Short Stories

Minna

I am dying inside.

Wait, no, I was dead inside a long time ago. When he killed my family and friends off one by one, a piece of me died with them each time, until there was nothing left. In giving away all my love to them, I had forgotten to save some for myself.

I stand here on this cold cliff, somewhere in the middle of New Zealand, but my mind hardly registers the chilled air swirling around my cheeks and slicing through my hair. I feel as if I will pass out, the only thing keeping my eyes from rolling up in the back of my head is my daughter, Minna. She is magically bound to a stone pillar in the middle of the circle of figures, and even though she is surrounded by the most formidable men this world has ever seen, she does not whimper or cry. Instead, she glares at them through her four year old eyes, as if daring these men, who have killed the only family she has known, to even consider touching her. She makes eye contact with me, her eyes so much like mine contrasting deeply with the starless night. I give a feeble smile and she jerks her eyes away, breaking the contact. She is mad at me too, as if she knows the price I am paying, and will pay every day, for her life. I am not suprised, after all, she has her mother's spirit shining through in everything she does. Her nose, impish grin, and even her toes remind me of Hermione. There is nothing left in my power that I can do anymore, I know that the only way I can protect her is to give the rest of my life away.

The tallest of the shadowy figures steps over to me.

"Are you ready?" His high, cold voice rings through the bitter air, reaching my ears. I nod almost impercepibly, my eyes never leaving the hems of my robes.

"Kneel down before me."

I obey.

He points his wand at me, and almost before I am aware of it, the Cruciatus curse is upon me, and I am struggling to remain on my knees, barely grasping at the cliff of consciousness. I have felt like this only once before in my life, white-hot hooks grabbing at every fiber of my skin and ever-so-slowly ripping them apart. Is this how Sirius felt when the Cruciatus curse was put on him, right before Avada Kedavra was performed? What about Hagrid, Dumbledore, Hermione; did they scream anything out before their soul was forced out of their bodies? I think I hear Minna cry out, but I can not tell for sure, as the white spots dancing in my eyes begin to overwhelm me...

And then almost as quickly as it began, the Cruciatus curse is removed. Gasping for breath, the world slowly came back into focus, and my legs became steadier. Minna is straining against her magical bonds, her light brown hair hanging in unkempt curls around her face. She whispers the word "no," a pleading look in her eyes. This time I am the one to break the contact.

"Bear your forearm," he commands. Holding back a river of emotions, I slowly roll my left sleeve up and extend my trembling arm, glancing for the last time at it's blank surface.

"So," he utters conversationally to me, his breath brushing across my cheek and making me shiver in a way the frigid air could not. "The famous Harry Potter, who has spent SO long fighting against me, has finally seen the err of his ways, and has come crawling to me, to be my loyal servant. I must say, I have looked forward to this day for some time now. But I admit, I am curious, why at this time? I understand you want to protect your precious daughter, but why not before your mudblood wife died, your godfather, that fool Dumbledore, and everyone else? Why did you not come to join my ranks earlier? It would've saved many of your loved one's lives, and I wouldn't have to have expended so much energy...."

I do not grace him with an answer, because the truth is, I am not sure myself. Right now I hate myself more than I thought was possible. Why didn't I just succumb before the wizarding world collapsed, before so many lost their lives, their family members, their innocence?

He touches his wand to my arm, and I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear what was to come.

"INCIDO MORSMORDRE!" The words crack the silence of the midnight air, and what seems like flames extend up my arm, cutting into my skin and sending all reasonable thought out the window. The shrieks of anguish I had repressed under Crucio burst free like a dam breaking, and I let out a scream loud enough to hurt my own ears, venting all my frustrations and anger at the world all at once. The pain subsides a moment later, and I tenatively open my eyes. Lord Voldemort is standing before me, a twisted, disfiguring smirk on his pale face, his wand now down by his side. I gape down at my arm, where the Dark Mark has been engraved, and is now burning a murky charcoal color.

"Stand up, Harry Potter," he voices, the contorted smile growing larger. "Stand up and join my ranks."

I glance once more at Minna, my daughter, the only one I have left.