The sun had risen and was flickering through the tree-tops in what seemed an almost scornful manner. A light breeze finally succeeded in waking me from a light sleep and the first thing I noticed at this rather damp Saturday morning was that my clothes were soaking wet. A souvenir from my first night outside. I sniffed loudly, stretched and tried to get up. This, however, required a second and, to my great annoyance, a third attempt, before I was finally feebly standing on my staggering feet at last. I felt stupid and clumsy.
"Flabby Florence falls frequently," I muttered. "Now, I'm sure there must be a river somewhere near..."
Of course there was none. I had not seen a natural waterway since I had left Azkaban seven day ago, which meant I would have to beg for a drink on a Muggle doorstep again.
Yes, I had escaped. Amazing though it may sound. That prison was full of witches and wizards, mightier than I would probably ever be, but I had done it. I was proud. Pleased with myself. And a bit dirty, hungry and completely alone. No one had probably even noticed my absence yet. Why would they? There were much more dangerous and important wizards in Azkaban than me. At the moment, for the first time in years, more inmates than Dementors.
My blissful mood changed into despair and self-pity within seconds. What had I escaped for? What was I going to do in this big, dangerous world that had not ever done anything but harm to me? I knew it. My escape had only been the last step in a chain of events that had occurred in consequence of Dumbledore's visit.
Yes, indeed, Dumbledore had entered the cold and gloomy world of Azkaban prison to see me. To talk to me, as he liked to put it, but I had not been ready to talk to him. I had, at that time, decided that my life was about to end and that it was only a matter of time until the prison walls would drive me crazy. Or the Dementors. Dumbledore had known it, of course.
"You will have to choose eventually, Florence," he had said. "Azkaban is an island, not the final destination."
I had given him an apathetic look. One that clearly lacked understanding of what he had said.
"You won't die in this prison," Dumbledore had informed me. "Hardly anyone does. Most of them are released before that. Probation, they call it. And what will you do then, Florence?"
I still did not speak. I had no idea what he wanted and why he had come. Why would he not let me die in peace?
"Of course," said Dumbledore, "you have no idea what I want or why I have come to you now. Let me explain..."
I hurried to change my look from indifferent to uninterested. He, however, did not ignore me, but returned my look openly cheerful, which was as confusing as irritating in this situation.
"Do you remember what you said before you were brought here, Florence?" he asked.
I shook my head and made sure my eyes narrowed to a satisfying extend.
"That was eighteen months ago!"
My first reply. He seemed satisfied - and he did not believe me.
"I told my Potions master," he continued, causing me to clutch my fists, almost instinctively at the mention of this specific person, "that he must decide which side he wants to be on."
I did not return his look. Must not think - must not remember! It hurt.
"You might be interested to hear that Severus has made his decision," Dumbledore continued in a low voice, "against Lord Voldemort."
I flinched. The Dark Lord's name had still its effect on me. Dumbledore watched me with an expression I could not quite grasp. Was it pity? Or was he trying to read something into my startled reaction?
"Severus is a Death Eater, just as I am," I replied with an odd sort of toneless finality in my voice, which was unexpected, but nevertheless more than welcome. "He would never betray the Dark Lord, just as little as I would have done - had there been a trial."
"Yes, Crouch never gave you the chance to defend yourself, did he?" Dumbledore nodded, purposefully ignoring the rest of my words. "A point in which, I must say, I do not quite agree with him. I would have welcomed an opportunity to help you change your mind, Florence."
"How do you know I want to change my mind?" I snarled.
"Why did you join the Death Eaters?" he retorted and I flinched again. This time because his remark had set loose a flood of memories I could not fight back. The thought of Severus and my first encounter with the Dark Lord was stirring a bunch of hot tears and I swallowed hard to fight them back.
"Severus...," I whispered, managing just barely to suppress the rest of my confession.
Dumbledore nodded. "Is that all?"
"I-"
"Did you torture and kill for Severus's sake?" he said sharply, looking at me as if trying to x-ray my mind. New memories were invading my head and I was, at long last, not able to fight back my tears any longer.
"No," I sobbed. "No, no, no! I never used the Cruciatus Curse. Never ever even uttered it!"
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why not?"
"It is cruel," I said after a short moment's consideration. "Cruel and pointless."
"And Avada Kedavra," Dumbledore whispered, "is not?"
