Into the Wind
By: Kigomae

Chapter Two: I am Human

"Dumbledore is dead."

I trembled beneath that familiar, scathing gaze. Tightly grasped in my fingers was the small wizard pocket watch that had been the port key to the old Riddle House. Snape's grip was painfully tight on my shoulder, so much so that I winced and looked away from the Dark Lord in shame. He sat in a throne-like chair in the foyer, wrapped soundly in red velvet robes as if he were cold in the warm summer air that surrounded us. His face, untouched by mask or shadow, was pale and blue, the skin wrinkled and veiny. I fell to my knees beneath the pressure of Snape's hand.

The humiliation was unbearable. Hundreds of loyal eyes peering at me from behind their masks as if I were an outsider, a trader. But in my mind I knew I was not. That was the only reason I could bear to look up at Voldemort and take what punishment or congratulations he would give me. There was never a true change of expression on his face and so I had no clue what was coming. But I was sure it would not be good. There was no doubt that he new of my cowardice.

"Young Malfoy, what a pleasure," he said with a smirk.

"Milord," I bowed deeper; "I trust you are well?"

"I must say that I am overjoyed… To some degree," he replied, his eyes transforming into red slits.

Snape took this as my cue to leave. I was shoved through the doorway to the parlor and left to do whatever I wished. Obviously I had displeased Voldemort, being the milksop that I was. I fell gracelessly onto the outdated silk settee, my legs sprawled comfortably and my head falling uselessly to the side. Despite my exhaustion, my mind would not stop its frantic racing. I supposed I could not get in too much trouble, seeing as Dumbledore was dead either way. But I was almost positive that they had never meant for me to finish this task at all.

It had been a long year.

My eyes flitted about the familiar objects of the room. How many times had I sat here feeling doomed to perdition? None of that mattered at the moment, I just wanted to go home. My hair fell in front of my bloodshot eyes in some sort of sticky mess and my fingers still trembled around the watch, which I was beginning to doubt I would ever let go. I had been sensibly terrified of the Forbidden Forest for the past six years. Recovery from traipsing about the woods for an eternity was slow in coming.

We had traveled about for days, hunted, unable to reach the shelter of the Dark Lord for fear of leading the aurors straight to him. Our eventual safety had come in the strange old mansion we had come upon in the forest. It was huge and deteriorating, yet somehow charming in its old world elegance. Although he had not said it, I was sure that this was Severus Snape's ancestral home, falling into ruin in this new, bloodless age. I would never remember much of my time there, only brief glimpses and odd feelings. I could not recall how long the time had been. It seemed that time did not exist there in the Forbidden Forest. But we had stayed there a length of time, no doubt a long one, until it was safe for us to find the port key, hidden near Hogsmeade.

My glance strayed longingly to the fireplace. When could I ever return to Malfoy Manor? I would go by any means possible. I would walk if I must. Home just sounded exceptional. Of course I knew it was a foolish thought, but that had never stopped me before. I fancied for a moment, but obviously that didn't last long. As usual my thoughts were interrupted as Snape came in blustering angrily.

I did not listen to a word that came out of his mouth. Something about evil and my mother, but my head was crowded, uncomfortably so. I could not get the image of Dumbledore's wearied face, betrayed, doubtful, out of my mind. Not once had I seen such vulnerability in the headmaster of Hogwarts. What's more shocking was that I had most certainly forced the expression there in the first place. I was almost pleased with my diabolic nature. Almost.

Not really knowing how to go about sulking, I sat there looking the fool as Snape spluttered on. But my ear caught on his words as honor came into play. Family honor. My eyes snapped towards him, daring him to place my honor into question. It was the only thing that mattered to me. It was the only reason I persisted in my treachery. My satisfaction and ego reveled in the honor I received, which I knew I could receive no other way.

"Your father would be disgusted with you for that scene back at the castle. I cannot even begin to describe the absurdit-"

I was close to chuckling when I rose clumsily from the settee, "Do not speak of my father as if you know what he would think of me! It would not take something as overblown as my cowardice to shame him! Why, show a bit of weakness, a bit of pain, ah, then he would be angry. My honor has nothing to do with his approval. It has to do with my own!"

