Image of a Fallen Statue

Chapter 6-

Perched carefully on the very top of the roof I could see for miles around. It was pure freedom, the wind blowing and the sun shining. Even in the towers of the mansion I had always felt as if the aura of the house and all it represented was choking me.

My parents were dead. I had still not fully confronted that issue, and I approached it carefully. I was not shocked when the full realization of this issue brought no grief. Regret tingled on the fringes of my awareness, that we could have been a true family and never were, but it was more of a longing wish for something that could never have occurred under any circumstances. My parents’ chains still kept me shackled to their purposes. From my father I had inherited the mark on my arm and all it’s trappings, from my mother the quest to prepare Harry Potter. They had arranged for me a life that would be alone, and short. I was completely independent of them by the time I was nine. And I had never loved them.

It felt horrible to say it out loud — that I felt nothing for my parents. But the truth is rarely kind. I accepted that long ago. My thoughts moved on.

Voldemort was aware that I lived. He had probably killed my parents for my failure, and would kill me in preparation for killing Harry Potter and his legend, moving on finally to take over the world. I looked at the grass many meters below me. It was vibrant, alive. That wouldn’t change, even if death were to encompass it, muffle the life. I shook my head. That was insanity.

Suicide would give me nothing, and lessen me in the eyes of others. Not only would I be unmourned, but I would be scorned after my death. I’d had enough derision to last several lifetimes. I wouldn’t give up my last breath without facing Voldemort. And if I survived, I would live crippled, wishing I had died. I shoved the last thoughts of killing myself away, and felt lighter.

Moving carefully, I began to descend the roof. It was time to speak with Harry and Ron, and form a more concrete plan in preparation for Voldemort's attack. He was becoming increasingly bold, and his latest attack, for many, signified the beginning of the end. I knew, in my bones, that the confrontation was fast approaching.

I was halfway down a loose shingle gave way and I fell, sliding to the edge. Before I could stop myself, before I could do anything, I rolled over the gutter into empty space. My fingers clasped the metal and I felt it twist horribly under the strain. I dangled over the edge, breathing shallowly, keeping myself from panicking.

The window was too far away for me to swing myself to, and the ground was even farther. There was nothing I could do. The metal squealed and lurched, slowly giving way from the twisting strain of my weight. I dropped a few inches and jerked to an abrupt stop, the metal slicing into my fingers. Fear, anger, panic welled up - coming to a sudden decision, I took a deep breath. Then I let go of the gutter.

My stomach flew into my throat and I clenched my teeth, forcing my eyes open. Using the magic almost unconsciously, I shoved with all my might. A hoarse cry burst past my lips, and I hit the ground almost gently.

I must have blacked out for a second or two, but I barely noticed it when I came to. I sat up carefully, my fingers dripping deep red blood onto the grass. I pushed myself up and yanked off my black robe. Muggle clothes were more practical, anyway.

As I switched my robe to my opposite hand, a large black dog padded around the corner of the house, stopped and growled low in its throat. "What is with the animals around here, anyway?" I snapped, still jittery. "That cat won’t leave me alone and you, dog, hate me on sight."

Hackles raised, the dog growled, and I saw that it had something in its mouth. A piece of paper. It dropped the paper and backed away. I turned around and it barked viciously. I turned and took a step to the paper, and it quieted. I reached for the parchment, and read it.

Gone to the Ministry. Sirius is here. Back before five.

R&H, H&G

Rolling my eyes, I crumpled the paper and stuffed it in a pocket. I rubbed my temples, which were throbbing, and opened my hand. The blood flow was easing, but my fingers were filthy with rust grime. I grimaced and went inside, the dog following me, and washed the dirt off, roughly bandaging my hand without using my wand.

Sticking my wand in my pocket, I ran upstairs and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on socks and sneakers. The dog growled when I closed the door, but quieted once in the room as I changed. I ran out the door, grabbing a broomstick on the way. Throwing my leg over it, I shot into the sky, leaving the dog barking furiously on the ground.

I flew recklessly, going higher and higher, diving to the ground in barely-controlled free-fall. Once I was finally tired out, the jitters and adrenaline gone, I returned to the ground and the dog, which climbed out of a pair of thickly growing, intertwining bushes, chased by a gnome.

As I watched the dog teasing the gnome, I started to laugh, harder than I had in a long time. Tears ran down my cheeks and my sides hurt. I sat and wiped my face, seeing both the dog and the gnome staring at me with their heads cocked to one side. I smiled and said, "Yea, maybe I am crazy. But it’s better than-" I felt the smile wipe itself from my face and stopped abruptly.