"Not if you have the choice between either of them," I managed to say before my voice failed me completely. Dumbledore nodded slowly, thoughtfully. I was confused. Why did he pretend to understand? What was the reason for his visit?
"Lord Voldemort," he said and I flinched again, "keeps many people under his control by means of one of the Unforgivable Curses. You are not the only one who is afraid of torture."
"But don't you understand..." I managed to bring forth. "It is not... I am not afraid of... of pain." My head felt like it was about to burst. "It is something entirely different...!"
Dumbledore nodded and waited.
"Like fog," I muttered and at the same time noticed that my whole body was trembling as it has not done in years, "thick, white fog that covers everything. My feelings... memories... everything inside my head is absorbed... I lose control..."
My voice shook. But the shiver running down my spine now was of surprising comfort all of a sudden. Not unpleasant, in any case. It was good. Talking was so good. Dumbledore listening without interrupting was good. I told him what had happened before Azkaban had thrown its shadow over my soul. I spoke and Dumbledore listened - for almost an hour. Then I cowered into a corner, buried my face under my crossed arms and cried silently into my lap. Dumbledore had risen and walked towards me with big, unruffled steps. He placed his hand at my shoulder and a warmth spread inside me like never before. For a very long time he did nothing but stand there and I did not dare move, fearing he might decide to leave again. Then, after a long silence, interrupted only by my sobs, I noticed an almost imperceptible sigh, rising from his chest. "It is your decision, Florence," he said as calmly as ever.
"It's not," I whimpered. "They say you always have the choice, but that's just... it isn't true." Dumbledore did not reply. I had the feeling he would have contradicted but restrained from doing so. Instead, he fastened his grip on my shoulder and I continued speaking in a low voice just to avoid another silence. "Do you believe in predestination, Professor?"
"No," said Dumbledore firmly and I gave him a surprised, almost pleading look full of pain and distress. "Why not? How can you be so sure?"
"It doesn't matter whether I am sure or not," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "but if I didn't think I was responsible for my actions - how could I possibly be leading a school? Therefore, I have decided, long ago, to not believe in predestination."
I was confused. "You mean to say you want to be responsible for your actions?"
"Taking responsibility is an essential part of a person's life," he replied calmly, "and of the process of growing up. Again, I can only lead my students this way if I know where to go, wouldn't you agree?"
"Brave thinking," I muttered and shrugged.
He nodded. "It is one of the reasons why our Slytherins tend to fall for the Dark Lord's promises quite often - and Gryffindors don't. It was also the main difference between old Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor."
"The courage of taking responsibility?" I said doubtfully. "Or to grow up?"
"Both," Dumbledore replied. "Remember what the Sorting Hat tries to elucidate so nicely each year. He does seem to put it in suitable wording quite often. Only that - most people tend to misunderstand him."
The Sorting Hat. Of course.
"Quite some howler he made with me, ey?" I muttered and frowned. Dumbledore shook his head.
"The Sorting Hat makes no mistakes," he said. "But he can only see potential. It is still your choice what you do with your life."
"Why did you say that Slytherins usually turn to the dark side then?" I said angrily and was surprised to see Dumbledore startled at this remark.
"No Florence, don't you understand? It is the other way round! Most Hogwarts students who switch over to the dark side in later years have been in Slytherin. Not nearly all of them, though. They are just more likely, in most cases, given their personal background. Voldemort's most tantalising offer is that he will take responsibility for all your actions. Tempting, indeed, especially for those who are forced to take sides very early in life."
"You mean," I began to understand, "the sons and daughters of Death Eaters?"
"For example," Dumbledore nodded. "I noticed your bewilderment when I informed you of your parents' deaths. Again and again I have been scolding myself for not offering more support at that point. Knew I had forced you into a decision far too early. Then Severus seemed to relieve me of my duties. I thought he would show you which side provided the mental support you were craving for. ... Mind you, he did, but not the way I had intended, of course. He is in a terrible state of mind now."
"Is he, now?" I said approvingly. Dumbledore gave me a weak smile.
"He does not talk about it, of course. But he cannot fool me. He has great difficulties putting up with your separation, Florence. With you leaving him, that is."
"But I haven't..." I stopped, realising how the story probably sounded if told by Professor McGonagall, and shut my trap.
"Unfortunately, I will be compelled to leave in a minute," Dumbledore said after a while, "but I hope I made you think."
I nodded mutely. He certainly had.
"Will you return?" I asked and he nodded.
"If you wish... I'll be back in a week's time."
