock of pink hair spiking up from her head. If one ignored her leather apron, they would find her dressed in a polka-dot shirt, sparkly trousers, and a blinding pair of neon boots. She was a sight to behold for the two aristocrats who had to blink to adjust to the brightness of her wardrobe. She made Dumbledore look like an amateur.

"Alana," The woman replied in a monotone that caused Lucian's jaw to drop from shock. Contrary to what her wardrobe would suggest, Georgia had a no-nonsense personality that would put Ms McGonagall to shame. "Where's the wand," The pinkette got straight to the point. She then looked pointedly at the cloaked boys. Alana quickly motioned for Draco to surrender his wand and for both to remove their cloaks. Tracers were illegal so having the benefit of knowing their clientele's identity was something of a security measure for them. Alana had already sorted business with the woman at the Wyvern, so they didn't have to go through any paperwork hassle and were soon free to wander while the girl applied herself to her craft.

"Is she alright? Mentally I mean," Draco questioned as soon as they exited the building. Alana stifled a laugh.

"she's just as mentally stable as you are."

"Oh, okay. Wait a minute, what are you trying to say?!" Draco looked appropriately scandalized by her choice of words and continued to glare at her when she didn't answer.

"What now?" Lucien asked. She gave the boy an arched eyebrow as if the answer was obvious.

"Now, we wait."

1991 December

Still slick with sweat from the night activities, Melanie slid out from under her husband's silk sheets. The man was fortunately asleep, or he would have seen his wife hastily melt wax onto a piece of parchment and direct the ring adorning his finger to stamp its symbol of authority. Beneath the seal was an impressive forgery of Mikhail's signature made using a copy from his office as a reference. The woman silently set the paper under the large bed. She would meet with Otavio the next day to ensure the exchange went as promised.

The seal of Mikhail Dawnrite in exchange for his life.

1991 December

Georgia examined the wand through large brass spectacles. She could feel the unhindered magic thrumming through the tool despite the pair of skin-tight leather gloves she had donned. It was complete. She mentally added the wand to her list of successful trace removal procedures before placing it on her workbench. Removing the core from a wand was no easy feat and seamlessly reinserting the core once its intertwined trace had been removed was even harder. She could always appreciate a customer her appreciated that difficulty and Alana had been most generous in her proposed payment. The Malfoy child was paying, of course, but she doubted he had suggested the amount. The Malfoys were generous in public but certainly not in secret.

1991 December

Alana dressed for the occasion.

Her hair was pinned back in waves of black, her eyes outlined thinly with mascara, and her Sycamore wand holstered along her left arm. The wards of Malfoy manor would likely be strong enough to mask any magic performed with it from the ministry. Though she hoped it wouldn't come to that. She'd opted for a hooded, long, navy blue, wool coat that was belted at her waist. Underneath was a white dress shirt, some comfortable pants and her lucky pair of black boots – the ones without blood on them. It was a modest ensemble but timelessly elegant in the winter weather. It didn't help with her nerves in the least.

She met Draco in Diagon Alley after a quick settling of her accounts in Gringotts and the two flooed to the manor.

The first person she met was Narcissa Malfoy. It was custom for the lady of the house to greet any guest so it shouldn't have been a surprise. The woman observed her with sharp blue eyes that resembled shards of ice on her pale face. Her hair streamed down her back, the blonde standing out against her grey dress coat. A sliver of what might have been a polite smile lay on her face, obviously forced but appreciated nonetheless.

"Mother," Draco dipped his head politely. "This is my tutor Alana Vincent. Alana, please meet my mother Narcissa Malfoy." To his credit, Draco displayed none of the nervousness he felt as he made the introductions.

"Well met, Lady Malfoy," Alana began as the one being introduced.

Narcissa's reply was a curt, "Well met, Miss Vincent."

Draco and Alana followed the woman as she led them into the estate's drawing-room for guests. It was a lovely powdered blue with gold and white accents. They were seated across from the lady of the house. The snap of a house-elf was heard before a tray of tea and biscuits appeared on the glass table. Suddenly glad to have researched etiquette in her first year, Alana sat quietly as Mrs Malfoy poured a cup for the young witch, Draco and then herself before offering them the beverages.

"I hope you have been well this Yule, Miss Vincent."

'And so the games begin.'

"Quite well, Lady Malfoy. May I hope your Yule has been just as pleasant."

"It had been most enjoyable. Draco, I trust you have finished your holiday assignments?"

"I have, mother," Draco replied with a smile at having finally been addressed by the host and allowed to speak. "I would not have gone out with Lucian to shop had I not." Draco had to resist the urge to smirk at the successful excuse he had used so the three could go and get his wand trace removed.