There was a figure on the hill. It was nearing twilight, and the black robes clothing the tall silhouette moved slightly in the breeze. Another appeared. And another. Seven in all. I glanced around, and saw that the dog had disappeared.

They had seen me. I stood, and glanced around me, taking stock of the situation. Fight-or-flight instincts warred within me, my body tensed and ready. Looking around once more, I saw Sirius Black stride around the corner. That decided it — I couldn’t run and leave him to die. A flash of red light shot toward us, and I could hear a voice calling, "Stupefy!"

I raised a hand, calling on my magic, and the spell sparked against an invisible shield, and died. Sirius sucked in a breath.

"Fight or run?" I asked him. The figures came ever closer. "Choose!" I snapped.

"Will they catch us if we run?"

"Not if we Disapparate."

"And leave the house?"

"There’s no one in it."

"But Harry - "

"Go to the Ministry and stop them from coming back here," I snapped. "I can’t go. I’ll hide, and find you in Diagon Alley in twenty-four hours. If I’m not back by then, I’ll be dead, or captured. Go!"

There was a slight pop, the noise of air rushing into a space that had previously been filled with a body. I stood straighter, and dropped my hand. The time had come.

I called on my power, blowing a wind straight across the ground. Robes flapped, hoods fell back. I recognized several faces, but demanded to see the one thing that polyjuice potion could not recreate — I held up my arm in silent demand, my sleeve pushed down to my elbow, the Dark Mark in evidence.

"Crabbe, Goyle," I said. They grunted, and held up their arms. The marks were true.

"Take me to Voldemort," I commanded, infusing my voice with power that had once been crafted into the form of the Imperious spell. They simply stepped aside. A tall figure walked smoothly to the forefront of the crowd. This individual’s hood had withstood my magic wind, but no one could mistake the hissing, sibilant voice.

"Draco Malfoy."

I gave no reply.

"I wonder how it is that you managed to outsmart me. You, the spy. I killed your parents for that."

I was quiet.

"Nothing to say?" There was a smirk in the voice. "Imperio!"

The spell shot from a wand half-concealed in Voldemort’s sleeve. It sparked against my shield, a living thing, an insect trying to penetrate, before it, too, died.

"You will die in pain for your betrayal," snapped Voldemort. I braced myself, but heard a small pop before the shout — "Crucio!"

Someone started to scream. Shocked, I looked around. Harry was writhing on the grass, clutching his scar. Voldemort was laughing.

I was forgotten. I attacked, loosing the berserk rage deep within me, the fury at the ruin of my life, my childhood. My hands came up and invisible columns of power shot from my palms to hit the group of Death Eaters.

The rank smell of charred flesh filled the air. Six Death Eaters collapsed, clothes in tatters. Harry’s screaming stopped abruptly.

One was still standing. Voldemort.

"What is this magic?" he snarled, gasping, hunched over. I advanced on him, not about to tell him my secret, not about to stop until his spirit was well and fully destroyed. "You — have no — wand . . . ."

"No," I snapped. "I don’t." The rage was still flowing strongly, but I could feel it slowly abating, as hate ran out. Anger could not sustain me forever. Soon, too soon, it was simply my will, forcing him to die, battling against his will to survive. I could no longer think, only attack, pouring more and more of myself into the fight.

Even as I thought that there was nothing more, that I had used everything in the fight, I reached deeper within myself, holding on for one more second. Just one more, I told myself.

I heard a voice, dimly, and suddenly the resistance melted away. There was nothing to fight but a whisper of spirit, devoid of flesh. Invincible.

A sudden horror coursed through me. This was how he had escaped before. The image of this cycle repeating over and over assaulted me and I grunted with effort, directing my thought, my will, toward the wisp of Voldemort’s spirit that remained.

Pain washed my senses gently, a caress that lulled me into weakening. I resisted. I found my strength flowing from me, and with a last burst shoved everything I had, everything —the isolated youth and the friendless school days, my branding as one of the Death Eaters and the terrible loneliness I felt, sitting in the solitary chair before the arena of my peers.

I blinked. Voldemort was lying in front of me. I could not sense his spirit as I had before. I blinked again, and found myself on the grass, my weak legs having finally given out on me. I was shivering, I realized vaguely. The knowledge meant nothing.

Harry, face pale, pulled at my arm, and I looked at him, trying to understand what he wanted. By the time I made it to my feet I was shaking violently.

I woke up in the house, confused. The sun was shining brilliantly, and there were several people looking at me. I pushed myself up, my arms nearly giving out. I was as feeble as a baby. I looked around — I was lying on the couch in the living room of the Burrow.