I, however, had long left Azkaban by that time.
A witch's life can be strange sometimes. In a way, Azkaban had perfectly served its purpose. I was back. And I was determined to take responsibility. After Dumbledore had left again, I had asked for a piece of parchment and a quill to write down my new life's resolutions: find Severus, make him listen, explain everything - but how? This annotation was erased. Nothing to worry about just yet. What else? Oh yes: win him back, win him back, win him back, kill the Dark Lord. Kill the Dark Lord. Kill the Dark Lord... well... perhaps not quite, what with him being the most powerful wizard on earth... With an insecure smile I had erased this last sentence as well and got rid of the piece of parchment.
No, this was other people's business. But I could abjure from him, renounce the Dark Arts, quit his service. I decided that I, Florence Dyker, would not be controlled by fear anymore - for the rest of my life.
This, I was about to find out, proved to be easier said than done, however.
When, after a long and seemingly endless march, I finally reached one of the small villages near the Scottish border my newly gained audacity had noticeably shrunk. I had not eaten for a long time, was freezing all over, and I was still in no possession of a wand or a broom. I decided to enter the village's only pub eventually, feeling very sorry for myself and obviously looking very pitiable, since its owner provided me with several pints on the house, without asking where I came from and where I was going.
"Ye need tae be carefil in this part o' the kintra," he informed me politely. "A noticed an unco lot o' shady characters on and aboot lately. Widnae put it past 'em tae attack a mauchtless lassie oot o' pure spine."
I produced a short laugh. Helpless. Well, surely - without my wand you could certainly call me that. But right now the thing I really had to worry about was how to get hold of a broom. Perhaps I could just take any broom-shaped object and try to persuade it to lift from the ground as the medieval witches and wizards must have done? I shot a scrutinising look at the coat-stand. Suddenly, however, the innkeeper was there again.
"Take anither'un," he said. "Ma wife just gave birth to our third son."
I gave him a friendly, though unfocussed smile and he forced a piece of paper into my hand.
"Here. Ye might enjoy this. One of the lads brought it - must be a joke of some sorts. Toss it in the bin if ye dinnae like it."
I stared at the sheet of paper in my hand. It was a piece torn from a paper of some sorts. Yellowed and torn. There were no pictures on it, but the font had something oddly familiar about it. I wondered about this and, in spite of a clear dislike for anything to do with Muggle politics, began to read the headline.
I had not read more than three words, however, when I realised that I was holding in my hands what I had been desiring for days. It was a page ripped from the Daily Prophet. I was holding a piece of my own world in my very hands. This, after so many days of loneliness, was so exciting that I began to smooth the paper and read without hesitation.
Lucius Malfoy, former member of the Dark Force Defence League and heir to the colossal Malfoy property in the Northern Highlands now counts himself among the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord's followers. It was confirmed today that Malfoy, previously advocate and defender of law and order, has now officially overridden it. Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry gave a definite declaration that, at present, "it is not possible to decide whether Malfoy is acting on his own, free will" or under the influence of the Imperius Curse. "We will, however," Professor Dumbledore states, "take severe measures against his deeds, Imperio or not." Some of Malfoy's closest friends let us know that it is "certainly possible to fight the Imperius Curse. Malfoy, however, has neither enough skill nor the power required to break such a strong curse," according to Severus Snape, one of Malfoy's closest friends at school and currently Potions Master at Hogwarts. A spokesman of the ministry informs us that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch, has given orders to "hunt Malfoy down by the same means he uses to torture and kill Muggles." However, the supposed culprit of various severe offences, among them the murder of various Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards, is nowhere to be found. He, his wife Narcissa and their new-born son Draco have long gone into hiding. Rumour has it that Draco's elder brother, who is said to have died on a flying accident, is also still alive and currently trained up to become the Dark Lord's successor in case the war takes an unexpected turn. The body, in any case, has never been found.I stared at the article and feverishly tried to put make some sense out of them. Marcus Malfoy - Lucius's eldest son, of course. I had met him. Back at Severus's little hut... on New Year's Eve. And at this moment I suddenly remembered where I had heard the name 'Wormtail' before. Lucius had mentioned it in passing when he and Severus had been planning the attack on Edgar Bones and his wife. 'Wormtail' was one of the Dark Lord's spies.