I shuddered as I fell back into my seat, looking down at the floor to the place where I had dropped the watch. It was cushioned in the red carpet, buried in the plush velvet that only the shiniest galleon could buy, and many of them at that. Funny that I had never even acknowledged the carpet, or rather any of my rich surroundings. I tore my gaze from the watch to look up at Snape. But he was gone.

I was left desperately alone, realizing for once that there was not a single picture hanging from the walls of the Riddle house.

O O O

Boarding under the Dark Lord's roof was most often restless and unpleasant. Above my head I could hear the scurrying feet of the rats in the attic, and a cold power radiated through the walls, causing me to wrap the blankets tighter around me. Everything in the room was black and ancient, the draperies around the bed hanging like wraiths above my head. I shifted uncertainly, closing my eyes against the unnerving interior design choices that seemed to be everywhere.

The world was not any less bleak behind closed eyes. I scratched my ear in annoyance and flipped onto my stomach, trying to find any path that would lead to my few blissful hours of rest. I felt a discreet nausea in the pit of my stomach, a feeling I knew all to well. I got it each time I was not in my dominant element, when I was at home or when I was here at the Riddle house. It was the feeling that told me I was desperate to be back at Hogwarts, my head on my familiar feather pillow. It was the only place I felt the power I craved, the control I desperately believed I deserved.

My fist pounded at the cotton-stuffed pillow in an attempt to make it more accommodating, but it prevailed in the end as my head sank straight through its thin mass to rest on the mattress. It was not long before I gave up in my endeavor of peace and threw the blankets off of me, stalking to the fireplace and hurling fireballs at the charred logs with my wand. After throwing in a few fresh logs, I sank into the plush easy chair before the fire.

My head fell like a brick of led into my hands, my body relaxing into the contours of the chair. I could barely stand the smell of myself but by then I could not even lift my head, let alone cast a cleaning charm. My wand was feet away, sitting in the open on the coffee table. I was suddenly drained, but of course my mind was hard at work. I felt myself straining against the bonds of sleep that I had been striving for mere moments before.

"This is insanity…" I murmured absently to myself.

I had always wondered what it was like. This was it, this maddening frustration building beneath my skin. I felt myself sink lower into the welcoming cushions beneath me, melting into the comfort of it. My last sight before my eyes fell closed like shutters against the world was my hair, greasy and unkempt, falling into my face like a veil of mourning.

O O O

"Oh God, it's all over me!"

I heard the sob that pulled me through a sea of darkness as if the mouth of hell were whispering into my very ear. Some sublime being was calling to me through the hazy mists of sleep, beckoning me with a voice of reason and reality. I followed the voice out into the open air of the waking world and gasped for a breath of realism as it dawned on me exactly where I was, exactly how I had gotten there.

My eyes opened to a void of darkness, deeper then the inside of my eyelids, more startling then the soft nothingness that overcame everything during sleep. The comforting fire had gone cold hours ago, even the coals extinguished beneath the blanket of night. I sat up in my seat slowly, blinking and gripping the arms of the chair.

Had the voice been my dream, so prominent that it had awoken me as if it were real? My ears strained against the sudden silence that filled the space around me, listening intently for any sound. I must have sat there for a full minute, squinting and quivering in the effort it took to remain still. Finally I let myself fall back into the chair. I really was going insane.

But then from just outside the door, "This is ridiculous! Release me this instant! Oh, please just let me use a washcloth or something…"

I froze in my place and felt the tension creep back up my spine as the stumbling footsteps came closer and stopped clumsily in front of my door. There was a grunt of effort, the creaking of aging hinges, and a gasp of indignation. A thump came, along with a blinding strip of light from the hallway.

"Malfoy," a gruff voice barked impatiently, "Make sure this 'ere lady gets right cleaned up. She's got 'erself a date with the Dark Lord 'imself."

I did not get a chance to reply as the door slid back into place and the light was gone. A soft moan came from somewhere on the floor. I sat for a moment, unsure about what I should do. At last I decided I should start a fire, so I could at least see what was going on. I fumbled around in the darkness for my wand and sent a jet of flame to the fireplace, waiting a moment for it to get started and then turning towards the place where the moans and grumblings were coming from.