"Of course, and how have your holidays fared, Miss Vincent?"

"Quite well, Lady Malfoy. I had the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of entertaining some clients just yesterday."

"Oh?" Lady Malfoy peered expectantly over the edge of her cup. Her posture was faultless and her demeanour a product of experience and natural talent. In terms of pureblood etiquette and hosting, the woman had few rivals.

"Indeed. I had was introduced to Miss Zabini by a dear friend of mine. She was most lovely with her request. The details are, of course, between herself and me." Alana mentally applauded herself as Mrs Malfoy's arm jolted before continuing its journey to liberate a pastry from its platter. She would have been sorely disappointed if the woman had not noticed the very intentional use of the title Miss rather than Mrs or Ms when Melanie Zabini was married. It was a situation that she intended to remedy soon.

Draco continued to devour the biscuit he had been eyeing for the past few minutes, clueless to the conversations change in direction. His appetite which had been less than ideal due to anxiety over the meeting had returned some.

"Of course." Mrs Malfoy replied stiffly. She was not one to jump to conclusions but based on her husband's lack of findings and the current conversation, she was forced to assume that the young witch was involved in less legal dealings. Most that entered under her roof were, she admitted, but Draco was not close to any of them. If her son's fondness for the girl worried her before, it terrified her now. She would not allow the woman before her to endanger her only son. It didn't matter in the least that Melanie was one of her few genuine friends and she felt sympathy for the woman's disastrous marriages. She set her cup down. She wanted the witch as far away from Draco as possible and she didn't care how it was done.

When the interrogation ended, Alana couldn't have been more relieved. She had noticed the slight increase in hostility from her host. It was troublesome; however, she wouldn't get anything out of the arrangement if she wasn't at least somewhat honest. She expected the Malfoy patriarch to insist on a very binding contract if he even considered the notion of allowing her as a mentor. Avoiding questions regarding her jobs – so long as the information didn't endanger her by being too direct – was not in her best interest.

Narcissa was as stiff as an ironing board as she guided them to her husband's study. The two waited outside as she went to inform her husband of their presence and, no doubt, what had transpired during tea.

"What did you do?" Draco finally asked. He was not so dim as to not notice his own mother's uneasiness.

"I insinuated something is all. It's not something that can be easily explained, Draco, but you may be enlightened somewhat today." Alana's pupils flicked to the boy who was giving her expectant eyes.

"Answers?"

"Something like that," She mused.

The two were finally granted entry.

"Draco, would you mind leaving us for a moment." Lord Malfoy cut off any attempt Draco would have made at an introduction.

There was a beat of silence before Draco cleared his throat. A shaky reply of "Yes, father," could be heard before he left. He cast an apologetic glance at Alana who merely gave him an amused smile knowing it would do more to quell his hidden worry.

"Sit." Malfoy Sr. indicated the seat across from his large oak desk. There was no attempt at faux politeness as, in his mind, it seemed they were past such charades. Alana took the seat impassively. If she noticed the strategic discomfort of the chair, she didn't voice it. Lucius Malfoy folded his hands together atop his desk and fixated her with a dissecting stare. There was no emotion in his cold grey eyes, so similar yet so different from his sons. Draco heavily resembled his father with the same pointed face and pale blond hair. "Are you aware of the punishment for fraud, Miss Vincent?"

Alana narrowed her eyes at his combativeness. "It depends. If the fraud is a matter of claiming a lordship, it would result in an Azkaban life sentence. Smaller crimes could end in a warning while others depend on the votes from the House of Lords."

"Laws can be made just as easily as they can be broken when you are a Malfoy. I do not take kindly to being taken for a fool nor do I sympathise with those who wish to climb the social ladder." Lord Malfoy did not need to hiss the threat or even raise his voice for the weight in his words left no room for its recipients escape. Alana bit her tongue lightly to pull herself away from the discomfort that had settled in her stomach.

"I am aware, Lord Malfoy." Her words were dull blades in a gunfight. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She needed to breathe and relax if she was to get through the conversation. Her usual fire had been so easily snuffed out by the Lord's presence which caused the wards in the room to fluctuate as he spoke. While the effect was indeed terrifying, her response was one she found to be absolutely unacceptable. She braced her mental shields and envisioned herself in the middle of a calm lake. It was what she always did before making a shot with a gun. That was the best way to do it, she decided. She had prepared her ammunition; all she needed to do was pull the trigger.

"Under British law, I in no way committed fraud. That the Ministry accepts muggle identification papers from Gringotts who also accepts muggle identification is hardly a fault of mine. I had no intention of misleading your son but my circ.u.mstances were… less than favourable at the time." Her voice had regained some of its strength, she was glad to notice. She carefully withdrew the folder she had brought with her and placed it on the table.

