Chapter 4. Rose Weasley.
No, she didn't like waiting around; she would have liked to help looking for Lily and Xenia – yet she stayed with Theo and Sarah; and with Bertie, who just woke up.
Rose was in the kitchen, making toast for her charge, when she heard someone walk out of the fireplace. She expected to see anyone: her dad, Uncle Harry, James – instead, standing in the parlour was a vaguely familiar, worried-looking girl.
"I need Theodic; it is urgent!" she said, looking at the puzzled Rose. Oh, right, Liana MacLaggen, Rose finally recalled the girl's name.
Theo walked out of his study, the medical bag already in his hand: an unexpected call could only mean a medical emergency.
"James…," began Liana, but Theo did not pause to listen; Rose suddenly thought that her friend already knew everything he needed – the information wasn't difficult to obtain.
"Lead the way," he said, his dark eyes resting briefly on Rose. "Keep an eye on the potion, please."
The girl nodded, biting her lip, and watched Liana disappear in the fireplace, with Theo on her heels. If it is James, then… She didn't want to think of what could be wrong; instead, she preferred to hope for good news, for Xenia and Lily to have made it to safety… with no blood spilled…
"Who was it?" Bertie appeared behind her, chewing on her toast. She looked well-rested and content, having asked Rose a million questions about Albus, Uncle Ron, and Mum.
"A patient of Theo's," Rose replied automatically, turning toward Bertie. "Do you want to sit by your mum?"
The girl nodded and ran eagerly into Theo's study. Rose walked over to the boiling cauldron, and realized that she had been chilly – it was almost hot there. She scanned Theo's notes next to the cauldron, with some instructions already crossed out. He always did that, because he was often interrupted and could get mixed up. Plus, this way, Rose could easily take over should he be called away…
Rose stirred the potion, barely listening to Bertie who was telling something to her sleeping mother. The girl's thoughts were far away; she worried very much for her family, for Theo. They were in trouble, again. She didn't want to lay blame, nor did it make sense to do so. Even if the enemy was only Malfoy's, Scorpius was now part of the family. And they always helped their family. Otherwise, it would have long broken up into two parts: one group in St. Mungo's and the other – in Azkaban.
So, what happened? She didn't have to wait long, because she heard the front door open. Rose didn't even have time to step away from the cauldron, when Theo rushed into the study, the unconscious Xenia in his arms. James' wife looked awful.
A dozen questions sped through her mind, while Theo laid Xenia on one of the cots to the other side of the screen from the sleeping Sarah.
What happened? Has Lily been found? Where are James and Scorpius? Who else was hurt? What's wrong with Xenia? Why did Liana MacLaggen show up here?
"What can I do to help?" Rose was already next to Theo, as he was unfastening the unconscious girl's dirty cloak. Pale face, with bright red lips eerily standing out, looked almost frightful. Dead people can be in better form…
"Bring the black folder from my desk," Theo said curtly, without turning around. A wand appeared in his hand. "James and Scorpius are alright, but Lily wasn't with them."
Rose nodded gratefully at Theo and handed him the folder where he kept important notes. He quickly located the proper page, and tossed the rest on the side table.
"What is wrong with her?" Rose asked quietly, with a backward glance at the screen, behind which sat a quiet and clearly a tad frightened Bertie.
"She is pregnant," Theodic muttered, scanning his notes. As if it explained something. "She linked herself to Lily mentally. It sapped too much energy from her."
"Is she… and the baby alright?" her voice faltered.
"I don't know. And I can't check: any spell now can be dangerous. But I must break the Link."
"Why didn't you do it right away?"
"Malfoy," was Theo's only reply, as he tossed away the notes and waved his wand: a vial with bluish liquid jumped out of the cupboard and into his hand.
Rose understood that Scorpius did not allow to break the connection to Lily – the only link to her. He might have thought that it would help them save her – like four years ago. And what of James? What did he think about this? After all, he had to choose between Xenia and Lily…
"He doesn't fully understand," Theo replied to Rose's thoughts, putting drops of potions on Xenia's lips. "He doesn't understand the threat to the baby. He is too bewildered and relieved."
"Are you going to break the link now?" the girl whispered. "And what if Lily…?"
"She's been found."
Rose started and whirled around: in the doorway stood her tired-looking father; Bertie ran to him and held him tight. Theo nodded, without pausing – his wand was already at Xenia's temple, slowly and carefully moving aside the golden locks.
"Harry went to the hospital; Lily had been taken there. I must let James know and… her husband."
