Shout-Outs:
Ms. Willow Gosermer Thank you for liking the short chapters, I don't want to overwhelm people with really long chapter. And I'll do that dialogue thing, which (by the way) I just learned about in English.
The Story:
A clanging noise caused Lalthine's body to jerk up in immediate response, her fists where clenched tightly, and her eyes burned with fear. Her posture relaxed as she realized that it had only been a metal serving tray, dropped on the floor to awaken her from the nearly comatose state. Lalithine hadn't slept in days, thanks to her pursuit of the Potter family. Breakfast had been set on it, bread and milk, more nourishment than she had laid her eyes on in weeks. It must have been his doing, Ginny wouldn't have let her eat, wouldn't have given her a reason to stay. She fixed Harry a particularly nasty glare before digging into the food like a famished animal. Harry appeared to be disgusted by her lack of manners; his nose wrinkled with disdain as she tore off a large chunk of the bread, revealing slightly sharpened incisors. She made a grumbling noise in the back of her throat as she downed the milk, a sound of pleasure, a sound that meant 'thank you.' He watched her devour the food in silence, noting the similarities and differences between her and Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. He could see the Dark Mark on her left forearm as she ate, the harsh ink stood out against the dewy white of her flesh.
"How old were you," Harry asked, "when they gave you the mark?"
Lalithine froze, intentionally averting his gaze. She stared into the distance, wishing he would just keep that big trap of his closed. Memories flooded her, she could see herself as a little girl, forced onto a bench…but she pushed it away desperately. Her thoughts were not safe, she had been told, Potter would know. Her jaw closed automatically, twitching a little from the strain. Harry had seen the change in her immediately, the stiffness that seemed to overtake her animalistic nature; she seemed more restrained and, if he dared think it, a bit more sophisticated. She placed the bread neatly on the platter, next to the empty glass; her eyes returned to that curiously dead expression that he had seen the night before. She really was a fascinating creature, even if she did seem a tad bit insane.
"Can I have my wand back?" she asked quietly.
He laughed at that, loudly, at her pitiful attempt to divert his attention. It would not work. Over the last nineteen years, he had learned every trick in the book from his children. James was the best at it, though that didn't last long at all once Harry and Ginny caught on. There had been quite an episode when James had lost his ability to trick his parents. A nostalgic smile planted itself on Harry's face.
"Are you going to behave?" he countered. She shook her head with that playful smirk. "Then no," he continued, "your wand is confiscated until you learn to play nice. And anyway, you won't need it while you're here. But I asked you a question. It would be polite for you give me an answer, or that's how it works in a normal conversation. I don't know how you were raised, but-" "I was five," she answered to silence his incessant babbling; "a year after you killed my mother and father. I didn't want it done at the time; they had to strap me down to keep me from fighting back." There, she thought smugly, let him make what he wanted of that.
She saw his smile disappear, his eyes softened and she turned back to the bread. Her bony hands pulled off small portions of the bread, rolled them into little balls, and then placed them back onto the tray as Harry let her truth sink in. So she hadn't wanted to join them at first, perhaps that rebellious nature was still in her, somewhere. But something she said had bothered him, she implied again that there were others. Still, more believed that Voldemort could return and they must be dealt with. If only he could get more information, more clues about their whereabouts or intentions. As he watched her, Lalithine seemed to fall into herself and he realized it would take more than a few sympathetic words or feelings to shake her.