Haunted

Privacy was a wonderful thing.

The big clock on the wall near the door said it was six o’clock; so he’d woken early. Turning his gaze to the ceiling, he wondered what each person in the house was doing at that moment, or where they were. It made him slightly nervous, to think of Professor Snape skulking about somewhere in this house; but he was becoming more relaxed here. He hadn’t seen Snape once since the day they’d arrived, although he gathered the Potions Master was still somewhere on the premises, thanks to Niamh’s occasional comments of “Father told me...” or “Father asked me to...” to the Aunts.

The Aunts. Now that had been something of a peculiar experience. He’d met them the morning after his arrival, had bumped into one, actually, as she exited the greenhouse, causing her to drop her bag. He’d been terrified out of his mind, expecting a Snape-like “POTTER!” or such in response; but all Birgitte had done was take her things back when he’d handed them to her, give him a quick but embarrassingly thorough look-over, and said, “Ah. So you’re him? I was expecting you to be taller,” before she tramped off back to the house, leaving him stunned and bewildered but ultimately relieved. Jessamine had taken him aside an hour later, and insisted on giving him an incomplete tour (“Even I don’t know every room, boy; this place is a bit of a mystery,”) of the house, with some rather interesting and obviously colored facts about some of the objects contained therein. (“That’s all rubbish,” Niamh had confirmed for him when he’d asked her later, “Aunt Jessa just likes to put on airs.”)

As for Niamh...she was something else, entirely. Aside from a few physical characteristics, she really didn’t resemble her father at all. She was a bit eccentric; he couldn’t blame her, having grown up around the Aunts. She was also sharp, almost shockingly so. She’d infuriate Hermione, Harry was sure. She had a certain sort of sarcasm that was not as malicious nor as constant as her father’s, but was nonetheless absolutely on target every time. And furthermore, after getting around a thin veil of “I don’t think Father would appreciate...”, she had a keen sense of adventure.

All in all, she was thoroughly enjoyable.

In a half an hour, he’d get dressed, and slip across the hall to see if she was awake. He still didn’t have quite the courage to go about the house alone. He couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if he ran into...

Just then, something caught his eye.

He raised himself up on his elbows and peered up at the ceiling. Right there, on the side of a beam, he could see something dark against the wood. Balancing himself precariously, he stood on the bed. His finger traced out the jaggedly carved words:

“S S 1978 NOLITE TE BASTARDES CARBORUNDORUM”

* * * * *

I knew - somewhere, in my heart of hearts - that what I was doing wrong; but somehow, it just didn’t matter to me anymore. That was why, when I got that letter from Alan Lestrange, I consented to meet him and discuss...my future.

I was lost and unsure and I thought Voldemort and his followers to just be an easy way out, a solution to my problems, which was of course a predictable and juvenile notion. I leaped on it and wrung it out for all its worth. I didn’t realize it had been a dry belief from the first until the night I killed someone.

And that, you see, is what separated me from the rest of them, gave me the ability to turn away and change my life. To commit yourself to something like that, you need motivation. And I never had any to begin with.

I didn’t really think I would get as deep into it as I did. I thought that I would just be on the peripheral...that it would be a game of sorts, giving me a chance to get away from the Aunts, my general uselessness, my impending doom as some Ministry hack... If I seemed busy, I could convince them to cancel that August appointment, I imagined. And that, you must admit, is an extremely weak and childish motivation.

It was easy to get wrapped up in it. I already hated Muggles. Why not wish them all dead? What had they ever done for me, except leave me, just like my father, just like my mother, who might as well have been a Muggle...the same as my sister. The same as Muireen.

Oh, yes, she left, all right. She had to get back to Enniskillen immediately, she told me, that day on the docks. Didn’t I know what was going on in Northern Ireland? Didn’t I know about the Troubles?

* * * * *

Argat Island was a small island, and the majority of it was taken up by the village. Harry could see it from the front porch, over the trees; the houses were brightly colored. If he stretched his sight, he could see the misty docks in the distance, and the white dots of boats.

He’d asked Niamh to take him down there on more than one occasion, but she wouldn’t.

“It’s a rotten place, and they don’t like our kind there,” she told him.

“You mean, witches and wizards?”

“Of course, what else would I mean?” They were sitting on the bluffs right now; thirty or so feet below them, the ocean crashed and boomed.

