Disclaimer: Anything recognisable is not owned by me. I make no money with this.
Guard Duty
I sit at the kitchen table and stare at the door that leads to your room. Well, I call it your room, but it would be more precise to say: your cell. Because you are my prisoner and I am your warden.
It is quite peculiar how the world works, really. And a bit strange to say the least. You are a prisoner of war and I am supposed to keep you alive, even when I'm not entirely sure that's what you wish as well. Sometimes you dare me to kill you, and time and time again I am surprised by the colorful expressions you find to get me to loose my temper. But I will not kill you, for better or worse.
It just had to be me. I believe they gave the job to me because they were afraid I would find work somewhere exposed and public otherwise. We are both equally hated, if by different people, and it makes me giggle sometimes. When I don't hear you scream madness at me through the walls and am reminded of why we are here.
Officially I got the job because I was the one to detain you. It had to be a punch in the face by fate to your friends and allies. No one could best you but me, and it was close enough if you ask me. Even with the help of St Mungos finest I kept scars as an eternal reminder of our last fight.
I lean back and think about how the war went so different than what anyone thought. It was clear that either Voldemort or the Order had to win, for there could be no coexistence between them. The ultimate victor came out of left field. The ministry, surprising enough. It really took all of us by surprise when the Department of Magical Law Enforcement finally got its act together.
The people were tired and had seen enough war for a few decades after the remnants of the Order and Voldemorts surviving troops fought it out in the countryside. So in the end neither Dark nor Light triumphed – and I still wonder just who coined those words – but the Neutrals who had enough of the deadly squabbling. At least after the Battle of Hogwarts the Muggles were out of the equation, so there was no breach of the statute of secrecy.
It most likely would have gone differently if Voldemort or the Boy Who Lived had survived. But they didn't. They both died at Hogwarts and their forces took heavy casualties. Things still could have gone better if Dumbledore hadn't been dead. He would have reigned the Order members in, worked together with the ministry and emerged stronger then ever from it. But he was dead. His do-not-kill philosophy followed soon after the Chosen One.
For years both groups went rogue, tried to kill each other to the last man, and in the end I suspect most of us had forgotten why we fought each other with such hatred. Then the ministry finally struck. They caught most of us and those who did not surrender were incarcerated, no matter the allegiance.
I took the first rational action in what seemed like forever and just... gave up. My late husband may never forgive me if I ever see him again, and he will most likely neither, but then again it was the war that took everything I lived for. Instead of fighting for a cause so lost I forgot why it was important I decided to live again. I took the full pardon the ministry offered and stepped out. Seeing the look on their faces was almost worth it. You, of course, did nothing of the sort.
Maybe it is the act of killing and surviving countless battles that drove you so completely crazy. I don't know. I just know that you couldn't stop. Even when they found your last hideout and laid siege to it you didn't surrender. Instead you hid behind a duelist ward. Nasty things, your own invention, or so the story goes. Before the war was finally over it had spread to both factions and was used by the best duelists. Everyone else was hoping not to get caught in one.
I sometimes wander idly when you found the time to develop a ward so incomprehensible. It forces everyone who enters into a fair fight. One on one, skill versus skill. No overwhelming forces to take down the monster. It shows how far gone you were that you had no qualms of killing your former allies, because they abandoned the cause. I think when they called for me it was the first time I genuinely pitied you.
It shouldn't have been that way. I should have rejoiced in the chance to finally rid the world of you for good. But no, when I abandoned the war I seemed to have abandoned what made me me, in large parts as well. But I was still one of the two most skilled witches in contemporary Britain, and they called for me because they just couldn't handle you.
And I answered the call because part of the deal with the ministry was that we would take care of the remaining mess. It was a gentlemen's agreement that every faction would subdue the stragglers of their own side. It must have killed them to admit they were unable to get you to see reason. Or maybe they were hoping you would kill me after all.
I entered your cave and we fought. You fought with all the hatred that comes with seeing your nemesis, murderer of your husband and symbol of the other side. I should have hated you for the very same reasons. But I didn't. It wasn't the first time we fought, but everything before that day was just a build-up. And here I was on the day of the great showdown and simply didn't care anymore. Still, I wasn't going to let you kill me. We fought four hours without a break and it was a lucky shot that decided the outcome. Maybe not as legendary as the battle between Dumbledore and Grindlewald, but definitely longer.