"I know where they are," Rose replied promptly, eager to do her part. "You stay with Sarah and Bertie."
"James should have been here," Theo remarked, watching Xenia closely. "He is very weakened."
Rose nodded and hurried to the parlour, before her father decided to go with her or instead of her. He must get some rest – especially after the transformations. Especially so close to the full moon…
"The Gregorys'," Theo reminded her, and Rose smiled gratefully at him. She hoped that Xenia would be alright. And Lily. Why is she in the hospital? What happened?
Why was James held up? With that thought, she entered the fireplace and tossed the Floo powder, clearly stating her destination. As soon as she stepped into the unfamiliar parlour, she understood the reason for the delay.
Rose slowly looked over the room, like a stage for a play that ended tragically. A lifeless body of a young man lay on its back by the nearest wall; next to him – Helene on her knees, with tears rolling down her face; Liana, trembling in Greg Gregory's arms, her husband's hand wrapped in a handkerchief with ice; and James, sitting on the couch, next to Malfoy. The latter's face held greenish tint, his eyes closed, his fists clutched. Only a red spot – as though from a punch – stood out. Everyone was silent.
"Lily's been found," Rose broke in, and Malfoy started, but did not open his eyes.
"We know," James muttered. Her cousin looked just as bad as Scorpius. "How is Xenia?"
"Theo is taking care of her," the girl said vaguely, slowly approaching the man on the floor. "Is it him?"
James nodded.
"So odd…," Rose muttered, looking at the face with skin half-peeled off, as though from a burn. Only partially, however, and therefore, looking at this incompletely transformed face was unnerving. The hair seemed to have almost changed colour, too, before… Before?! "Who killed him?"
The question echoed coldly in the silence of this room. A stupid question, Rose thought a moment later, looking at the oddly calm Malfoy. As though it is the first time he has killed, she smirked inwardly.
"Have you alerted the Ministry?" she asked, stepping away from the body and from the unmoving Helene, lost in her grief, her eyes on her dead husband.
"Right, we just can't wait for Malfoy to be sent to the Dementors," snapped James, with a sympathetic look at his best mate. "Are you mental?"
Her cousin was clearly at the end if his rope, to sound so aggressive and snappish. As if he was ready to rush to Malfoy's defense, even though no one was attacking him. Rose had no idea how to react yet…
"Leave now," Gregory sat Liana into a chair, and looked directly at James. "You will get away before the Ministry people get here. Malfoy will have a chance to see Lily."
"How noble," James snorted.
Why is Malfoy so quiet? He was barely moving, like a marble statue of grief; or was it remorse?
"Why did you kill him?" Rose stood next to her cousin, but with her eyes on Scorpius. "Was there no other way… Like… that time, in the forest?"
Malfoy raised his head; his gaze rested on her – heavy, almost unbearable. Rose suddenly remembered Lily talking about Malfoy's silver eyes; they now looked almost black, because of the huge, dilated pupils.
He didn't say anything and closed his eyes again; his pose betrayed extreme fatigue.
"Go, Malfoy, you will have time to see Lily before you are arrested," Gregory repeated.
"No one will arrest him!" James growled, getting up. "He was saving your wife! And the rest of us!"
"He used an Unforgivable Curse," Greg reminded him, taking a step back. "They will hold him until the hearing. Of course, there is a good chance that he would be acquitted…"
"No one will know that it was an Unforgivable Curse, unless you gab about it," James stared at their host, enraged.
By the way, why are they all here? And what is Liana doing here? Rose kept her questions to herself for now, looking back once more at the body of Lily's and Xenia's kidnapper. Helene squatted next to him, stroking his chest, as her tears fell on the dead wizard's cloak.
"The Aurors are no First Years; they will figure it out," Greg remarked, and Rose had to agree with him. "Go, Malfoy, hide, if you wish…"
Rose almost snorted: offering Scorpius to run and hide was stupid; even she knew that. He would rather suffer in Azkaban. Poor Lily…
"No need to hide."
They all looked round at Helene, who spoke those words. She was still sitting next to the body of, as Rose surmised, her husband, but tears no longer rolled down her pale cheeks. She was looking away from them – at something on her palm.
"Will you take the blame?" James asked caustically. He clearly felt no pity for the girl, whose husband had just been killed right in front of her. Rose got the impression that Helene loved her husband, despite his being… vile.
"Nobody is to blame," Helene spoke again, her eyes still downcast.
