I put it between two crackers with some chocolate. It was the most delicious treat my young mouth had ever experienced. Da and Ma and Auntie Carol were busy chatting away from the fire.
They paid no attention to me; after all, I was simply eating my s’more and staying quiet. Little did they know that I was actually hypnotized by the bonfire. Watching the sparks leap into the air as the melted marshmallow stuck to my hand.
When I had finished my sticky snack, I continued to gaze in the blaze. It was calling me, those dancing flames were asking me to dance with them. Silently, I stood up. The grown-ups took no notice. I gingerly stepped to the gorgeous inferno. A spark jumped at me, I tried to catch it. A stick fell out of the fire, and turned into glowing embers.
It was pleasant and warm so close to the fire pit, I watched the embers glittered on the burnt stick. They were so sparkly. I wanted to touch them, and maybe they would feel warm too. I picked up the stick, it gave off a pleasant glow in my hand, but a sudden gust of wind cooled it quickly. I stayed snug in my oversized sweatshirt.
Disappointed, I searched for another stick. Then I spotted one, in the middle of the fire, elegant and white, all its bark burnt off. It was incased in flames, it seemed like an eternally burning stick. I reached out to grab it”
-and the fire snagged the sleeve of my sweatshirt. The fabric was so bulky that I didn’t notice it at first. But my Da did, he rushed over to me and yanked me backwards. Screaming at me in words I barely understood, he tugged the sweatshirt off over my head.
But it was too late; the blaze had singed the flesh all up and down my right forearm. I screamed in pain as I looked at it, hot red. It hurt so much, so much. I passed out.
I awoke a few hours later, my arm in bandages (Ma had healed it with her wand) and snug on the couch. But there are still faint scars on it, and it’s weaker than my left arm. However, that experience has had a lasting effect on me, I shy away from candle flames, and flinch at the heat of ovens. The last time I was at a bonfire party, I nearly threw up, the fear made me so nauseous.
I later learned the correct term for my fear, pyrophobia.
As those doors opened, I felt my knees shake. Fire. I could smell it, the stench of smoke that fills the air and gets into your lungs. However, for once my fear was cast aside in favor of a stronger one.
Because mixed amongst the smoke was a stink of evil. I can’t really even describe it to you, but the very feeling vibrated in the bones of my body. Every organ in my body screamed a protest as Bellatrix and Wormtail dragged me forward.
They were leading my numb, stiff body down a black stone hall. Fire lined the walls. Black fire, it was the source of the sinister vibes. The entire place was dark as night, and yet somehow I could see. Surely it was not due to the fire, which gave off no light.
We stopped yet again at a thick pair of columns. Bellatrix and Wormtail dropped me to the cold, unforgiving black stone floor and fled. I heard the wooden door shut behind them.
Wondering if this was to be my new dungeon, I grudgingly pulled myself up. Only then did I examine the columns. They weren’t really columns, they were snakes.
Black snakes about 50 meters long and 2 meters wide. Their coils rippled in the fire. I stifled the urge to scream (barely) when an eye opened on one of them. Then the left column/snake’s entire head emerged. I wondered if it was going to swallow me whole, it was easily large enough too. Instead, it merely surveyed me with it’s flat red eyes before tucking itself back into it’s coils and it shifted again until the head was no longer in view.
I should have run, but I couldn’t. My heart was in my throat and the blood in my veins seemed to have frozen in horror. If you were to have pushed me, I would have tipped right over. My ears rang, as if I could hear voices that weren’t quite there. I tried to ignore them but they became more insistent, mere murmurings that I couldn’t really discern. It may have all been in my head, but my body wasn’t ready to accept it in such an ominous environment.
“Diducos!”
As the high, shrill voice cut through the air, the snakes began to move. It was so slow, so subtle, that at first I wasn’t even sure it had happened. But a rush of clean cool oxygen knocked my brain into functioning a little better.
As the coils slowly parted, the space beyond came into view. I saw that the enormous serpents had been resting in front of a flight of stairs. The steps were steep and narrow, much like those of the ancient Aztec pyramids.
Soon, the snakes had completely disappeared from view, except for their heads, which poked out of their niches in the wall, tongues flicking across the floor occasionally.
