A.N: I hope that this is a satisfactory chapter.
My fingers curl around my wand and clench it tight, my knuckles white in the darkness. Knives aside, this slender stick of wood is my best chance of survival. I am alone in the street. There is nobody to fight in my defence but me.
But there is nobody with him either. I can tell from the way he takes quick looks around that there is no-one here to watch his back for him.
Just him and me. Just as it has always been. I'm the one he has always hated the most. Because I was not passive. Because I challenged him, questioned him, because I could look so much like him. I was his shame;as he constantly reminded me. But maybe I am also his fear, my existence a nagging fear that plagues him. The fact that as hard as he tries, he can never quite take life from me; or hope. But you would have to be a pretty sick paranoid person to regard a wandless toddler as a threat, but he did. He nursed his special hatred for me far better than he ever nursed me. And while he would kill Harry for profit, if his master told him to, he would kill me for pleasure. Purely for the joy of watching me scream as he rips me apart. Sometimes I wonder if he realises we are -were his family. Or maybe that just adds to the fun.
I shoot a jet of silver light in his direction that illuminates him, just as he draws his wand.
Azkaban has truely changed him; and not for the better. There are bald patches on his head, his eyes are sunken, nails glinting in an ashen coffin. His looming bulk is as intimidating as ever, his nails are crusted with blood and his hands contort themselves into claws. And there's something in the way he walks, in the way he looks unblinkingly at you, something that all Azkaban inmates share after a few years. It's bitter, it's aloof, hurt and vengeful.
He begins to growl something that I can't quite catch. Then I realise- it's singing.
"Three blind mice," he croons. "Three blind mice."
He casts a Killing Curse straight at me but I'm ready for it. I swing my wand arm across; a brick is ripped out from the base of a wall and flies out to meet the Curse. It glows with a green light as spell and brick collide; and my father yells in shock as the rest of the wall collapses on top of him with the force of my spell.
I turn; and I run. My vision blurs as I race away,I can barely breathe. I skid to a halt; and bile clenches my throat as the rasping voice lifts in refrain.
"Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run."
The gauntlet's down. I can play the game, this dark and dangerous game or I can surrender all hope of standing a chance against him. This is how he breaks his victims; and the only way to end the game is to beat it.
"They all ran after the farmer's wife," I slowly turn around, drawing a knife. "She cut off their tails- with a carving knife" I turn the blade over and over in my fingers, the blade winking at him.
His grimace blooms across his face. "I see you have learned to play the game."
I sweep a false bow, as if we were about to dance, my knife slicing through the air. "The game which you have so artfully taught me."
"But are you the mouse or the farmer?"
I am genuinely caught unawares. What is he talking about?
He leers at me, revelling in my ignorance. "You see? You are nothing. Nothing but a little blind mouse, stumbling in the dark, unaware of the trap ahead."
I am tempted to throw his spite back in his face; "oh, you mean the hardly-covert plan to force the Malfoy boy to kill Dumbledore? Your lack of originality is pitiful."
But I can't. I have to keep up the pretence.
"I- I don't know what you mean!"
"I don't know what you mean," he says in a mocking voice. "Then listen:
"Three blind mice
three blind mice
see how they run
see how they run
they all ran after the farmer's wife
who cut off their tails with a carving knife
Have you ever seen such a thing in your life
as-"
I move into a more balanced fighting stance.
"Three-"
I raise my wand.
"Blind"
I take a deep breath.
"Mice."
The last word acts a starting gun for what may be my last fight. Killing Curse after Killing Curse whistles past me; dangerously close. I can feel the anger in each one, though no words are spoken. I try to remain impassive, try not to lose focus and let my total panic run away with me; but gradually I am dragged deeper into this well of hatred and soon each curse turns personal.
I block a slashing curse aimed at my leg, he blocks a curse aimed directly at his face. And then we simulatenously cast Disarming Charms.
Our wands fly out of ours hands and clatter into the gutter to my left.
We hesitate, analysing each other's intentions, positing ourselves ready to I can think of is how imperative it is that I get my wand back. A knife is too risky an option: I can't kill him; and killing him is the only option of hurting him with a knife that doesn't run the risk of him pulling it out and flinging it straight back. My eyes narrow and my breath catches in my chest.
Then he makes straight for his wand.
I may have faster reactions, but he is faster physically and has a nanosecond's headstart. He reaches the gutter first, but he has a moment's weakness when he hesitates to bend down to retrieve his wand.
An oppurtunity I would do well to exploit. I fling myself down onto his arched back, using all of my weight to push him down. I hear his grunt of surprise, but my success is short-lived as he throws him off of him like a rag doll, smacking me hard against the pavement.
The little dignity we retained in our duel has vanished by now. It's replaced by something brutal, something primitive. We have ceased to be wizards and become animals.
Just another animal for the slaughter.
His blows rain down on me hard and fast and I feel giddy with the pain. One blow strikes my nose, but it's nothing a quick Episkey couldn't solve.
We struggle for what feels like hours and defence becomes increasingly difficult to maintain.
He gets up off of me but before I can leap to my feet he pins me down with his foot, his shoe digging into my heart as if he would crush it.
He is heady with a sadistic delight; and he can barely contain his jubilation. His voice is shaky with excitement as he deliver his final denunciation.