They would have thrown you into Azkaban if they could. But you were the keystone of your army, a symbol for your people and the ministry made another bargain. If the last few guerillas came out of hiding and stopped warring, you would be allowed to stay out of prison. It was finally the real end of the war when it had been declared to be over seven months ago.
Your wand was taken and is still under lock and key in the ministry. I don't think you will ever see it again, not with the state your mind is in. It didn't take long to decide it would be me who was your warden. I seemed to be the only witch or wizard alive that could reign you in when not even people you should have considered friends could stop you.
And so they got rid of us both. Even in defeat you managed to take me down with you. It makes me smile. The irony of our situation is all the amusement I get regularly. I don't listen to the wireless. It makes me think of the war and a wasted live. And we get no visitors. No one comes out here, ever. Except Ginny, but she looks at me with as much contempt as she looks at you. I think she blames both of us for the death of her brother. A wife who dragged him out into battle for the chance to kill some blood purist fanatics and a witch that would become his murderer. A sad story, and all too common.
But she still comes by once a month like a clockwork. I catch myself becoming nervous and giddy when she is late. You of course don't even notice she is here most of the time. She just looks though the window of your door and then she goes again. Hardly ever does she utter a single word in greeting. There is another one who cannot forget the war but tries to maintain the illusion. Everything else would be bad for her ministry carrier, I guess.
The only other being here is a little house elf by the name of Anthy. She hardly ever talks to any of us, but she buys the groceries and she cooks our meals. Keeps the place clean, too. I think you scare her. She is only here to ensure I can keep you under surveillance all the time. To keep us both here in our extended house arrest.
I am bored out of my mind waiting for time to pass by. I have nothing to do but think and watch you, and lately it hurts to see you chained so you won't hurt yourself. I catch myself wishing you were free again, even if it meant I had to die because your hatred for me is as strong as when you first arrived here.
A crack outside announces Ginnys arrival. She knocks once and opens the door without waiting for anyone to let her in. After glancing at me she goes through the living room and looks inside your room through the small window in the door.
"She hasn't recovered at all, has she.", she asks dryly. I look at her, taken by surprise. As a rule Ginny never talks. Ever.
"No, I don't think she has.", I whisper, my voice hoarse because I seldom get a chance to use it anymore. I almost never have reason to use magic that requires me to talk.
"How the great have fallen.", she mumbles and I wonder if she talks about us or herself. Maybe both. Before I can get my act together and offer tea she leaves again. I see her disappear and sigh. Without human contact I'm likely to go crazy. Again, some would say. I enchanted a chess board to play against me, but it is so very stupid and predictable I get quickly frustrated by it. I wasn't into chess to begin with, but there is nothing that stops boredom for a while like trying to give an inanimate object conscience.
I sigh again and rise from my chair. It is time to do something incredibly stupid and hope there will not be too much repercussions.
"Anthy!"
"Yes, Mistress? What can Anthy for you?"
"No matter what happens in the next few hours, you are not to call anyone. Is that clear?"
"Yes Mistress.", the tiny creature says with big round eyes and fear in her voice, "Anthy will not tell anyone."
"Good. Maybe you should go shopping." I wave my wand and the chessboard goes up in flames. "I need another game of chess as well."
"Yes Mistress.", Anthy squeaks with a noticeable edge of panic, "Anthy will go shopping now."
Without a doubt she thinks I'm going to murder you. A smirk creeps onto my face. Nothing could be further from the truth. I store the wand in a safe location and enter your room. You sit there, at the wall, chained because you tried to claw your way out again yesterday. Your hands took the brunt of the damage, but the rest of your body screams of disregard too. It hurts to see you like this and that sentiment surprises me every time I have it.
"How are you darling?", I ask with a soft voice I never knew I had. At first it was a lame jibe against you. It grew more true with every passing week. I sit down besides you and unlock your chains. You take the chance and lunge at me. Normally your malnourishment works against you and I wrestle you against the wall while you scream at the top of your lungs how you will flay me alive one day. Well, darling, that day is today. You have finally whittled me down, broken my resolve to watch out for you, to be your warden for all eternity. I guess they thought it was a job made for me, being here and keeping you locked away from everyone, but then again everyone who really knew me is dead.
While my husband was alive he was the one to keep my urges satisfied. Or at least he tried. I think he was a bit scared of me before the end. It was there, in his eyes, even when I lay on the bed completely helpless. In the end it was always the anger that he could never have me completely that would cancel out his hesitation.