"He dispatched himself with Avada Kedavra?" Rose's cousin chuckled, and she thought that James was on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of all that had happened. "Suicide?"
"Yes," the girl's lips barely moved; tears started falling again.
"Did you find a farewell note?" Greg asked calmly, approaching Helene.
"No," she shook her head. "I found this," and she showed them a large locket that she held in her hand. The locket was on a chain, dark-green in colour, and seemed to glow eerily, as though from an extinguished fire.
"And what is this?" James inquired skeptically.
"It is a Devereaux heirloom," Helene finally raised her tear-reddened eyes to them. "It is very ancient; the Mark of Honour. If someone taints the family honour and dignity, he or she is given the Locket, indicating that they have to commit suicide. To wash the dishonor with blood," the girl's voice broke, but she composed herself, to continue. "If the person cannot bring him or herself to do it, the Locket does it on its own."
"How?" Rose eyed the green stone in Helene's hands with fascination and horror.
"It turns any spell directed at the bearer into the Killing Curse. Even the most innocuous, like 'Silencio'," Helene said in near whisper, letting the locket slide through her fingers and fall to the floor with a knock.
"… hippogriff," James muttered, looking at the plain-looking knick-knack. "So, he came here to die? The slime…"
"James!" Rose reprimanded him, walking over to Helene and handing her a handkerchief. Then she turned sharply towards Malfoy and said firmly: "Give me your wand, Scorpius."
The chap leveled her with a heavy stare again, one eyebrow raised, as though her request came as a surprise.
"Do you want to test the stone on yourself?" James was looking at Rose as though doubting her sanity. "Don't even think about it!"
"The wand, Malfoy!" the girl repeated. She was very afraid of doing this, but she held on to hope – a vain hope, given that this was Malfoy, but she had to make sure. The Aurors would do it anyway…
Liana and Greg seemed to realize what Rose was after. James looked from one to the other dully, while Malfoy appeared to be incapable of any rational thought altogether – he seemed preoccupied with some internal turmoil, wholly unconcerned with them.
Rose didn't bother to repeat herself the third time: she walked over to Scorpius and pulled the wand from his hand; he never put it away after killing the kidnapper (or helping him kill himself).
By the way, who is this dead man? This question was never asked out loud – this wasn't the time.
The silvery wand was cold, despite having been in Malfoy's grip.
"Priori Incantatem," Rose whispered, touching her wand to Malfoy's. The silence in the room turned palpable, as though all those present were afraid to breathe. Scorpius alone appeared completely unconcerned with the spell that was about to come out of his wand. Has he condemned himself already?
The moment dragged on excruciatingly. Finally, smoke began trickling out of the tip of the silver wand, forming an echo of the real spell: a straight, sharp beam, bright-red in colour.
Someone exhaled sharply, and Rose looked up: James practically collapsed on the couch, next to his friend, his face in his hands.
She never thought that happiness could fall apart so easily and quietly, with a faint rustle and a silent scream.
What were you thinking, coming here? Did you want what you ended up getting? And why?
She never wanted to see this – happiness crashing and dying. She didn't want to believe that this was of his doing. That he would up and destroy their world – their happy world.
Although, maybe this was only her world, and for him…? What was there, inside him, that pushed him, so quiet and calm, onto this path?
Why?
Like an echo – of the days past and of such recent bliss – this question kept her staring at the prone, rag doll-like, body of her husband. Through her tears she could barely make out his imperfect features. Her hand gripped the locket.
There was no question where Mark had gotten this lethal knick-knack. And who had orchestrated his demise. All other questions were not likely to ever be answered. On the other hand, answers might prove to be too terrifying…
Odd, but she had never thought herself a coward. Accustomed to fighting for her happiness and freedom since early childhood, she frequently bent or broke the rules, unafraid and unmindful of the consequences. In her parents' house, she would sneak into the kitchen at night, to gorge on sweets, which was forbidden. When they died – to this day she thought that her uncle had a hand in that – she fought every day against the restrictions that her new legal guardian had imposed on her. She was prohibited from leaving the house unchaperoned – she ran away, despite the subsequent punishment. She was meant to be homeschooled – her parents' friends arranged her admission to Beauxbaton. Her uncle was nursing the dream of her marrying Marcus, his wretch of a son, while she had fun, changing beaus faster than cloaks. He – the Earl of Devereaux – has always been the epitome of the worst in her life. But she never feared him.
Until today.