Nervously, every fiber in my body shaking from some unknown terror, I raised my head up to look beyond the vertical stairway. There was a large, flat area made of the same stone as the rest of the chamber. A large, spacious wooden chair sat against the far side of the platform. It looked rather stiff and uncomfortable. Adorning the walls were various tapestries depicting gruesome deaths, or declaring family lineage. There were also a few skeletons hanging from manacles; I tried to not look at those.
But what my eyes were avoiding most, even more than the skeletons and the dancing black flames was the figure standing on one side of the platform.
“Merona,” he addressed me, a faint hiss in his sharp voice.
I could avoid it no longer. I took a deep breath, in a failed attempt to calm myself, before turning to face him. He was tall and slim, looking more like a skeleton with the skin stretched across the bones and draped in black. But the face was the most unnatural part of his person. It wasn’t even human, more like a cross between human and snake. The eyes were flat and oval, set far apart on the sides of the face. And bright red. Nostrils barely even distinguishable, they lay so low. And his mouth was curled in a cruel grin. I was half-expecting him to flick out a serpent’s tongue.
It was Lord Voldemort.
“Merona,” Dumbledore began, surveying me gravely, “this is a mission of utmost importance.”
“Yes, I understand,” I nodded reluctantly, sitting on the edge of my chair and jostling my leg nervously. It was just after the beginning of summer holidays and I was sitting in Dumbledore’s office. He looked apphrehensive.
“There are Death Eaters in Azkaban, left over from the battle in the Department of Mysteries,” he continued. The memories of that battle were obviously still fresh in his mind. They were fresh in all of our minds.
“Why haven’t the Death Eaters freed them?” I queried. It had been the Death Eaters’ most predicted move, to spring their friends out of the wizarding prison. However, Voldemort had simply contented himself with attacking minor Muggle facilities and Wizarding Organizations.
“That’s what I want you to find out,” Dumbledore heaved a big sigh. “We really need you for this mission.”
“Sure, I’ll do it,” I insisted, I felt guilty about not having done any work for the order since guarding the Department of Mysteries had become obsolete. In the pit of my stomach, though, I knew I didn’t really want to do it.
“I believe you can accomplish it,” Dumbledore input, correctly interpreting my thoughts as he always seemed too. “This information is very vital. But the means of obtaining it are dangerous. You will need to go to the Riddle Manor. That is where my sources tell me Lord Voldemort is hiding.”
He proceeded to show me a map of the Riddle Manor and surrounding area. “It’s best you go the Muggle way,” he explained, “they may have ways to detect apparitions and portkeys set up.”
He handed me the Order’s invisibility cloak with a gentle smile on his face. “I wish you success,” he paused, “but should you fail in your mission…”
He let his voice trail off; at that point I truly realized the consequences of this mission. Should I fail, I could die. My heart paused for a few brief seconds at the thought. I did my best to regulate my breathing. Others in the Order did more dangerous things every day. Surely I could accomplish so simple a mission as this.
“I have a little charm that may or may not be able to help you,” Dumbledore pulled out a slim, purple candle, “if you light this, it will light this identical candle here in my study,” he indicated to another purple candle on his desk. “Then I will know that you are in trouble. Also, you will be able to communicate until the candle burns out. I’m giving you two, so that you can light one before you enter the Riddle Manor.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I took both the candles agitatedly. My anxiety about the mission chased away my fear of fire. As well as my knowledge of it. Had I remembered, perhaps Dumbledore would have been able to give me another method.
I stumbled out of Dumbledore’s office, feeling a bit dazed. I saw that Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting outside, looking imperious as ever.
“Well Merona?” he asked. “How did it go?”
“I got my first mission,” I explained nervously.
“Oh?” Kingsley raised one eyebrow. I nodded, feeling embarrassed under his high gaze. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. I looked up at him expectantly.
“Y-you” Good luck!” he stuttered. Even though he had stumbled over his words, he didn’t flush like I did when that happened. He then quickly strode into Dumbledore’s office.
The traverse to the Riddle Manor had been as dull as my job. Only, I had been as jumpy as a baby bunny. I gave every Muggle that was in the same subway car as me the third degree. For instance, that lady over there with the muffler was not wearing the muffler to protect herself against the snow, but to hide her face from me. And the man wearing the tall top hat was obviously Lord Voldemort himself. By the end of the trip, I had convinced myself I was surrounded by Death Eaters.