But you will take the chance I give you without hesitation. You won't need coaxing. I see in your eyes the will to destroy me every time I enter the room. It makes me anxious and restless.
You jerk me around and slam me into the wall, your eyes full of anger and promising violence. It is a stupid thing I do here. Normally it takes two consenting parties and an elaborate set of unspoken rules. And trust. Giving your worst enemy full reign over yourself is a nice fantasy but suicidal in reality. I guess I should be on suicide watch after all. Maybe the loneliness during the war and more so after its end got to me more than I thought.
You realize that something is different. You begin to hesitate, to assess the situation. I don't want you to be rational. I want you to hurt me. To make me pay for every single person I ever hurt. I give you the most arrogant smile I can muster and you are overtaken by hatred again. Another move on my part that is not entirely sane. I just don't care for sanity anymore.
You manage to surprise me by screaming "Crucio!" at me. Now here is something I didn't think was even possible. The curse is weak and underpowered but you actually managed to make me feel pain. Real pain. Not the unbearable pain the curse is meant to convey, it's not even on par to a strong slap, but a nice and sharp flavor of pain I immediately crave again after you run out of strength to maintain it. Just three seconds, but I am deeply impressed.
I thought you had all but given up, biding your time and waiting for a mistake like the one I am in the process of making. Yet here you are, casting an unforgivable without your wand. Is that what you do with your days? In that moment I know I am going to die. Anyone who has enough drive to bring himself to do that has to have enough hate in store to kill a dragon.
You notice that the spell didn't do much damage. I can see the rage rising even further in your eyes and you hit me. You really should have eaten better. Your punches are weak, but you make up for it with sheer determination and brutality. A whimper escapes my lips and you stop for a moment. I look at you and you can't understand what you see. You miss anger or fear or anything you have seen for the last years. I imagine the last time you ever saw my expression was the morning of the day your husband died by my hand. I can see you have forgotten what it means.
"Fight back!", you scream. Your face distorted by fury but still beautiful.
"I don't want to.", I whisper.
"I'm going to kill you!" I really hope Anthy isn't home yet. The two of us would scare the living lights out of her.
"That's what I thought. Do it. Murder me."
"You killed my friends!" you cry, and I am surprised by your tears. You never cry when I can see you. It's way to late for you to have a breakdown.
"As did you with mine.", I remind her tenderly.
"Well you started it!" Now you just sound like a child. I don't say it. It's not what you need, and for the first time since I met you I can see that you need my help. Because I have been were you are now. Because I killed and felt guilt and I didn't want to. So I found a person to punish me for what I did and I forgot about the past and lived in the present, because that was the only way to be with my love. And my sanity was still questioned, even by my allies.
Then came Azkaban and I think I may really have gone over the edge there. The second war was too short, Voldemorts death came too sudden. It was unthinkable. If I was thinking at all. I should have seen that he was not whole anymore, not the same person I loved. I should have accepted that person died the night a little boy lived. But I couldn't. How Rodolphus stood it I will never know. But he followed me until the bitter end. Until you.
Now you cry and I almost despair. I need you strong and angry. But you slump against my chest, exhausted, and you ask "What am I going to do?" again and again.
I take your face between my hands and force you to look into my eyes.
"Hurt me.", I whisper to you.
Just as I want to be punished you want to blame someone for the way you have become. No more a sweet girl, but a skilled murderer, whatever your excuse might have been at the time. After everyone who died we may very well be the two most dangerous people left in Magical Britain. We are so different and yet so similar. I should be disgusted by the mere thought of you touching me but I find that I don't care about any of this anymore.
We are both unwanted in the rebuilding society. I have no more place to return to. I have lost what riches I possessed. We are both living on a stipend from the ministry because they don't want to see either of our faces in the streets ever again. Too much bad blood. Too much remaining influence, should any of us ever regain enough interest to do something with it.
Suddenly I realize that you haven't even once searched me for my wand. From the beginning you never really wanted to overpower me. You wanted me to fight back, to resist. So you would be able to tell yourself I was the enemy when you knew it wasn't true anymore and you couldn't see the difference between us any longer. And I discover that I was wrong about us. I do trust you not to kill me, however strange that is. It would leave you behind, a lonely monster with nothing but it's mirror image as company. So I push back, gently because you are weak yet forceful enough for you to see I mean it.