Helene gripped the locket tighter, and cried harder. Fear and despair kept her rooted to the spot next to the body of Mark, her Mark. The pain that was rising from the very depth of her broken heart paralysed her. With a trembling hand, she stroked her husband's frozen face, still hoping against hope that this was one horribly life-like dream.
Just a dream.
Was this payback for everything she had done before Mark came into her life? For everyone she had used, to prove to herself and to her uncle that she was free to choose what to do with her life, with her body. For every single one…
She remembered them well – their faces, voices, hands, eyes. Three were on the spur of the moment; the other two she chose and pursued. The first three didn't mean anything to her – only a few moments of pleasure, almost innocent in her eyes, though not in her uncle's.
The other two were important to her, each in his own way, but still, she used them. One – because she wanted him; the other – to annoy the earl. Both were special to her. One – because he was the first; the other – because he was beautiful.
And then, there was Mark, who did what no one had ever done for her – he gave up who he was. She did not want this, but accepted it as the greatest gift. She believed that this sacrifice was the price for their mutual happiness. She was mistaken.
"Why?" she whispered, stroking Mark's now forever silent chest, adjusting his cloak. "What has been tormenting you so?"
She wasn't even thinking of him messing with her memories. Even if he did it, it didn't matter now. She'd forgiven him. For everything. But she so badly wanted to know the reason why that it hurt. She so badly wanted to look into his eyes… Because then, moments before his death, he didn't dare meet her gaze, no matter how much she wanted him to. And she could see that he was scared. She just knew it.
Her hand slid over the vest that he wore under his cloak. Something rustled, and Helene, startled, pulled out of Mark's pocket a piece of parchment folded in four. On the outside, there was only one word written in his perfect script – her name.
She tried to wipe the tears off her face, so as not to drip on the even lines of ink covering the parchment. She looked up – no one was paying attention to her, what with James' shaking, clearly in shock; like a suppressed fit of hysterics, which looked bizarre next to the frozen Scorpius. Of course, everyone handles these situations differently. Their hosts stood off to the side, conferring quietly, clearly hatching a plan of action. It seemed that everyone's life continued, while hers had stopped – only to resume later, once the pain has subsided, once the wound has closed. It would take a long time, Helene realized that, as she held on tight to Mark's farewell letter.
So, he came here to die. He knew everything.
Why? All the pain – in one word.
Her hand was trembling, tears threatening to leave smudges on his last missive.
"Dearest Helene…" she sobbed, his voice so vivid in her head. Her legs started to cramp, but she didn't want to move, only to read his confession. What else could it be?
"Dearest Helene, I hope you didn't have to see me in order to obtain this letter. It would have been too cruel. Because none of this was your fault. It was mine, and mine alone. I hope that you don't know any of this yet, and I get the chance to tell you of my infamy. And not only of my own.
I thought long and hard about this, and I have realized that you were the focal point of everything – my biggest luck, and my biggest mistake. What was I before you? A nobody: a shy, timid boy-aristocrat. I was always in the shade, too ordinary to be noticed, too insecure to change it. I was a coward, once seeking out strong friends; however, strong people do not want the likes of me, if only for occasional sport. For this, I hated them and myself. Not sure whom more…
And then I met you – the most extraordinary girl. I was surprised that you found me interesting, that you loved me. It took me a long time to believe that, but you convinced me. I believed that I had found my heaven – to make up for all my petty past suffering. It was on my mind a lot: I was so unworthy of you! But next to you, I felt differently – I felt strong, brave, capable of anything – anything for you.
You truly changed me: could I had ever imagined becoming a metamorphmagus? After all, no one had ever done it, ever! I was the first!
But I never felt like boasting – it was done for you, it was our secret, remember? I didn't need anything more.
Why, Helene? Why did you ask me to do this then? To change. Oh, right, you don't remember it…
You may hate me for what I've done to you, it is your right. But wait, let me continue.
Our lives were simple, until your cousin blew himself up. You didn't like him, I know, but you suffered so – as if you knew what was to come. And your dear uncle didn't disappoint.
It was so strange – to stand there and listen to him. He had always despised me, thinking me weak and pathetic. And here – he seemed to be laying the whole world at my feet. Including you. He knew which buttons to push. I would save him, and he would give me a new life – with you. I had to give up everything in my life, although there hadn't been all that much, in Flint's life, to cherish. My parents got over my death, and no one else mourned me in the first place. However, despite the earl's prohibition, I sometimes Apparated to their house and watched them. I occasionally sent them some money.