"You," he spits at me. "You dare think yourself worthy to walk this earth? You dare to think of the true wizards as your equals? You defile the name of magic, you defile the name of human, you even defile the name of beast.So next time you see your filthy little life for its true worth, don't go running to your fellow blood traitors. Do the right thing, the decent thing. Clear the world of you and your disgusting ilk. Make way for the true race, the master race!"
I begin to shake under the full force of his vitriol. He lowers face down to mine and almost hisses his next words.
"You should be grateful that I'm willing to do it for you."
I struggle against the force of his grip, writhing up in resistance. He smashes me back down again, but not before I've had the chance to arch my back enough to inch my fingers along the back of my jacket and unzip the pocket that hides a knife.
"What are you gonig to do now, father?" I accuse him bitterly. "Going to rip me into little pieces and leave me to rot? Like you did my sister?"
He raises his other foot, aiming his heavy boot carefully at my head.
"Of course not," he almost purrs. "Then I wouldn't have the satisfaction of watching you see your pretty little brains scattered all over the pavement."
His boot comes down hard towards my face, so close I can feel the sole brush my nose. I bring out my knife from behind my back and slam it with full force into the sole of his foot. His boots are thick but I twist the knife up inside as he howls in agony. I seem to have hit a vein as his blood sprays my face. I blink it out of my eyes as he staggers off of me, crippled by the pain.
I swipe my wand out of the gutter, wiping mud off with my sleeve. I can feel savage emotions bubbling inside me that are praying for an outlet.
"Look at you!" I cackle at him. "Oh yes, I am the Dark "Lord" 's most loyal, most faithful servant, but all it takes to defeat me is a twelve year old girl with a bit of sharp metal in her pocket!"
My head reels and I stagger over to the gutter and lose whatever strength I was retaining in my stomach. I spin round when I hear his grunt of pain. He has reached his wand, but values his life above mine too much to die in killing me. He inches himself to his feet, turns on the spot and with a faint popping sound he is gone.
I don't hesitate. He could be back in a matter of minutes, his foot healed and ready to fight. I clean the knife that he dragged out of his foot; and make good my escape.
When I reach my home I am a shuddering wreck who can barely walk. I treat my wounds, the bruises and lumps blooming on my torso. I crawl into my bed and wrap the blankets into a cocoon around me, trying to block out the world around me; and wishing, not for the first time, that I were on a deserted island, with only Adelaide for company.
8th February
I keep myself to myself for the rest of the Christmas holidays and return almost eagerly back to work. January passes silently and without regret. Draco and I do not dare to plan further until the results of my poisoning scheme are revealed.
It is only on this day, a week into February, that I stop and think about how old I am. I must be at least thirteen by now. I roll the strange word around in my mouth. Thirteen. I am now thirteen years old.
1st March 1997
"I don't believe it." Draco's voice is flat, no expression in it but shock.
"Don't tell me."
"You will have to hear about it at some point. It is far better that you should hear it now."
I grip the edge of the table with my fingers. "Tell it me now; and quickly."
"Ron's just been poisoned. How you may ask? By a certain bottle of mead."
Ron.
"I don't believe you!" I erupt. "You're lying! It's not true! It- it can't be true!"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
I am in a frenzy, I pace up and down the room wringing my hands, searching for someone, anyone to blame. Because I can't stand the idea that I'm the one responsible.
"It's all Slughorn's fault!" I blurt out. "If he hadn't given that mead to Ron, none of this would have happened."
"What- no! No, Marion, you put the poison in the mead. Not him. Face it."
I collapse at the base of the table and wrap my arms around one of the legs.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes, no thanks to you." I let out a long sigh, giving myself a minute or two to collect myself. I have just almost killed Ron Weasley. Or I've sort of saved his life, giving Harry time to give him a bezoar. Depends how you look at it.
Draco lets out a weary sigh and sits down beside me.
"Marion," his anger is spent. "I'm not the world's most selfless person, but I'm pretty sure I can tell right from wrong. Two innocent people have been hurt by all of this; and that's two innocent people too many. I say we cut our losses and revert back to my original plan; to look my headmaster in the eye as I kill him."
"No," I say with unusual stubbornness. "Because then I will have failed you."
He shrugs. "It's just been enough to know that there's somebody on my side."
2nd March
"Are you here to explain yourself, Marion?"
"Yes, Albus."
I collapse on his desk in fits of hysterical tears.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know that it would hurt him- how could I have known? Oh, to think how badly this could have ended! I could have destroyed everything that I've given my life to protect. Oh, I am a wretched thing indeed!"
I take a few gasping breaths and fight to keep my voice normal.
"I have done all I can do Albus. I've bought you all the time that I can. I don't know when Draco intends to kill you, but I am sure it will not be until June at the earliest."
He regards me pensively, his fingertips pressed together in thought and nods for me to carry on.
"And when he does, it is imperative that Severus is there to take the job over. I shall keep an eye on Draco throughout that day and I will alert Severus the moment that trouble arises."
"So it is to go as I have intended?"
"With any luck, it should."
"Has your Sight been obscured lately?"
"On the contrary, I have had another dream."
"Oh yes?"
In reply, I dip my finger in the inkpot and draw on a sheet of paper.
I draw a line. Around the line I draw a circle; and around circle and line I draw a triangle.
He flinches at the sight of this symbol, and I can see memories misting in those piercing blue eyes.
"The Hallows," he whispers, more to himself than to me. "Anything else that might help Harry?"
Wordleslly, I draw from my dress pocket Regulus Black's necklace.
The key to seven jewels of blood.