Malfoy tapped his desk once with a black-gloved hand. His gaze rested on the offered folder for longer than she thought appropriate before he withdrew his wand. She was relieved to note that her stiffening was entirely unnecessary. He only waved the tool over the folder to check for harmful spells before setting it back in the cane that acted as its sheath. He picked up the file delicately without sparing the young witch a glance and opened it to examine its contents.

The first doc.u.ment was the Ministry's identification paper for Alana Vincent and the appropriate information regarding her person. He had already acquired that much from the Ministry, so he moved past it. There were several Gringotts official doc.u.ments before anything caught his interest. The doc.u.ment was far from innocuous with the red seal and signature emblazoned on its lower right-hand corner. It was an acknowledgement of creature guardianship. His gaze flicked up but the witch in question wasn't paying him any mind and instead appraising his study as though it were a particularly interesting animal – that is to say, she did so disinterestedly. He read on.

He was taking a while. Alana continued her perusal of his bookshelves. There was nothing particularly interesting about their contents except for an encyclopaedia on toads that she couldn't resist the urge to glare at. Foul creatures. The room was rather dull for all appearances. Bookcases lined the walls with a large window behind the man's desk showing the family's considerably large property. The lake outside looked far more interesting than the unremarkable room.

Lucius pulled out the few doc.u.ments that had caused him to do a doubletake. The first was the permittance of guardianship to a man – vampire – named Marius Mardare, the second was a letter of recognition addressed to Alana de Azrael from Gringotts, and the third was an inquiry from the same establishment on whether she would accept her… companion's holdings which his death had bequeathed to her. He knew, of course, of the matter at hand. He had heard of the blood ties made between vampires and members of the wizarding community when the Old ways and oaths of blood were still held in high regard. He had heard there had been a recent re-emergence of vampires in Britain but had not thought any of them would be inclined to create a bond in blood. He knew them to be exceedingly proud creatures, so the thought greatly unsettled him.

"What was the nature of your relationship with this Azreal?" He inquired with masked interest.

"He was my friend and perhaps, he would have been something more had he not died." Alana rested her chin on a fist with hooded eyes as she leaned on the armrest. The man had truly been something to her. "I haven't accepted his legacy yet. I am not inclined to having the Ministry wreak havoc to find out who lit up Azrael's coat of arms."

Lucius considered the girl's brazen attitude for a second before he focused on more significant subjects. The Ministry's house of parliament was home to some of the oldest magic in Britain. He doubted the girl had ever seen its hallowed halls, but she obviously knew how it functioned.

The oval-shaped amphitheatre had seats concentrically placed around its central area. Above the seating area, the wall displayed the coat of arms of every house with a seat in parliament's House of Lords. Seats in the House of Lords were either inherited or appointed by the Minister of Magic but couldn't be removed without the death of all heirs. The sacred 28, the last 'truly pureblood' families of Britain, had the longest-standing emblems on that wall and over the years, each had acquired the seats of lesser houses to add to their own either through the right of conquest or marriage. The number of seats held was indicated by lights beneath each symbol.

As to the matter of the Azrael lordship – likely to be a minor one considering the species - the coat of arms would light when the ring of lordship and inheritance was accepted and a request for representation would be sent. He was not familiar with the name Azrael or any vampire for that matter, but it seemed his house was either old enough or significant enough to have been added to the parliament roster at some point. His eyes zeroed in on the witch who was watching him guardedly but with resolve. She was waiting, he knew.

"What is your intention with my son?" He realised why the question sounded strange in his head when it left his mouth and frowned. He intended to broker an engagement between house Malfoy and Parkinson for a seat in parliament and did not like the ideas his phrasing brought to mind at all.

"He named me his mentor in public. I intend to teach as is prerogative until such a time as he deems me unfit for such a duty." Alana met the man's eyes firmly. She hadn't asked for such a responsibility but she had said that she would do it and she didn't intend to take back her words.

"There will be criticism if I endorse a youth taking such a role." A truth.

"Will there not be criticism no matter your choice?" Another truth.

"You have no political experience and little to offer my son except a single seat which I presume you won't take up until you are of age. This is the signature of Mikhail Dawnrite, is it not? There will be questions as to how a vampire was granted guardianship over a witch. Of course, a dead man cannot answer but I could just as easily turn you over to the authorities now. You've provided a more than appropriate excuse to refuse you as my son's mentor."

She dumped another file on his desk. Like the other, he scanned the doc.u.ments though with more intensity this time. It was blackmail for lack of better word. Not on him, of course, she was not so stupid as to threaten the man within his own home. It was a collection of information on all of his obvious political and business opponents as well as his less known ones.

