BAM! My body hit the wall and crumpled to the floor. I felt a few bones crack somewhere inside. This can’t be good, I thought. My heart was pounding once again. And inside my head, I was chastising myself for my stupidity.
The last thing the Order needed was to go on another fruitless rescue mission. It had been on one before, and that had led to the person they were supposed to rescue dying. I became afraid for my friends as well as angry with myself. Why hadn’t I set up some alert? Why was I always the one making the mistakes?
“Now, what was the point in that?” Voldemort demanded, coming over to where I lay, bent and whimpering. “Were you really believing that you could survive my torture? I admire your rebellious spirit, I want to crush it.”
I flinched and curled into myself. However, when I tried to pull my knees to my chest, a piercing pain split in my middle. I cried out in anguish.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you now,” Voldemort informed, cruel amusement in his voice. “I’m going to wait until your lovely Order rescue party arrives.”
He gave me a kick on the back and walked out of the room. I tried to raise my head, but it felt to heavy. I realized I was bleeding from both my head and my middle. I tried to concentrate, tried to imagine what I could do, but the safety of unconsciousness was too strong, and I blacked out.
A tunnel, dark and mysterious and foreboding. I was being sucked in; I had no clue where I was going. I wanted to get out, I needed to get out. The tunnel went on forever it seemed. And then, to my left there was a light, I saw my world, my body lying crumpled on the stone floor. That was where I needed to go, where I needed to be. I fled through the opening.
I was still outside of my body, watching as the blood gushed out of the wounds in my heads and side. I could hear some fighting outside, and flames. Oddly enough, I couldn’t smell any of it. Then the great oak doors opened and I scrambled back to my body. But it wouldn’t let me in, panic began to rise in my throat, maybe I wasn’t doing it right. I lay on top of my mangled flesh and tried to duplicate the position.
Nothing.
I had never felt so afraid in my life, if this even was my life. I was gasping, ready to dissolve into tears. I pounded at my form, and waited to be re-accepted into it.
Two days later
The beige walls, the rough floor and chipped window frames. I knew them all so very well. This was my flat. I was back here again. What I did throughout the period between my rescue and now, I know not. But I was back in my homely, but familiar home. My fat, lazy cat Paisley was snoozing in the corner on her dilapidated pillow. I felt a sudden longing to pet her.
“Paisley,” I called out softly, extending my pale arms towards her. She barely stirred, I reached down to stroke her. As soon as my hand made contact with her fur, she woke up immediately, as though I had dumped a bucket of ice water upon her. She looked at me and hissed.
In all the years she had been my pet, she had never done that. I wanted to pick her up and scold her for doing that. But before I could, she raced away, showing agility that she had not possessed even as a kitten.
Frustrated at her, I tore out of my apartment.
At the Ministry
I don’t really know why I went to the Ministry next, it was obvious they wouldn’t give me back my job, not after I had been gone for so long. Still I meandered down the corridors towards my old office. No one stopped me, they just looked right through me, as they always had.
“Well Giselle, I’ll just leave you to it then.”
My ears perked at my old boss’s voice. Giselle? It couldn’t be the same one, could it? I peered through the crack in the door, hardly daring to believe it. Was it possible that my old tormentor from my school days had replaced me at my job?
Yes, there she was, plumper than ever. Her once gold hair was no longer as radiant, and she wore an excessive amount of make-up. When I saw her, I waited for the old feelings of resentment and anger to emerge.
But they weren’t there. She was no longer the glowing, mocking, smug school girl I had hated. Now she was just a pathetic, unloved janitor with no direction in life. I realized then that I forgave her.
“Giselle,” I whispered softly. She looked up, startled and somewhat frightened.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice quaking. I moved to the threshold.
“Y-you!” she gasped, terror written into every feature of her face. I couldn’t really understand why she was so scared. I felt pity for her.
“It’s alright,” I informed her, smiling, “I forgive you.”
Having said that, I departed, leaving her babbling to herself.
I then took the train out to my parent’s village, where I had grown up. Our village was a charming little set-up, with cozy cottages and a few old cobblestone streets. I wandered amongst the closed stores to my family’s teashop. It was now early Sunday morning, so they weren’t open yet. I peered through the window at the counter and the signs advertising different flavors inside. I smiled at the twists of flowers and herbs that appeared to be there for decorative purposes. But I knew they were actually potions ingredients for sale to fellow wizards and witches.
I walked past the town, to the hills. I loved the view that was provided, endless greenery, so beautiful in comparison to the sludge and drudgery that was London. The flowers were just beginning to wilt, their scent non-existent to my nose.
I wandered around until I arrived at the old churchyard. There was a group of people there for a funeral. It was probably for one of the old villages women. The ones who would always talk about the old days while they did their knitting.
My parents were probably part of the group, but I didn’t really feel like joining them. Instead I perched myself upon one of the grave stones and waited for everyone to disperse.
When the sun was high in the sky, everyone appeared to have left. I picked my way towards the newly dug grave, feeling curious and a bit apprehensive as to who’s name I should find upon it. The earth covering it was dark and moist. I stared at it for a long time. I didn’t want to look at the headstone. I couldn’t bring myself to face the name. I didn’t know why, but suddenly I was crying.
“Merona,” it was Dumbledore, I hadn’t noticed him before but here he was.
“Hello Headmaster,” I sniffed and tried to dry my eyes.
“I am very sorry for your losses,” he said softly, “I should never have sent you on that mission.”
“I’m sorry I gave the Order away,” my voice wobbled a little bit at the idea. I continued to stare at the black dirt. I could see a little worm making it’s way down into the fresh earth.
“But you didn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked sharply looking at him. “Voldemort saw my initiation ceremony, he saw all the faces there.”
“No, no, you are wrong,” Dumbledore shook his head softly. “He believes he saw the entire Order, but I assure you there are still others that he does not know of. In fact, that memory was a bit of a blessing, because now he will be so concentrated on the people he did see that he won’t think to look at other suspicious characters. We will have alleviated suspicion from other members.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling a little bit happier. It hadn’t been a complete mistake after all. My life was not a total failure.
“Yes,” Dumbledore moved as though he were going to pat my shoulder then stopped himself. “Merona, there is something else I need to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I muttered rebelliously. I wasn’t quite sure, but it was as though some part of my body knew what he was going to say and refused to listen.
“As bad as the aftermath may seem to you,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring me. “You need to realize that you can accept it. You’ve said your good byes Merona, it is now time to move on.”
With that, he strode serenely away from the grave. My stomach was in knots, I knew now that I needed to look at the headstone of the grave. There was some part of the battle that had been too traumatic for me to deal with at the time. Now was the time for me to face it. To accept it. Deep down, I knew Dumbledore was right, I needed to move on.
I carefully raised my head to look at the grave marker. In an elegant script, it read:
beloved daughter and friend
August 1976-August 1996
Her sacrifice will not be forgotten.
My struggle would not be forgotten. Later Voldemort would make the costly mistake of under-estimating the Order’s numbers and it would lead to his downfall. I knew that now, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone that.
The sun was setting now. I turned and spread my ghost arms out like a bird and let myself spirit dissolve into my beloved English country side.