I ran nearly the whole way to the Riddle Manor. When I got to the walls however, I realized I had forgotten to don my invisibility cloak. To avoid causing suspicion, I had ducked into a nearby pub to put it on.
The pub had been warm in crowded. Someone even offered to buy me a drink. I refused and hid in the nearest loo. Unfortunately for me, I had neglected to check as to whether it was a ladies or a man’s room. Knowing my luck, it turned out to be a man’s. Fortunately I was able to flee unseen thanks to my cloak.
Once at the Riddle Manor (now properly clad) I lit one of the candles Dumbledore had given me. It was a mistake. The candle burst into hot white flame. The flames reminded me so much of that fateful campfire that I screamed and put it out immediately.
I shook off the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me to forget the whole thing, that the candle was a bad omen. I entered the Riddle Manor with great trepidation.
“Crucio!”
I screamed, the pain was so intense, so insufferable; I wished I could just die. But I couldn’t give him the satisfaction, not yet. And yet, it felt as though I were in the heart of a fire and burning endlessly. I could almost smell the smoke on my own skin. All of a sudden, it was over.
“Did you like that?” he asked. I didn’t answer; it was an obvious trick question. He had administered the curse six times thusly. I was on all fours, panting for air.
“Look at me,” he commanded. I couldn’t do it though; I was too weak to raise my head.
“Crucio!”
Again, I was in the center of a fire, all my oxygen squeezed of my lungs as I burned. Just as quickly I found myself lying on the floor, it was graciously cold and sturdy.
“Tell me about the Order of the Phoenix,” Voldemort commanded calmly. I was still paralyzed in fear and pain; “You are going to wish you are dead after I’m done with you.”
Somehow, I managed to pull myself. I swayed a little bit, for I was still unbalanced. I blinked dully at Lord Voldemort, trying to see through the spots that had wormed their way into my vision after all those bouts of the Cruciatus Curse.
“I know naught about the Order,” I croaked. It was an obvious lie, but I didn’t care. The mistake I had made was looking Voldemort straight in the eye.
I now understood why the Death Eaters held such respect for Lord Voldemort. He was more than an insane evil genius. He was an insane evil genius with power. When he looked me straight in the eye, I knew he knew everything about me, and there was no hiding it. I felt as though he could smite me with his eyes alone.
He could have done that; it would have been merciful in comparison to what he actually did.
There is a trick that your brain does to block out traumatic moments. Anything too embarrassing is slowly forgotten overtime. Hidden in the recesses of your brain, until you mostly remember the comical and happy moments. Unfortunately those memories are still there, but it takes a lot to bring them back to the surface.
“Look at the scrawny first year,” sang a plump 4th year Ravenclaw girl with a smug grin on her face, “she looks like she could use some friends!” The word friends was dragged out to encompasses twice the tones and syllables the word normally needs.
“Giselle,” I breathed, my heart bounding up to my throat. The face of my tormentor throughout my first years in Hogwarts appeared right in my eyes, “No. No, go away! I’m done with you!”
“She not bad-looking for a Hufflepuff,” Scotty, a Ravenclaw 5th year stated, walking around my eleven year old self, “unfortunate about her house though.”
“What are you doing to me!” I cried out, squirming with the unhappiness I had felt ten years ago, “You’re supposed to leave me alone! Why won’t you leave me alone!”
“You should have joined my order, Merona,” Voldemort spoke from somewhere beyond these nightmares, an amused sound in his voice.
“Alright, Snufflepuff,” Giselle giggled at her witty twisting of my house name, “we don’t do this often, but I feel pity for you.”
“Yeah,” Scotty agreed, “you could have gone far. Shame about your house.”
“Do what?” my eleven year old self squeaked, feeling incredibly nervous.
“We’ll take you under our wing,” Giselle explained, as though I were a complete moron (I was), “you’ll be our…understudy.”
“Here, have a toast!” Scotty said, passing me a lit cigarette and patting me on the butt at the same time.
“No, please, make them go away!” I screamed, tugging at my hair. These people had bullied me ages ago, but seeing them still scared the crap out of me. While the scene itself wasn’t particularly scaring, the fact that I was in such a helpless position and my knowledge that our friendship had had such terrible consequences made my insides revolt obniouxiously.