"Impossible!" I gasped when realising the full meaning of this. Peter was one of James's best friends. He wouldn't... I stopped in mid-thought. Of course he would! It fitted all too well. The situation had changed and yet, it was still the same as it had been several years ago. Peter had always been taking care to stay in reach of mighty friends who looked after him. And, like me, he was mightily afraid of the Dark Arts. How had Dumbledore put it... 'Voldemort's most tantalising offer is that he will take responsibility for your actions.' Of course Peter would have liked that. The Dark Lord provided everything James and Sirius had always possessed by nature: power, fame and more or less reasonable goals in life. I lowered the newspaper slowly, thoughtfully - and looked into the eyes of the innkeeper.
"Remarkable, ain't it?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes. "If ye're interested - a heiv plenty more in the warehoose."
I understood. This was not unusual. Why should a wizard not settle down in the county to open a pub and live like a Muggle? For most of the time, at least? And naturally he would immediately recognise me for what I was. My face lit in relief and anticipation.
"I need a broom," I said flatly. "An old Cleansweep or anything, I-"
"Ye'll find whatever ye need in the shed," he interrupted with a quick glance at his other customers. "Ask the lad - see him over there? He'll give ye a hand."
Less than an hour later I was sitting at the fastest broom of our time, floating hundreds of feet above the ground, zooming towards the nearest place I could think of where I had friends, Godric's Hollow, the home of Lily and James Potter. Sam, the very amiable son of the innkeeper, had, very surprisingly, agreed to put his Nimbus 1000 at my disposal, which meant that I would be able to reach my destination within seven minutes. And I knew exactly what to do from there. I had to contact Professor Dumbledore. He was sensible and intelligent. He would know our conversation had made me think. Had caused the changes inside me. He would know what to do about Peter. And about the Dark Lord. And... and possibly even about Severus. I thought. I hoped.
I landed in front of Lily's and James's house with a lot of newly gained confidence and pleasantly raised spirits... except that there was no house.
My first thought was that I had taken a wrong turn. Mistakes like this happened all the time if you travelled by broom and I had visited Godric's Hollow only once before. To make things worse, it had become rather foggy and I had difficulties distinguishing one houses from the other. But the Potters' house had stood on a little hill which seemed to have vanished as well for no apparent reason, so I could not be fooled. There was something decidedly wrong here.
"A spell," I concluded. "An enchantment. Fidelius, most probably. Something thoroughly safe." I considered for a few more minutes and then shrugged. "Good for them," I thought. "It's probably the best thing to do these days. Well, that just means I'll have to sit through another two or three hours on this blasted broomstick."
I was just about to leave again, however, when I heard a sudden voice near by that made me stop dead.
"Have patience, master. Not long now and you'll be able to see it."
And then I heard the Dark Lord. He suddenly turned up right before me and I had only just time to slip behind a bush to prevent my instant discovery.
"Well, Wormtail," I heard his high-pitched and impatient voice. "Where is it?"
"Over there," the other person replied and, sure enough, I recognised the voice of Peter Pettigrew, the most dim-witted piece of scum ever to contaminate the Hogwarts corridors - to put it in Severus's distinguished words. "Can't you see it?"
I saw the Dark Lord exposing his wand and grabbing Pettigrew's arm. He looked as though he was absorbing the information he so urgently needed and Pettigrew moaned, apparently in pain.
"Excellent!" hissed the Dark Lord. "There it is."
I was doing some very quick thinking. The Secret Keeper. Of course. And they had chosen Peter? For what reason? I frowned. Thought some more, then, gradually, understood the logic behind this. Of course! This was clever. Brilliant, even. Peter was the little group's coward. The one least likely to withstand torture. The one most likely to blab. He was the one the Dark Lord would have been least likely to seek... had he not gone to seek the Dark Lord himself.
The latter pproached a point in the distance which I was sure was invisible for the normal eye, regardless of the thick fog that was intensifying every minute. To my great discomfort a sudden thought told me that now everything depended on me. That James and Lily had no idea about the approaching danger and would be easy to slaughter if attacked so very unexpectedly in the middle of the night. It was this thought and an unexpected impulse that made me jump forward, grab Pettigrew's wand and point it at the Dark Lord.
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of green light and something like a bolt of lightning was zooming towards my former master, but the blast of energy evaporated without leaving a mark at the Dark Lord's long, billowing cloak. I stared. Obviously surprised but without much haste the Dark Lord turned and looked into my eyes so that I was forced to blink eventually, and turn my head just slightly.
