Infatuation - Yaxley

The funeral was on a Wednesday and Yaxley was unsure if he had been going to attend. He didn't want to be reminded of what had happened. What he had done. But then he had realised that, as many people had noticed the banter that had existed between him and the late Madam Bones, it would've looked more suspicious if he hadn't been there. It was a nice day; the sun cast its rays over the landscape, a warmth pervading through the air. To Yaxley, it felt like Amelia was inside that warmth, hanging over him, telling him that she knew everything and would always know, as she always had.

He stood in the crowd, looking at all the people, wondering if any of them, any of the mourners, were aware that the killer was standing amongst them; for Yaxley had been there, there at her house when she had died. The Dark Lord had decided that she was a liability; after Albus Dumbledore, she was possibly the strongest candidate for Minister, and her views were so unwaveringly anti-Death Eater that she was not likely to be swayed. The Dark Lord wished to do the job himself, to tick another Bones name off his list, though others would accompany him. Yaxley had heard the order and kept his face straight, but inside he had felt something creak and almost break. Amelia Bones was one of the best people he had met. If he put aside their conflicting ideologies, he could actually find many similarities between them. And, from the very start of their shared time at the Ministry, he had always been able to find something to draw him towards her.

Trying to forget the heat on his back, Yaxley momentarily closed his eyes and thought of that fateful day. He had gone into her house, the defenses having been lowered for the occasion. The others were yet to arrive, he had made sure of that; he wanted to spend one more moment with her, before, well, before it happened. He walked through her hallway, careful to keep his feet silent. There were photographs on the wall, people who Yaxley did not know. Looking closer, he saw a tiny child, a young Amelia waving and smiling, her hair blonde and curly. Somehow it made her seem more human, less mysterious, and it made him even less sure about what they were about to do.

A light came from underneath a door; Amelia's bedroom. Yaxley stopped outside and took a breath. Did he really want to do this? He was about to turn away, when a voice, cool and calm, came shooting out towards him.

"Are you going to come in or are you just going to stand there?"

Yaxley felt his heart stop slightly and drop into his stomach; he could not turn back now. Pushing the door open, he found Amelia, sitting on the edge of her bed, her wand resting in her hands. She was wearing a simple black dress and an expression of disappointment, but no fear showed in her eyes. Yaxley's respect for her rose.

"You knew," he said, his voice sticking slightly in his throat.

Amelia nodded sadly.

"I just hoped I was wrong," she said, her voice hard.

Of course she had known. That was always the way with her. Yaxley wanted to speak, to say something, anything, to defend himself. To apologise. But no words came out.

"I think I'd always had my suspicions," Amelia continued, "You were so secretive, far more aware of things than you should've been."

"Why didn't you act on it then?" Yaxley asked, finding voice at last.

The woman before him briefly displayed on her face a smile, one that was sad and resigned.

"Like I said," her words coming out softer than before, "I hoped I was wrong."

Her disappointment was the worst, that look in her eyes as she watched him. Yaxley was the hunter, but right now he shook and his prey, this veritable queen of the jungle, did not move at all.

"If it were in my power," he said, "I would have saved you."

Amelia nodded, though he suspected she didn't quite believe him. That was a pity; if ever he was being sincere, it was now.

"But it is not," the witch said slowly, "We all make our choices, but, sometimes, when it comes down to it, there is no choice at all."

Yaxley thought he understood what she meant; he had chosen to follow the Dark Lord, a decision made of his own free will. But that choice had now led him to this moment, the moment when he could not choose whether or not this woman he adored would live.

"You did not make the choice to flee?" Yaxley commented, still in awe at the composure she displayed.

Amelia's shoulders slackened and for a moment she looked much older than she normally did, the lines on her face accentuated by the light as she looked to the corner of the room. There lay a half packed suitcase, some clothes strewn haphazardly across it.

"I was going to," she replied, her voice a little hoarse, "but then you came and, well, I never quite got around to making my escape."

"You seem surprised," Amelia added, when the wizard did not respond, "What did you expect? For me to stand tall and silent, facing the oncoming doom without fear, not wanting to run?"

He had actually.

"I am not a god," Amelia said simply.

And, though he knew it to be true, Yaxley did not quite believe her.

Everything had happened very quickly after that moment and Yaxley preferred not to think of it now. Her eyes still haunted the back of his mind. He wasn't sure if he had remember correctly or if he was inventing it, but the wizard could swear that she had not stopped looking at him, even after the others had arrived. The look had seemed to say "this is your fault, but I will rise above it". It scared him. Even now, listening to the low hum of voices, the only person who Yaxley felt could see right through him was her. From the coffin, from the grave, she still held power. I am not a god. Perhaps she was one now.