“Perhaps we should move on to a different memory then?” Voldemort cackled ruthlessly. Somehow, he had some control as to how to control these horrors.
A first year boy lay in front of my third year self. He was twitching uncontrollably as the result of a curse Scotty had hit him with.
“Don’t tell anyone, y’hear me Knowles?” Scotty asked, ruffling his hair nervously. I could only stare helplessly at the little kid’s body.
“But, he’s twitching and…and I think he could be hurt!” I cried out hysterically. The kid was starting to foam at the mouth.
“Damn it Merona!” Scotty seized my shoulders and pushed me aggressively against the wall, “The kid is fine. And if he’s not…if he’s not, I’m gonna tell’em YOU did it!”
“But I didn’t!” I wailed. I had gotten in way over my head, and there was no turning back. I was so scared.
“Y’know what?” Scotty declared, leaving me to whimper by the wall so he could examine the hapless first year, “This kid deserved it! Smarting off to me like that,” he turned back to me, “and you’ll deserve worse if you tell.”
“Stop being such a pussy Knowles,” Giselle spoke from amidst her cloud of cigarette smoke, “what are ya, two years old?”
“Just stop it here!” I begged, tearing at my hands, my fingernails drawing blood as they dug into my palms. In real life, these events had been terrible, but now that they were replayed and drawn out…they were a hundred times worse.
I was three, being burned…I was six, wetting my pants because I was terrified to talk in public…I was 16, on my first date and had a piece of lettuce stuck in between my teeth…
The nightmares rushed in front of me, one right after the other. Every once in a while, Voldemort would pause to laugh at a particular one as I writhed in embarrassment and horror.
Fire…pain…embarrassment. People pointing…people laughing…Jeering…Mocking…
“No! Just make them stop!” I screamed.
“And now, ladies and g-gent-gentlemen,” my 19 year old self began nervously, “allow me to show you the prop-proper way t-to use the m-magical and m-marvelous cleaning s-s-solution…”
“There is no way to make them stop!” Lord Voldemort laughed, enjoying every moment of my pain, “You are going to relive every single moment of your life. In short, your life is passing before your eyes!”
“I don’t want it to! Just make it stop,” I was sobbing now, my spirit broken.
”Do you, Merona Knowles, agree to join the Order of the Phoenix?” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked me seriously. I turned, gave a glance at all the people assembled in the kitchen…
“My, my, Dumbledore has been busy,” Lord Voldemort commented. I could see him taking note of each and every member in the Order. I then realized the full extent of what I had done.
“NO! Stop! You aren’t allowed to see that!” I cried frantically as I tore at my robes for a place to hide, thinking that if I could conceal myself, these nightmares would cease. Loose items fell out of pockets, lint, a quill, a candle, as I attempted to dissolve into myself.
A candle.
A slim, purple candle. Just like the one Dumbledore had given to me. It was the candle Dumbledore had give to me.
“A candle!” Voldemort laughed cruelly, “What an ironic touch! The person who fears fire carries a candle on her person!”
The memories had stopped, Voldemort had the information he needed. And he had discovered a new way to torment me. I was curled in the fetal position on the floor. The entire room was silent, you could have heard a pin drop. Tentatively, I uncurled myself. I saw Voldemort pointing his wand at me.
This is it, I thought,the end. I realized how futile my entire life had been. Just a bunch of embarrassments and failures. And now it was going to end with me betraying the only people I had ever really belonged with. I began to whimper again at my own patheticness.
“Accio candle!”
I sat up, clearly stunned that I was still alive. I saw Lord Voldemort, looking at the small candle in his hand with an expression of evil cunning on his face.
“Your greatest fear is fire,” he began, slowly descending to where I was crouched a slow grin spreading across his face, “you are going die by means of your greatest fear. I thank you for the information you gave me. I’ll make good use of it.”
With that he lit the candle using his wand.
“Also, you will be able to communicate until the candle burns out.”
My eyes watched the candle burst into flames; I found my lips moving without my own consent.
“Dumbledore!” I cried out, “I’m here! In the Riddle Manor! They’re springing the Death Eaters from Azkaban! Voldemort knows who is in the Order through the memory of my initiation!”