"Refuse me at your own cost. I may lack experience but I more than resourceful enough to make up for it," She informed him as he flicked through another page. His eyes were sweeping the evidence impassively, but his grip was tightening. The information was valuable enough to cause any sane man to pause and she knew it. "As well as losing a valuable source of information, it would not look good for any future business with the British and overseas vampire covens if you decided I was a loose end needing trimming. Vampires are such… loyal creatures and Azrael was a very busy man."

"Is that a threat?" Lord Malfoy looked unaffected despite his racing mind. It was clear enough to him that if she could get this much information on his rivals and pinpoint them so exactly, she was serious in her investment in his son. If Draco hadn't already tied her to his cause, he would have been tempted to do the same though in a less public way. A skilled informant willing to pledge their loyalty was a rare thing to come by.

"It is encouragement. I told your son that I would give him my best and I have no intention of being made a liar, Lord Malfoy." Her smile was coldblooded. She had absolutely no idea if Otavio or the triumvirate would even spare her a second thought because of her relationship with Azrael but it certainly made a damn good threat. The older man clenched his jaw in response.

"There will be conditions," He bit out reluctantly.

"That is why I suggested a contract," She replied evenly.

"Promisso Cruento. I will not have my son unprotected," Lord Malfoy's staunch demand was met with silence.

It was quite the demand considering she had known the boy barely a year, but then again, so was making her a mentor. It was a blood oath usually made to avoid blood feuds between houses. It prevented any ill intent between blood as the name suggested. Neither house would be able to act against the other with malintent without facing severe magical backlash. It was not something people went into blindly. Alana folded in thought weighing the pros and cons as well as the probability of wanting to harm the Malfoy in the future. She could still hurt him with the intention of teaching him a much-needed lesson or saving him further pain but her actions would be limited. She despised limitations but even she had to admit the oath was very much within Lord Malfoy's rights to demand. It was generous, an oath of loyalty that protected both parties. She hoped it was a sign the man had formed some small amount of respect for her.

"That would be acceptable," She finally replied even though both knew it was non-negotiable.

The man nodded.

"How much does he know?"

"Draco never asked about my guardian so I did not say anything. He knows that I have resources but none of the specifics."

Lord Malfoy looked impossibly old as he leant back in his seat. The disappointment was clear on his features but he was quick to wipe it away.

"My wife has coddled him far too much," He confided though there was no scorn in the tone. It was merely an observation.

"He has promise. I wouldn't have spared him my time if he did not. He lacks experience." The criticism sounded hypocritical coming from her lips and her lips lifted into a sly smile at the thought. "I may not parley with politicians, but I dare say I have dealt with worse."

"The Ravenclaw position of King will be vacant next year," His steel gaze fell on her, "I expect it to be taken by you." The position would offer some of the political clout she clearly needed. The question of skill in occlumency seemed to have an obvious answer with her chosen vocation so he left it unsaid. He winced internally before continuing. "Narcissa will have you taught the intricacies of hosting." The memory of his wife's strong opinion of the young witch left him certain that she would make her fury over his decision known that evening. "Your performance at this Yule Ball will determine what you lack. Let it be known that should you embarrass the Malfoy name-"

"Should I prove to be an embarrassment, I will do the job for you." Alana's eyes were dead serious as she voiced the words. If she proved inadequate, he would likely kill her if she didn't find a way of faking her death. If she failed, she would be forced to go into hiding to escape the Ministry and Malfoy. She'd already run away once; she didn't want to do it again.

A few more threats were passed before the two had settled on the basic requirements of the contract. It had quickly become clear that Alana would not be able to play the usual role a mentor took while she was so young. She had, however, three years on his son to climb the ministry social ladder. Such a feat wasn't feasible, but he still had hope. While he wouldn't be able to act against the youth with a Promisso Crueto binding his blood, she was in an inherently dangerous position as an informant. The likelihood of her surviving was slim enough to offer him some comfort. If that didn't work, he was sure someone else would do the deed in order to gain her title. Malfoy would be obligated to take a blood feud against whoever tried to do such a thing, but if they succeeded and didn't make it public, he wasn't particularly inclined to investigate it. His features were a blank mask as the contract was drawn up and signed. It was finely written such that it would protect his interests and her identity.

Draco was finally granted entry, the blond tottered in nervously with his back straighter than a ruler and his chin jutting out stubbornly. His first words were, "Have you agreed yet?"

Alana laughed. She couldn't help it. After the tenseness of the past hour, she was once again reminded of why she was going to all this trouble. She enjoyed Hogwarts, the company of her newfound friends, the knowledge that was always three steps away, and even the small blond in his false bravado and naivete.