I tried to think back to last night, but after getting into the house, I couldn’t remember anything. It was a blur, as if I had been hit with a stun spell. "Voldemort’s dead," said Ron roughly.

I nodded. I remembered that much.

"You killed him," said Harry seriously.

I laughed skeptically. "No I didn’t. You did. You said the killing curse." I looked at the carefully blank faces around me and sobered. "You didn’t? But I heard - " I stopped. I couldn’t remember - or I had never really heard what the voice had shouted.

"Do you remember what happened?" Hermione’s voice was measured, and the silence afterward became confirmation of my ignorance.

I sighed. "Not really. I remember — fighting." I stopped, opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come. It had been the most difficult thing I’d ever done.

Sirius was looking at me intently, and I looked around the room to find that every gaze was fixed on me. "What happened?" I asked finally, my voice subdued.

The trio glanced at one another, and Ginny nodded to Harry, who took a deep breath before beginning. "I Apparated to the house as soon as Sirius arrived in the Ministry. I don’t know what I expected, but Voldemort hit me with the Cruciatus just as I arrived. The pain stopped abruptly, though, and I looked up and — you had both hands extended toward Voldemort, and the Death Eaters were burning corpses. The smell was — awful." He swallowed, face gray, and continued doggedly. "Voldemort was — writhing, in pain. It was strange. He looked — confused." Here Hermione smiled.

"He prepared his body to be indestructible against all forms of magic created by a wand. But you had a weapon he had never seen," she said. I started to feel a small dread work it’s way through my mind.

"It was like nothing I’ve ever seen," said Sirius. His deep voice was solemn and he absently brushed a stray lock of shaggy black hair away from his face. Black hair — very much like the bedraggled coat of the black dog that had chased the gnome before the arrival of the Death Eaters. My eyes narrowed.

"It looked as if it continued forever, but it felt as if the fight lasted only a second. Voldemort — he gasped, like, and then you shouted," said Harry. "I couldn’t properly hear what you said, though. But when you said it, Voldemort collapsed. You didn’t move, though. You were still — fighting, I guess."

"I know all this," I said roughly. "What happened after — the house. I remember, standing up, walking to the house."

"The Ministry arrived late, of course," said Ginny briskly. "Followed by reporters from the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, and everyone else you could think of. But you were dying. Your heart was barely beating, and you were unconscious." She shook her head. "You almost died several times."

"The wizarding world has been frantically rejoicing ever since," said Hermione, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Harry. So was Ron, and Sirius, and soon I was as well.

"What aren’t you telling me?" I asked, a feeling of foreboding in my mind.

"It’s just - " said Harry, staring at his shoes, avoiding my gaze.

"Everyone thinks Harry killed Voldemort," Ron interjected.

I sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin."

Harry jerked around to stare at me. "What?" asked four voices almost simultaneously.

"But I — I didn’t - " said Harry, confused.

"But the world thinks you did. Honestly, I don’t care to have the rest of Voldemort’s followers after me to revenge their master. Especially that worm Pettigrew, now that his hand’s probably gone for good." Everyone but me started — they’d been thinking of the press, the glory, the fame that followed the true, complete defeat of the wizarding world’s greatest threat.

"And I can do without the notoriety," I added, leaning back.

"But don’t you want people to know?" asked Harry, a bit desperately.

I chuckled. "Not a chance. I want to be able to have a life without becoming a Muggle. You’ve had publicity since day one. This is simply the climax of that."

"But you’re — you’re unique," said Hermione. "You have gifts, powers that no one else has! You - "

"Would never have a chance at any kind of life if the Ministry, the Unspeakables and their Department of Mysteries ever found that out," I spat. "I’ve given my life to the destruction of Voldemort. I honestly did not expect to be alive. In fact, I was certain that I could not face the Dark Lord without dying. Now - " I trailed off, then started again doggedly. "Now I have a chance. I can have a life, and I won’t let that be ruined. I don’t need recognition, and I don’t want the facts set straight." I think they were startled by my vehemence, because they let the subject die, despite the fact that it meant they accepted that Harry could — and probably would — become the target of assorted Dark Lord devotees. After all, that could be nothing new to him.

After telling me that I had been recuperating for nearly a week and still had to rest, I lay back and thought. Ron looked at me warily, and I almost laughed to know that even though I had killed the Dark Lord and proven myself to be irrefutably on the side of good, some things wouldn’t change.

Change.

Something was ahead of me that I had never experienced, never known. There was a future. The possibilities of everything that I had never even thought to dare to dream about. I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the house and the people in it. And that future might have friends, family, everything I had lacked. Maybe, just maybe, life could be different.

I was no longer simply the image of a fallen statue. I had found myself.