"Florence," he whispered, "what a... surprise."
I knew he meant it. He seemed neither upset nor angry in any way, I realised, however, that I had probably just shortened my life expectation by a considerable number of years, given that I had just made an unsuccessful attempt of killing the most powerful wizard on earth, perhaps of all times. This, I summed up, is hardly ever an exceedingly healthy thing to do, especially if you are armed only with another wizard's wand and very easy to intimidate. I stepped backwards. The Dark Lord, however, smirked and made a step forward. Just a small one, but it was enough to let a cold shiver run all over my back. He, on the other hand, just stood there and waited. Took his time. He liked to play around with his prey, I knew.
"Wormtail, you idiot," he said, evidently not at all annoyed about his servant's blunder, "just imagine what could have happened if my experiments had not been so exceedingly satisfying. Expelliarmus!"
The spell deprived me of my newly gained powers before I could react and I took another automatic step backwards at once. Like a giant black snake the Dark Lord approached me, his red eyes gleaming dangerously. My curse had not even scratched him.
"What shall I do with a witch who has just tried to kill Lord Voldemort?" he said slowly. "Wormtail - have a guess." He came even closer and I recoiled once more, eyes wide open, taking deep, scared breaths, completely at a loss how to face this man.
"Kill her," Peter said, obviously relieved that the Dark Lord's anger spared him and hit me instead, "quickly and without much effort."
"Very good, Wormtail," the Dark Lord hissed. "You're learning fast. A merciful solution, isn't it? What about... a Death Eater who has just tried to kill her Master?" He laid special emphasis on the last word and I shuddered. A lifetime of service or death, I thought. It was true, after all. Pettigrew did not seem to know the answer. He remained silent and pointed his wand at me with shaking hands. Unnecessarily, of course.
"Disappointing, Wormtail," the Dark Lord now said in barely more than a whisper. "But I cn see your reason, of course. This," he turned at me, "has never happened before." I noticed that I was shaking all over and squashed against a wall behind me, the Dark Lord's wand pointed at my chest. He gave me a nasty smile. "Crucio!" he said softly, knowing how I loathed and feared these words at the same time.
I screamed. For the second time in my life I was hit by the Cruciatus Curse and for the second time I felt my mind leaving me along with all my memories and my sense of self. But it did not last. After a few seconds the Dark Lord withdrew his wand, waited until I had recovered and spoke in a voice of unconcealed, hateful triumph.
"You are going to die, Florence. You were never meant to survive this war, to speak the truth. When those fools at the Ministry thought the need of imprisoning you I thought it would save me the trouble of killing you in person, but I seem to have been mistaken. I only hope you realise that you have, long ago, chosen this death for yourself, Florence."
And with a short nod towards Pettigrew the Dark Lord turned and vanished in the direction of James's and Lily's house. Peter did not hesitate.
"Crucio," he muttered and although I tried to evade further torture I was already too weak to even move.
I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. I could not say for how long. When, as before, my mind evaporated, when the knives returned and every layer of my skin seemed to be scraped from my body I suddenly felt how I began to float. Suddenly, I could see myself lying on the floor, screaming at twitching uncontrollably after a while. Pettigrew's face remained motionless. He was determinedly pointing his want at me and I knew that he was not going to stop.
"I am dying," I suddenly thought. "This is dying and I can see it."
And then, suddenly, a thought stroke me. A possibility suddenly hit me, of taking revenge for all the things the Dark Lord had done to me. He was having me killed, but as long as my spirit had not truly left my body I was not dead. And a spirit could save human life. I had once heard Professor Binns talk about it. A spirit could... protect a living person.
I heard a woman's screams from Godric's Hollow and realised that Lily had been defeated. From a distance, I saw two souls leave this world towards another which I was not able to enter yet. But nor was I willing to. In this house my chance to take revenge was assuming shape. The shape of a little boy - the son of Lily and James...
I felt my bodiless self being dragged towards this boy's soul and allowed myself drifting in his direction with a slight smile at my non-existent face. I saw Lord Voldemort pointing his wand at little Harry with what seemed to be a look of grim satisfaction.
"Now or never," was Florence Dyker's last thought in this world before a flash of blinding green light illuminated the room for a second and everything went quiet.
Author's notes: And that's it. Huge thanks to you all for your interest and support! This is actually the first fanfic I have ever written, only that I have never had the courage of putting it up - until now. Great to see people read and like it.