I gave up who I was – not a very high price for a life with you. I gained power; all doors were open for me! Remember, you once said that I became a metamorphmagus not only on the outside, but inside, in my soul? You might be right.
He – my new father – taught me a lot. He believed, for some reason, that I would become a replica of his son, but he was disappointed quickly. And I am even glad of that because, should I now have the same skills as the earl, the skills that he passed on to me in some small measure, I would be even more repulsive to you.
But still, he taught me some things. And I am sorry that I once turned it against you.
I erased a small portion of your memory. You will never forgive me, but I still want to tell you everything.
I didn't know why you asked me to change that day, to alter my appearance according to your specifications, to your memories; of him.
If you knew the role this man once played in my life, would you have done it? A silly question.
I was horrified – because you knew him somehow. Your eyes were shining, you were smiling; although you were looking at me, you saw him. His silver hair and eyes.
That evening I did not work, as I told you – I got smashed with my former schoolmate, who was just a loathe to hear about your silver memory. Tobias' life had also been ruined, indirectly due to this man. I was drunk, and Tob egged me on to find out in any way possible what had happened between you and… Malfoy.
You never knew his name, how strange…
I went straight to the earl and said that I was almost certain that you were unfaithful to me. It worked like a charm – the Devereaux name could not be linked to a scandal. He immediately fetched a stashed-up vial of Veritaserum.
Oh, what torment it was, Helene! I will not try to justify my actions, for in your eyes there was such pain, as though I was torturing you, not simply asking questions. You couldn't help but answer.
It was the year you turned seventeen, at a Masque at the Devereaux manor. I was there, Helene. It was the evening we met. I was devastated, destroyed, for he outstripped me. You were with him earlier that night, without even knowing his name. You remembered his hair and eyes! And what happened between you. He was the first, wasn't he? I was too cowardly to ask you, because I didn't want to hear the answer.
I can hardly describe to you how I felt then. You were never unfaithful to me, yet you were his. Again, you understand? This happened before, back in school. We were classmates, roommates. I once wanted him to become my friend; you remember, I'd searched for someone strong. And he always was that. I could have admired him, had I not learned to hate him. Hating him for being someone that I could never be, even as Marcus Devereaux. He found himself another friend, the strangest choice of all possible… But, of course, not a weakling – just as exceptional as he himself was. It was logical, it was right – although it made me feel all the more pathetic.
And now I want to tell you about her. About Liana MacLaggen…"
Helene could barely breathe: the scene flashed before her eyes: him, pressing the wand against the throat of the girl he apparently knew.
"… She was a year behind us. Another one of extraordinary personalities that always gravitated toward him; or he attracted them. He tormented her, he played with her, but his eyes always remained cold. Mere sport…
This happened shortly before the Yule Ball. He pursued her to be his date (as if he hadn't hurt her enough the previous year). And then he left her alone, his interest in her gone… I bumped into her purely by accident, when she was crying. Liana MacLaggen cried! A million thoughts assaulted me, about what he had done, about the pain he caused her… She didn't tell me anything; we simply sat together for hours that night. This went on for a long time, several months. I was happy, she also cheered up. Then one night we came across Helena, my classmate. She was positively glowing, and I thought that she must have been somewhere with Malfoy – they were known to be dating. If only I thought on my feet… I think that Liana understood everything, but she kept going. We had been on our way to the Tower, which was a customary meeting spot.
He was there, still as a statue, his clothes still in disarray after the date.
This was how it all fell apart. He only had to look at her, and she let go of my hand and took a step toward him.
I left, hating him and myself. He wouldn't let her go, and she couldn't forget him. I saw her later – crying again, but that time I simply passed her by. He had branded her, and I realized that she would never be rid of him. I gave up; I got over it.
And now it all seemed to happen again; with you. I realized it with horror, but I couldn't do with you what I did with Liana. I love you too much; I would have died, had I left you. Besides, he didn't need you; I can't be sure that he remembers you at all. And then I acted on impulse, without pre-meditation, or else I would not have had the strength.
I erased him from your memory. I erased that evening, replacing your intimacy with him with something else – a potpourri of real events comprising a perfect day of our first meeting. I was very careful, lest I should harm you – I would never forgive myself for that.
It worked. You forgot both him and what I'd done. I believed that it would be the beginning of our new happiness.
Yet, guilt, jealousy, the sense of my own inferiority haunted me. At the time, your uncle was doing everything he could to get the Post of Deputy Minister for Transportation for me – the earl angled for a full monopoly on Floo networks. He easily blew away the small competitors. But there was one, whose influence and power had been growing quickly in recent years – quickly and quiet noticeably. And Devereaux couldn't defeat him.
