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Disclaimer: All the characters in this story ((with the exception of a few that may appear in later chapters)) are property of JKR and ONLY JKR. The abovementioned originals and the following poem exerpt, however, are mine.

*A/N*: You may notice a title change here. This used to be In the Ground to be Laid, but I changed the title and I have taken chapters 8-11 and made them into an entirely seperate fic, a sequel to this one. I will be deleating all reviews from this one that I can and moving them over to In the Ground to be Laid. I know this may be confusing for some, but trust me, I know what I'm doing....I hope. SO, if you're following this story, further updates will be on that fic, not this one. Thank you.

Lost Lamb Returning

-MM-

~*~

Bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

I live with remembrence, with the people I've slain,

That's the cost of ambition, the price of my gain.

They hold back from me peace, until vengence they reap,

Only then will their terror cease haunting my sleep.

So bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

~*~

Gods, what had he DONE?

He remembered bolting, tearing through the bodies, the cruel laughter, the hands, robes, hoods, masks. He remembered the outraged shouts as he fled, felt the world dissolved around him as he willed himself out, out, OUT. He didn't care where he ended up or who found him there as long as it wasn't them.

He remembered the screams, tasting the terror in the air. He remembered the wail of a child as she was separated from her parents. He remembered the silky voice offering her what they all knew she could not understand.

Choose. You shall either see your parents again and return home where this will be nothing more than a dream, or...well, we shall see. Choose.

He remembered the all too familiar bottles arranged before her. He remembered the horrible cries that had followed, then the awful silence. He remembered too much, more than he ever wanted to see or hear or feel again. He remembered things he tried to scour from his mind. Nothing he remembered could tell him what to do now.

But his legs remembered what his mind did not.

His breath came in shallow gasps, every lungful of air a torturous ache and struggle. He clutched his burning arm to his chest in a futile attempt to either ease the pain or hide what lay beneath his voluminous sleeve. Cold stung his face and lungs, nearly paralyzed him with the pain that came with every breath as his long hair whipped in his face and eyes. His chest ached as he pounded his way through the crowded streets, ignoring venomous looks from passerby as he shoved them out of his path. He ran until he thought his heart would burst and his legs give out from under him completely. He ran for fear of what might catch up to him when he stopped.

He was vaguely aware of his own voice mumbling the words that would take him away, far away, but he barely noticed the sudden wrenching as the world disappeared around him only to return again in a different setting.

The floor was no longer uneven cement and stone but had instead turned into smooth floorboards. The abrupt change caused him to lose his footing and stumble; he threw his hand out to catch himself, knowing it was foolish as there was nothing solid to catch himself on.

Surprisingly, it was someone who caught him.

"Easy there, boy." The voice was hard and grating, but not cruel, not harsh like the one that still echoed through his head.

Choose and drink, my little flower. Choose, child. What's the worst that can happen? Are you so afraid of death?

Except it wasn't death that was being offered. Not a clean one, at least. He sobbed for air as his eyes cleared enough for him to look around. As soon as he did the movement of his head forced him to shut them again from the pain.

"Help me," he pleaded, his voice no more than a dry whisper. "Please. Help me. Ministry, call the Ministry. I need to speak with them. I must."

"Calm down, lad. What's the problem?"

"Death Eaters. Please, find them! Find someone- anyone! I don't care who- Ministry-"

"You're talking nonsense, lad. What's gotten into you?"

He felt the strange grip on his hand tighten and tried to pull away before the stranger could see- "Volde-"

"What the hell?" He felt the sleeves of his left arm shoved back and fingers like burning snow touch his skin. He screamed and tried to wrench away, but he was too weak, too weak. He opened his eyes to catch a flurry of glimpses, a piercing blue eye, a swirl of robes, a face twisted with hate and disgust and finally, the smooth floorboards rushing up to meet him and take him into darkness.