Resurgence of Evil

CHAPTER 20:

I stared at the figure in front of me. "Where are the Death Eaters?" I asked, finally able to find my voice.

An elegant sneer appeared. "Please. How many do you think remain?"

My mouth dropped open. "There are none?"

My father cocked a brow, stepping forward and approaching me slowly.

"Impossible," I said, voice shaking. "Voldemort had followers all over the world. You can't have killed them all."

"Impossibility for you is merely an obstacle for me, Draco. For all my work, I was never able to make you see beyond your perceived limits." I turned so that I was facing him as he circled me.

"Why?" I demanded. So much death - so much carnage. There was no redemption for Death Eaters, but I couldn't conceive of any one man being personally responsible for so much murder.

"I couldn't help myself." This was said with a graceful shrug, but the tone was a little forced. "Flies, Draco. They were to die anyway. Why such concern over your enemies?"

It wasn't them I was worried about. It was the small fact that Harry had mentioned -how the death of an innocent mirrored the demise of a Death Eater.

"The innocents," I spat out. "Why them?"

"Balance," was the careless answer. I didn't understand.

"To hell with balance," I snarled.

Fury covered my father's face. "Both sides must be satisfied," he snarled, with intense rage written over his entire body. He towered over me, his presence storming in the air around me, cutting off my air, making it hard to breathe.

I gasped, and pushed myself taller. I would not let him stare me down, defeat me with simply his will.

It was easier to breathe now. I gulped in air carefully, looking at my father. Something was happening to him - he was . . . his entire body was changing! His body was shifting, bones cracking, flesh melting, molding - the only thing that didn't change was his blonde hair.

And then, just as a new person stood before me, I realized what was happening. "Mother!"

________________________________________________________________________

Ron stared at Oliver, willing him to believe. Harry had just finished explaining what was happening, and his face was inscrutable.

"Malfoy defeated Voldemort," said Oliver, slowly, to himself. He nodded slightly. "He was telling the truth," he whispered.

"What?" asked Harry sharply. "Malfoy told you?"

"No," Oliver replied abruptly. "Hardesty. During his interrogation, he said -" Oliver frowned, trying to remember exactly. " 'He isn't just on the side of what you call the good, he is the good. Everything else is shades of gray, but this is the black and white. The new Lord is, and Malfoy is - only opposite.' I didn't understand it at the time. But now, it makes sense.

"Are there any clues to where he might have been taken?"

"Nothing," said Harry grimly.

"Wait," said Ron, absently rubbing the bandage that covered his hand. The only reason he still had one was that his fingers hadn't been closed around the phone when it exploded. "The Riddle House, where he lured us when he set the trap."

Harry snorted. "Lucius Malfoy's no pushover. He has to know that's where we'll look first."

"Well, I don't have any better ideas, so let's go. At least we'll be able to cross that one off the list," said Oliver, pulling out his wand.

They Apparated.

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I could only stare. Polyjuice Potion. My father really was dead. But this made less sense than ever. My mother had had a destiny - to help shape the hero who would take down Voldemort. I'd always thought that meant that she was the hand that held the tool which created the masterpiece. I'd been the tool, Harry the masterpiece. But ever since I'd killed Voldemort, the misinterpretation of destiny had been clear.

"Mother?" I glanced at her.

"Draco," she said, her voice that tone of reserved warmth that would have merited a smile from anyone else. "My . . . son." Her entire demeanor . . . shifted. Suddenly she was dark, menacing. The swing back was so swift I barely registered it. "I'm glad you're here."

"What's going on?" I asked carefully. Her rapid mood shift had me off-balance, and I was unsure of the full meanings of the many undercurrents swirling around and between us.

"Don't you dare use that disrespectful tone of voice," she snapped. I jumped. "Your father might have tolerated it, but I won't."

"I thought Father was dead, Mother," I said quietly, looking down at the ground and trying to appear as small a threat as possible.

"Voldemort killed him, you silly boy." I glanced up. "Oh, Draco-" her voice was soft now, her hand loving as she touched my cheek. She was much too close for comfort. "Didn't you get my letter?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes?" Her voice grew hard, her nails digging into my skin.

"Yes, Mother," I replied quickly, keeping my eyes downcast. Her fingers relaxed. "Mother?" I asked quietly.

"Yes?" her voice was tranquil.

"Why did you kill them?" I pulled away quickly, but she didn't move. She only looked at me, her eyes sad.

"Draco, they were Death Eaters. Servants of the Dark Lord. They deserved to die," she said earnestly.

"What about the innocents?" I asked, taking a step back.

Her face registered confusion. "What innocents? I only killed those with the Mark."

"They had to die," she snarled suddenly, and it was if something else had taken her place. "There are no innocents in war, and they dared to oppose me. Me, the rightful Lord! I had the power! And they thought they could resist me!" She snorted, her pale features twisted into an inhuman snarl. "Pathetic fools."

"But Draco, you have to believe me," she said, and the complete change was overwhelming. Suddenly a delicate, pleading lady replaced the powerful, raging woman. "I didn't kill any innocents." she continued without a pause. "And I didn't kill anyone, really. Their choice killed them - they chose it."

"Choice?" I asked carefully, slowly moving my hand toward my wand. If I could only -

"They chose to oppose me, and they died!" Her voice was a high-pitched shriek, her eyes bulging and face red with intense wrath.

"They chose to become Death Eaters," she said simply, calmly. Her voice was even and serene. "They chose the Mark. And I simply made sure they paid the due price."

"As you must now pay!"

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"There's no one here," said Harry grimly, after they quickly searched the Riddle House, both manually and with spells. "Satisfied?"

Oliver walked into the only room in which they'd found habitation. The dust was disturbed in regular patterns - paths one might take while pacing. There were hundreds of pieces of parchment scattered across the desk, and looking at some, he recognized their value. The scribblings of a spell-smith. He meandered over to the window, and something caught his attention. Something on the horizon, eerily familiar, that made him freeze mid-motion.

Ron opened his mouth, about to reluctantly agree that Harry had been right, when Oliver hissed, "Look!"

The two glanced through the glass, then rushed to the window.

A bright green light lit up the sky, coming from a field to the west.