There was another man before me now. Too many different people. Too hard to keep track. I waited for his judgment. I could tell by the body language in the room that he was the leader. The alpha. It was always useful to know who the alpha was.

It was easy to tell, he stood before me, flanked by the greasy man and the tight faced woman. They looked to him, he looked at me. The new man had bright blue eyes and long a long white beard. He made me feel comfortable…almost.

"Emily Woods," He spoke softly, like he was sad. I didn't know why he would be. "Do you remember me?"

I stared at him, then shook my head. I felt better somehow, calmer. The soup. They had put something in the soup.

"Professor Snape or Mcgonagall perhaps?" Again I shook my head. "Do you remember attending Hogwarts?" Shake head. No. I don't remember any of that, or any of you.

"Can you tell me what happened to you?" Shake head. I could never tell anyone. "Please Emily, try." No. I closed my eyes. No. "Professor Snape, I'm afraid we have no choice. We need to find out what, if anything, she knows. I need you to retrieve her memories."

The greasy man did not look happy, but I knew, perhaps before he did, that he would comply. Retrieve my memories? I almost felt bad for him. Not even I wanted my memories.

The man entered my mind. I could feel it, he stepped gently into my consciousness, and I began to see.

-

My first memory, my very first, was of her: Bellatrix Lestrange. I remember fear. I remember cold sweat on my palms. There are two dead bodies by my feet. I cannot tear my eyes away from them. They are…important to me. I am sobbing.

Bellatrix looks my over, she strokes my cheeks gently and I flinch. In her hand is a wand. Mine, I think. My arms are stuck, enchanted, I cannot move.

"Such a pretty little thing." She whispers, practically cooing at me. I am disgusted. "A little toy made just for me. I just have to fix you up."

She holds my wand to my forehead.

"Obliviate."

Then she is distracted, pulls away a moment too soon. I feel the threads of my life unraveling, vanishing, until only this moment remains.

The man withdraws from my mind.

"Her parents are dead." He says, his lips white and thin, and then he goes back in.

My memories for here are scare, disjointed, fuzzy. That is my doing. I do not want to remember. Snape catches a thread, he unravels it.

"Let's have a tea party!" It is Bellatrix. I remember what happened at the last tea party. I don't want to.

"No," I say.

"Nonsense! You love tea parties!" She brandishes her wand at me, tilting her head, "Don't you?"

I swallow and nod. I have been well taught to fear her little stick.

"What a good little doll." She smiles and before me all sorts of sweets appear. Cookies, candies, tea of course… I take a cookie, shoving it in my mouth while Bellatrix isn't looking. Then I take another and another. I can't remember when I last ate.

She babbles about something for a bit—the dark lord's courage and philosophy, I think—but it all matters very little to me. There is food. Suddenly, her temper changes. She starts talking about Dumbledore, and a boy who lives. I brace myself, knowing what will come.

"Stand over there, my pretty little toy," She tells me and I obey. It will be easier this way. She won't be as mad. She smiles at me, innocent and childlike, and then she speaks,

"Crucio." I fall to the floor, shrieking.

Later that night, the one Bellatrix calls Wormtail comes to me. He is holding a loaf of bread. It will be the first of many visits.

I can hardly breathe, let alone move, or eat. This man, large and rodent-like, doesn't seem so bad. He treats me gently. Conjures up water, and drips the bread into it. He is making it soft for me, so I can swallow it without having to chew. I send silent thanks his way.

But his eyes are hungry. When I am done eating, he runs his hands roughly over my body. I am too weak to resist, but it leaves a feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to vomit. I understand now.

The food is an offering. If I accept it, I must give something in return.

I wish I could say I never take food from him again. It would be a lie. I only take it if I am truly desperate.

Snape sorts through all of my memories, fishing out the string from which they originate, and slowly pulling them apart. They are all of a sickeningly similar nature. Finally he gets to the last one.

It is a new game Bellatrix likes to play. She calls it hide and seek. She will hold me close and we will whirl through the air. When we land it will be somewhere new and frightening. Somewhere we have never been before. She will point out into the distance and tell me,

"If you can get there, I will let you go. You will be free."

So I run, I always run, but I never make it. She will chase me, cackling like a mad woman, until she catches me. And then she will hurt me for running. Soon I will learn, just like I did when she first left me alone, that there is no escape. She will break me like an animal. I understand this, though I do not remember the source from which I draw reference.

This time though, things are different. I run and run and run. And there is silence. She is not chasing me this time. I make it all the way to the boundary line. I am free.

I turn around, because I have to see if she is still there. I have feared her, but never truly hated her. How could I? She was my everything. And there were moments, just moments, of kindness between the pain. When I look around and she is not there, I feel an unexpected weight in my stomach.

I am no one. I know nothing. I am abandoned.

How will I live now?

I walk and I walk and I walk. I am through the forest. I am in a city. I am on a street. I look, perplexed, at the houses before me. Nine, ten eleven…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. One is missing. Number Twelve is missing.

I stand there, starring at it, until someone else comes whirling through the air—right into me.

At first I am sure it is Bellatrix, but moments later equally sure it is not. It is the redheaded man. He takes in my appearance, dirty and thin, and then stares at the clothes in which I am dressed. Nothing is so special about them. However, he is fascinated by the little yellow tie that was poking out of my robes.

I knew it was important to me somehow. It was the only thing I kept a secret from Bellatrix. Somehow it must have slipped out from the hiding place in my waist band.

The man looked around, and then he picked me up and we were flying again.

We saw for a moment, I think, the man with the beard. And then he spoke to me so I could see. Number 12 had been there all along.

Greasy man kindly pulled out of my head and my eyes shut. I was horrified. He knew everything about me. What I was ashamed of, what I wished to forget. Then, I had to sit there and listen as he related my life story to the other occupants of the room.

-

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Especially the long one from whitehound which made me look more critically at future chapters. I'll try and fix things up a bit but no promises. =)