Loss. Gripping, stifling, suffocating loss. That's what I felt as I sat panting on the velvet couch in Tom's empty sitting room. He was gone, that much I had seen with my own astral eyes. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the most feared wizard in the world, was gone, and it was my fault. My victory? A ragged sob escaped my lips as I tried to steady my breath and focus on the silver lining, the one brittle thread connecting me to the world of the living – I had saved Harry Potter.
I allowed myself just three more sobs, three heaving, aching, guttural moans to grieve the loss of the accursed, unrequited love of my life. Afterward I stood up, shaking from head to toe, and tried to think of what to do. The house was still and quiet. The night outside was dark and deep. I approached the large picture window and tried to peer into the lawn beyond, but saw nothing but my own pale reflection. I suddenly felt ancient. Nearly forty years of servitude to Lord Voldemort, over fifty years of living this miserable life, suddenly hit my frail body like a train and it was all I could do to keep from fainting.
Loss. Yes, the loss of Tom was staggering, but there was something else. Somewhere deep within, from my very marrow, there came an aching throb of loss that I couldn't identify. The quiet was overwhelming. I could not remember ever hearing such silence. I turned from the window and looked around, my eyes frantically scanning the room, until they fell upon my wand, discarded on the floor. I snatched it up and knew where I must go.
Hogsmeade, I thought, screwing up my eyes and twirling on the spot. But the squeezing, suffocating press of Disapparition never came. I shook my head and concentrated, visualizing the crooked lane of Hogsmeade, the spires of Hogwarts castle in the distance. I spun again. This time I nearly toppled over, catching myself on the edge of Tom's elegant desk. I stared at my wand, hefted it in my hand as though testing its weight. Something was wrong.
"Lumos," I muttered. The wand remained dark. "Wingardium Leviosa," I said, brandishing the wand in an elegant swish and flick toward the parchments on Tom's desk. Not a flutter. "Aguamenti!" I shouted, jabbing the wand tip into Tom's empty wine glass. Nothing.
Loss. Like an enemy army advancing with drums, the beating of my heart seemed to grow steadily louder in the stifling quiet. It wasn't just Tom. It wasn't only the emptiness of the house, or the quietness of the night. I knew, suddenly but certainly, that the stark, gaping nothingness that seemed to freeze me from within could mean only one thing. My magic was gone.
Crack! I nearly fell over as Snape appeared right in front of me. His gaunt face was glistening with a sheen of sweat. "Well?" he demanded, grabbing my shoulders. "Where is she? What happened?"
I shook my head, hot tears spilling over my cheeks. I didn't know what to say. The loss of Tom, the loss of my magic, threatened to stop my heart. But Snape shook me.
"WHERE IS SHE?" he bellowed.
"Godric's Hollow," I whispered, knowing he would be able to find the house now that the subjects of the Fidelius charm were dead; knowing what he would find in that decimated house. "She's in Godric's Hollow."
Without another word, Snape spun on the spot and vanished, leaving me alone again to drown in loss. I sank to the floor, my breath coming in fast, sharp bursts. I couldn't stop it, the crushing weight of loss threatened to break me into pieces. I was hyperventilating in earnest when I heard vague cracks! around me. My swimming eyes barely saw the figures that closed in on me. The rushing in my ears drowned the shouts and questions of the Aurors who surrounded me. The last thing I knew was my useless wand being wrenched from my hand before all was black...
How can I describe Azkaban? I would say 'cold,' but the word doesn't seem vast enough, sharp enough to capture the biting temperature of the place. I would say 'dark,' but simple absence of light doesn't come close to the dense, suffocating blackness. I would say 'terrifying,' but that word is child's play compared to the reality of life within the black walls of Azkaban prison.
This is where I awoke. My eyes snapped open as if I had been slapped, yet I found myself alone in a cramped cell. Curled on the stone floor, I could just make out the vague sounds of screaming from somewhere below. The air was thick with death and despair. I could tell where the barred door to my cell was located solely by the occasional stirring of the fetid air as - I guessed - a dementor drifted past. Without magic I could no longer see nor hear the monstrous creatures, but I remembered them well. I don't know how long I lay on that floor. It might have been days. It might have been weeks. Months.
Time doesn't move in a linear direction for an Azkaban prisoner. With no windows, no contact with the outside world, no living soul to talk to, time begins to loop in on itself. My fragile mind began to crack. The trauma of a life spent with Lord Voldemort, the crippling loss of my magic, and the freezing despair of the dementor guards all combined to turn my existence into one long nightmare.
Until one day a light emerged.
It came so gradually I didn't even notice at first. I thought it was a trick of the mind, a memory of light. But on it came, growing until finally it pointed down into my cell, beaming me full in the face. I groaned, shielding my blinded eyes. I vaguely heard quiet voices, but their words made no sense to my fractured mind. As the door to my cell creaked open, I began to scream, certain that the dementor's kiss was imminent. But the hands that grasped my arms were warm.
"Peace, Ms. Delacroix, peace," murmured a calm voice above me. I struggled against the grip, still blinded by wand light.
"All right, all right, girlie, get a grip!" This voice was different, gruff and gritty. Something about it struck a memory and I stilled, listening, panting like a cornered animal.
"Alastor?" My own voice was unrecognizable to me, hoarse with ages of unuse.
"It's Moody to you, Death Eater," he growled, but the other voice shushed him.
"Ms. Delacroix, this is Albus Dumbledore. I would like to take you away from this place. Would that be all right with you?"
I squinted through the wand light and slowly began to make out the concerned but gentle face of Dumbledore, next to the frowning countenance of Moody. I think I nodded, before fainting again into oblivion.