A small trembling form lay on the hardwood floor near the door, crumpled into a ball of blood-soaked black robes. The girl's hair was a mass of tangles around her face, hidden by her hands, which were covered in a coating of clotting blood. I shoved back my own hair, feeling more put together in the presence of the mess before me. Compared to her I was on the clean side, from the look of her robes.

I listened impatiently to the deep sigh that came from the girl, scowling. "Get up. Come on, I don't have all day and obviously neither do you. Stop blubbering like an idiot and come up from there."

I heard something that sounded similar to the colliding words of merpeople come from behind the hands. My scowl deepened to a fierce frown.

"If you continue to hinder my correspondence with orders I will be forced to find other means to acquire your cooperation."

The girl's hands rubbed at her face in frustration, "I said shove it up your arse, ferret! I don't want to deal with you right now!"

My wand dropped a fraction of an inch and I felt my face go slack, "What did you just say?"

"I said shove it up your arse!"

Hermione Granger's hands fell from her face to ball into angry fists on the floor. She had pulled herself into a kneeling position, her legs folded in a heap beneath her, surrounded by robes that dripped sticky life blood onto the floors in a large puddle. I could no longer breathe and my arms had dropped helplessly to my sides. With the sight of this girl, my enemy, came a rush of images that I had no desire to see.

With this mudblood, a creature who had meant so little to me throughout the years, came wild emotions. The reminders came crashing down on my shoulders. The weight of being separated from everyone around me, hundreds of my peers. The feeling of my own betrayal to a man I had never felt loyalty to. Being surrounded by so many people my age and feeling somehow… Ancient.

My gaze focused intensely on the startled face of Granger, trying to find some trace of my past life, my life at Hogwarts. But I realized suddenly that she was as lost to Hogwarts as I was. Beneath her mask of red was a girl I had never seen before. I sighed and turned away from her as I realized what I was doing. I was seeking comfort from my past life. And what was worse was that I was expecting it to come from the best friend of my most prominent enemy.

Disgusted with myself I tried to appear pleased that I had control over the mudblood at last. But I could not muster the enthusiasm I had once had for torturing her. I glanced over my shoulder at her quivering form and felt nothing but a silent revulsion for her, for her kind. I went back to my chair without looking back at her. I could feel the familiar numbness creeping over me, the one that always followed any emotions more taxing then hatred.

I said nothing for a long while. I just ignored the presence of Hermione Granger and stared at the fire, fighting off the memories, the good memories that still clung desperately in the back of my mind. She began to move about the room, her raging mood calming, as if she had nothing to worry about but cleaning the death from her skin. I did not even move when she pulled a wand out of her pocket. I did not think she could do anything to me that I had not already done to myself.

When the only sound remaining was that of the crackling fire before me I finally turned around to see what was going on. There she lay, buried in the blankets on the bed I had occupied just hours before. I fought my nausea just so that I could look at her there. I wondered why she had suddenly appeared in my life. This mudblood had nothing to do with the life I lead beneath Lord Voldemort.

And now in her presence I could feel nothing but dirty and disgusting. I looked down at myself and then looked back up at her, there in my borrowed bed as if it were hers. She was disgusting, she was dirty. And here I was, knowing that in my skin I was both of those things. My throat filled with bile at the notion. I ran desperately for the window, pulling back the heavy curtains and bursting through the shutters. I knew it was not permitted, to let myself be seen in the Riddle house. But I did not care as all the food I had consumed that day fell to the ground two stories below.

When I finally pulled myself back out of the night air I could no longer contain the emotions that raged through my veins. I tore at the disgusting robes that besieged me and rubbed furiously at my unwashed skin as if blasphemy itself were clinging to me. I ignored the hot tears pouring from my eyes and I slammed my fist into the wall beside me before going limp against it.

I looked up through my veil of hair and saw her there, her eyes clear, calm, and brown as they gazed at me in my most tattered state. She could have no idea that in that moment I was realizing for once what I was. I was no better then any of them. I was dirty. I was disgusting. I was worse then any of them in a way.

My tears fell as I realized what I never had before.

I was human.