Image of a Fallen Statue

Chapter 2 –

I woke the next morning feeling very much like I had a hangover, and squinting into the broad daylight shining on my face, I raised an arm to cover my eyes. I felt pain as I moved my fingers, and there was a bloodstained bandage over the mark on my arm. I looked around me in confusion, and slowly my surroundings came into focus. I was in a small, cluttered room with several windows, the noises of birds outside eclipsed by the rattling of pots and pans and voices from downstairs.

I sat up quietly, arms braced on the side of the bed, and listened. The noises from below sounded complete, if not happy. I had the distinct feeling that by going downstairs I would be intruding.

I realized I had no idea where I was, but couldn’t find within me a desire to care. I was still alive, and I wasn’t in Azkaban, which meant that by some standards, the veritaserum had proven the truth of my story. Freedom, however, meant going underground until Voldemort was defeated or I died, whichever came first.

The noise of several pairs of feet came up the stairs, along with voices, getting louder and louder the closer they came. " – you’ll wake him up, Ron."

"Lazy git can’t sleep the day away. We’ve got work to do, and can’t have him holding us up. Wake up, Malfoy-"

The door burst open, and Ron Weasley shoved his way in, stopping still at seeing me awake.

"You’re up," he said, sounding disappointed.

"Why didn’t you come down to eat, then?" asked Hermione guardedly from behind him.

"Have you ever taken veritaserum? " I asked. I rubbed my head and said, "You can’t eat for six hours afterward. What time is it?"

Ron snorted, then said, "Get downstairs, Malfoy. We need to talk."

I carefully followed the Weasleys down the stairs, tripping several times on the uneven boards and ignoring Ron’s sniggers.

At the kitchen table, the Potters were sitting, conversing quietly, and they looked up when Ron said, "Let’s get down to it."

The Potters led the way into a living room in which many couches and chairs were haphazardly stuffed, the entire room bathed in tones of crème, brown and orange. The ceiling was also slanted, and low in places, and I was forced to duck several times, unlike Harry and Hermione. I was last to enter the room, and found myself sitting in a wooden chair opposite the four Aurors.

"You’ve been placed in our custody," Harry began. "After you were found innocent, in light of everything that’s happened, it was agreed that you needed to be protected."

"Watched," I interrupted.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. The suspicious light was brightest in her eyes, though Ginny and Ron were both openly distrustful. Their wands were close to hand, visible. Bad cops, I thought, pilfering the Muggle expression.

Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard us. "You have a lot of valuable knowledge about Voldemort, his followers and inner circle. At this point, we can’t afford to waste that knowledge." He reached into a pocket, pulled out a wand, and threw it across the room. Good cop.

I caught my wand and carefully examined it with my magic, ignoring the elderly orange cat that approached me, sniffed my leg and fell asleep on my foot. I pocketed my wand, after finding everything in order. "Where am I?" I asked, looking up from the cat snoring on my ankles.

"The Burrow," said Ginny Potter, nudging Hermione, who was scrutinizing the cat. "We live here; it’s where Ron and I grew up."

I nodded. "Was anyone killed last night?"

They all exchanged looks, and I knew. Hermione opened her mouth, but I said, "The Killing Curse?"

The four exchanged glances once more, and Ron replied stiffly, "The Manor was destroyed."

I nodded again. Standard Death Eater procedure. "Where are the bodies?"

"The Ministry’s Medical department examined them this morning," said Harry. "There's - evidence of torture." I'd expected as much. "Have you any wishes in regard to . . . " he spoke hesitantly, and I kept my face a mask.

"Cremate them," I said flatly. I reached down, shifted the cat off my foot, and stood. I only just missed hitting my head on the ceiling, but managed to duck in time.

"Their . . . things," said Harry, handing me a bag as he also stood. I returned to the kitchen, conjured a fire, and began to look through the sack of belongings. The clothes I tossed into the flames, and then I snapped the wands, burning them as well. The Potters and the Weasleys watched silently behind me. The gold and silver jewelry I melted down to meaningless blobs, smashing my father’s watch and committing that to the fire. Turning the bag over, I shook it several times to ensure that it was empty.

A small lock and a chain tumbled free from where they had been caught in the seam of the bag and clattered to the floor. I swore viciously and jumped back. "Don’t touch it," I snapped at the cat, which was poking its nose forward. It ignored me, sniffed the lock, then yowled bad-temperedly and backed away, hissing.

"What is it?" asked Ron, leaning forward.

"Get back," I snapped. "You don’t want to go near it." I pulled out my wand.

"I don’t understand," said Hermione. "It’s just a lock and a chain." Confusion was apparent on all their faces.

"It’s a Life-Lock. Used to imprison the wearer’s life-force. It was my father’s," I spat, derision in the word. "Voldemort developed it, used it to control him. He had the key to free the life-force that was held inside. If the lock was opened, the spirit was released beyond the Veil and the wearer died. If you touch it, it’ll steal your life force. Do you really want to trap your spirit into a device that Voldemort controls? It would make it too easy for him to manipulate and kill you. So don’t touch it."

I pointed my wand at the lock and whispered quietly, "Annihilate." Then I repeated the process for the chain, blasting the two objects out of existence.

I leant back against the table and held up my left arm, tugging my sleeve down. I flexed my fingers carefully, then undid the bandage. The mark was gray, the skin around it swollen and red, but it no longer needed the protection of cloth. I threw that also into the flames, then stopped the fire, collected the ashes in the bag and said, "I’ll be back."