“But they wouldn’t know. How would they know?” Harry picked up a stone and dropped it over the edge. It bounced off one of the rocks and splashed into the water.

“They’d know.” Abruptly she stood up. “Come on, let’s get back to the house. I’m hungry.”

He followed her, deciding to shut up about the village for now; he could see by the determined set of her chin that she wasn’t going to budge. She was so bloody stubborn.

“Hey!”

The sudden, unfamiliar voice distracted him; he looked up just in time to keep himself from walking right in Niamh, who had stopped in her tracks. They were almost at the house, just about to bisect the beach path that Harry had originally arrived on. Standing there, looking as comfortable as if she owned the place, was a woman with short red hair and black eyes.

“Who -” Niamh started.

“Hey, kid. Don’t you recognize me?” She beamed. “You’d think my bloody brother would have enough familial respect to show you a picture once in awhile.”

“Aunt Ananda?” Niamh took a faltering step forward.

“That’s right. My goodness, look at you. You look just like Severus at that age.” She turned around, scanning the surrounding area. “Where’s the Aunts? Buried somewhere in the house? Should we send out a search party?”

“They’re - they’re -”

“They’re around back, I think,” Harry said. “At least, that’s where we last saw them.”

Ananda’s head turned around so fast he thought he heard it snap. Her eyes bored down on him with a gaze Harry knew well from his time in Potions Class.

* * * * *

My memories of those months with Alan and the rest of them - Crabbe, Goyle, Rosier, and more that I’ve forgotten and never want to think of again - are distorted, misty, unformed. So many people, so many places, so many... I was someone else. I didn’t have to think about the things I didn’t want to, and I liked, loved it. What I was doing - talking, planning, getting drunk, meeting all sorts of strange and unusual people - was not what Death Eaters really did. It was like kindergarten. They were taking me on the rounds. They didn’t let me really see what was going on, but they alluded to it, laughed about it; and I laughed along with them. I didn’t take it seriously.

I have two very distinct memories of that time. The first one is when I was given the Dark Mark. We were in London. I believe it was fall - I remember leaves covering the ground, crinkling as we walked over them. We, being myself, Alan, his girlfriend Mary, and some squat grinning guy who had a voice like a chattering little bird. We’d had drinks at Alan’s place beforehand, and I felt like I was walking on air. We arrived presently at a tenement house that had black-out curtains over all the windows. Alan muttered something as he opened the door, and we stepped inside, into a room that looked much larger than the house had seemed on the outside. I thought it was just because of the alcohol. But it did definitely look much nicer inside than you’d think the inside of a tenement would look. It gave me pause for thought, but it wasn’t a very long pause.

Alan left the others there in that room and then he led me up some stairs and down some corridors until I was very confused and disoriented and bit annoyed as well. Finally he stopped at a door and he knocked and said, I’m here with the virgin, which made me sputter rather foolishly. I sure as hell wasn’t a virgin. Not since four months before, at least.

I took one look inside the room and was silent. I was, in fact, absolutely still, until Alan pulled me in after him. He got down on his hands and knees and I went down with him. Following his example, I laid my forehead against the floorboards and something burbled up in my mind, a memory of a television program I had watched as a little kid about Muslims and how there were five points touching the ground as they prayed or something like that. Then He - Voldemort, of course - started speaking and I didn’t think of anything.

The next thing I knew, Alan was pulling me back up and telling me to roll up my sleeve and put out my arm. I did as he said, staring at the floor. There were a few moments of silence, and He said,

Look at me.

I did. He smiled and I felt dizzy. Then He reached out and took my arm in His hand, and there was a burning so intense it was cold. It went right down to the bone; I felt as though my arm were melting. Did I do something wrong? I thought. Are they going to kill me? My heart wanted to beat itself right out of my chest but my pain and fear stifled it.

He let go, and Alan grabbed me by the shoulders, which was good, because I thought I might fall. I hugged my arm to my chest, afraid to look at it.

You did great, Alan said to me as we left the house, most people pass out.

I did great, I repeated dumbly. I squeezed my arm, which I still hadn’t removed from my chest. What happened?

Alan sighed. You got the Dark Mark, of course, he said, and pulled my arm away to show me. The mark was blacker than anything I’d ever seen before, almost like the black lava rock that is really solid fire. I touched it, half expecting it to burn me. I felt nothing but a slight tingling.

You’re one of us for real now, Alan said. You’re taken care of for life.