Two hooded men stalked down the quiet country road, fluid in their movements like dementors on the wind. Not a word passed between them, the silence growing eerie in the milky twilight of late November. Their feet did not crunch on the gravel of the winding roads, usually home to tractors and horses belonging to the various muggle farmers around. Teresa Burke almost missed them completely, so absorbed she was in reading her book on the porch, until her cat hissed at the silhouettes. Then, she became afraid.
"Martin?" she whispered, hoping her voice would carry through the screened door. "Fetch my wand."
The men drew closer, looming and threatening figures that would give any witch reason to flee in terror. And Teresa wasn't stupid. She knew what every other witch and wizard knew — Voldemort was back. He had control of the ministry once more. People were defecting to join his cause at a higher rate than ever before, and every idiot who spoke out against him was never heard from again. When Harry Potter died, the wizarding world had lost more than the Boy who Lived. They had lost every reason to hope.
But Teresa hadn't done anything wrong. She had continued to work at the ministry, pretending to be oblivious to the horrors happening around her. She only worked in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, an underwriter for house-elf work contracts. Surely there was no reason for Death Eaters to be visiting her…
"Everything alright, dear?" Martin asked, handing Teresa her wand.
"Go back inside," she whispered. "Take the kids. Take them to your mother's."
He was silent for several long moments, then he saw the men himself. "Come with us. We can leave, now."
"No," she whispered. "They'll kill you just for being a muggle… Go. Now. I'll meet you there in an hour." She looked into his bespectacled eyes, pleading.
He left quickly. Teresa held her breath, and her wand aloft, until the crack resounded through the air, reassuring her they'd safely gotten away.
The Death Eaters turned to look at the sound.
There was nothing else for it now. With shaking legs, she strode down the path to the road, hoping she appeared braver than she felt. She refused to be slaughtered, another nameless victim of Voldemort's. She would not be hunted all across the country, like the Macmillans or the Prewetts. She would not endanger her family.
They began up the path to her home, meeting her before she reached the road. More concealed here, she noted. Less chance for the muggle farmers to see. She lit her wand with a quick lumos.
"What do you want?" she asked, when they drew close enough to speak. "You have no business being here."
"Only curious," one of the men said. "We didn't realise there were other wizards in the area."
"Well, there's not," Teresa said, lifting her chin. "Just me. So be on your way."
She lifted her wand in what she hoped was an intimidating gesture. The light pooled onto the men's faces, revealing them at last. Both had the same pinched, sunken look about them. And both were vaguely familiar.
"Do I know you?" she asked suspiciously.
They waited a moment, then the one who had spoken lifted his wand. The other man, the blonde one, grasped his arm to stop him.
"She recognises us," the dark man hissed.
"We will leave now," the blonde man said, though he lifted his wand also. "We didn't mean to disturb you."
Teresa narrowed her eyes. She stared at their faces, racking her brains. Then, it clicked. Her mouth fell open in surprise.
"No… You're supposed to be dead," she said, voice shaking. "You all died. There was a ceremony and everything."
"You must have us confused," the blonde man said coolly. "And don't push your luck. We may be merciful, but we are not patient."
"No," she insisted. "You're… You're Draco Malfoy."
Zabini rose his wand again, but Draco shouted No! And shoved him to the ground. The witch cast a stunning spell that rebounded off a nearby tree, hitting herself square in the jaw and collapsing to the ground. Zabini growled and moved to finish her off, but Draco shoved him away. They were grappling like children when he twisted on the ground, and they disapparated with a crack.
"What the fuck were you thinking!" Zabini bellowed.
They lay gasping for breath in an empty hay field, more than twenty miles north. Draco swore and put a hand to his jaw, coming away with bloodied fingers.
"I was thinking, let's not go murdering every witch or wizard we meet," he spat. "The Dark Lord told us not to be seen."
"She fucking recognised us!"
"She's confused!" Draco shouted.
"He's going to kill us for this!"
"She was a pureblood, he wouldn't want that wasted."
Zabini stood to his feet, pivoting in rage with his face in his hands. "We have to go back. We have to obliviate her before she wakes up."
"No," Draco commanded. "There were other people in that house, we'd have to deal to them all."
"That's worse. That's even fucking worse." Zabini pressed his fists to the sides of his head. "We might as well go on the run now. He's going to kill us regardless."
"He doesn't need to know."
"I can't do Occlumency like you!" Blaise shouted. "He picks apart my mind like he's looking for lice. If you're going to be an idiot, don't fucking do it in my presence, alright?"
A new thought came to Draco's mind, a terrifying one he didn't share with Blaise. The witch would probably go running to the Prophet in the morning. Voldemort controlled it, of course. Marcus Tatter had been easy to bribe and even easier to feed misinformation — the story would never make print. But Voldemort would know. Even with Draco's sharp Occlumency skills.
He recalled wondering many times, after the Battle of Hogwarts, how Severus Snape had kept his mind hidden from the Dark Lord for so many years. How he'd never slipped up once, and played his part so well he even had Voldemort fooled. But now, he understood perfectly. It was so different when you were protecting somebody you love.
It became easy, effortless. He would never endanger Astoria. He would never let Voldemort see the depth she truly held, the way he felt about her. He'd managed to convince Voldemort so well, he'd almost convinced himself. Almost.
He kept tabs on her, of course. But the girl had become a ghost. Draco recognised her articles in the Quibbler, because he knew her so well, but doubted any other wizard would realise the pen name Ornelle Shreiber was an alias. He wondered if she had gone into hiding. He wondered if she ever thought of him still, almost a year to the date since his 'death'. Or if she'd moved on already. The thought sent a bitter taste to his mouth.
"We'd better get back," Zabini finally said. "We're on Potter's guard tonight."
Potterwatch, the other Death Eaters called it, a gruesome mockery of the Order's hope during the last war. Draco couldn't work out why Voldemort kept Harry Potter alive. It unnerved him, made him think there would be some horror in store for Potter's immediate future. But he shook the thought away, cleared his mind. It was time to return to the Dark Lord's service. It was time to slip back into being a Death Eater once more.