It was Draco Malfoy.
The, in the last six months, it happened. Our elves finished – successfully – testing the new type of Floo powder. It turned out to be simpler and faster to obtain, and it opened new possibilities for traveling. This was all done in total secret.
Remember, I told you about it? We used to spend weeks to grow the Devil's Snare, watering and fertilizing them, in order to then grind the dried stalks into Floo powder. Of course, it was the house elves who did that, but underground existence shortened their lives. And then they began to experiment. They came up with setting aglow the… dust! Tiny particles of dust that have probably been floating in the mines' air for eons. Light glow did not scare away the Snare; it made it reproduce – and very quickly. Perturbing glowing dust – reproduction. It was incredible! What was even more incredible was that such quick reproductive cycle killed the Snare within three days. All that remained was to cut it down and grind it…
I was ecstatic; I realized that this discovery would truly make me worthy of my position at the Minister's side. But the earl's plans went farther than that…
You know, I was such a fool, telling your uncle all about you and Scorpius Malfoy. Yet, at the time, he was the only person who truly understand me. He saved me from myself. A stupid devotion of a dog that was kicked around all its life before being finally petted once.
And he decided to use it quite cleverly. He saw Malfoys' growing might. And he knew in whose hands this might would be in the future. He knew that Draco Malfoy was the weak link, and that his son would be a far more formidable adversary. And he also knew that it was exactly the opposite in his family. He compared me – his heir – and Scorpius, and knew, of course, what the outcome would be, should it come to naked competition. And then the earl decided to end it all now, while he was dealing with a far weaker opponent. And also… to break Malfoy the younger.
I am not trying to shift the blame from me to the earl. No, I resolved to go through with my vengeance. He simply gave me a nudge, he prepared me for months, stoking the fire. I would have been too weak and cowardly to conceive of something like this. It was him who bribed the committee at St. Mungo's for Priscilla Zabini – the well-known enemy of the younger Malfoy – to get an early release from Azkaban. That way, she would be blamed – at least initially – for what would be happening. He pointed out to me that, should I capture a Malfoy house elf, I would gain access to all their domiciles without a problem: his flat, his best mate's house, his father-in-law's, his family home. Like a Trojan horse…
It was him who showed me Scorpius' vulnerability – his girlfriend Lily Potter. And he told me that there was nothing impossible for an advisor to the Minister.
I came up with all the rest. I made a conscious decision to go through with this, for I was tired: tired of Malfoy's shadow that haunted me, tired of the guilt that I felt when I was with you, tired of disdain – for myself, that even though I had erased him from your memory, Icouldn't forget. Doing that did not grant me a happy life with you, and without you I cannot be happy, period. I am even glad that this is how it will end.
You know, even with all the meticulous planning, I still failed at my revenge. I will never outplay Scorpius. Or myself. I am only capable of bungling things.
Still, I seem to have managed to do the most important – for the earl – part. The Malfoy fortune is practically destroyed, and Scorpius cannot do anything about it.
The funny part was, Helene, that the earl was displeased when I came to him with the contract. And I understand why: he could see that I was failing at the second part; that I was not able to destroy Scorpius. He didn't know that I had almost done that. And I didn't tell him.
Helene, I disgraced him. He had an inkling that it would all soon blow up in his face.
I lost Albus Potter.
I never got James Potter under control.
I made too many mistakes, and I would have to pay the price.
The earl gave me the locket. I believe you know what I am talking about, for you were the one who told me about it.
And this was when my life ended – this morning. My father gave up on me. He denied me my life. He silently destroyed me. He took you away from me – or maybe I did that myself…
I don't know anymore. I don't know where to find strength to do what I must. (I sold my life to the earl, and he has every right to dispose of me.)
You know, I am scared, and this makes me hate myself even more. I am terrified of leaving you to deal with the aftermath.
I am sorry of only one thing: that I will never get to see Malfoy on his knees…
I am slime, am I not?
Everything is falling apart even sooner that I have anticipated… (here, the ink appeared very fresh). I underestimated the house elf. Helene, can it be that I've put you in harm's way?
Well, come what may, I am on my way to look into the eyes of my tormentor and my death. Maybe I get lucky and get killed – no matter by whom. It is not important anymore. I have fought enough: with the past, with the earl, with Malfoy, with myself. I have lost… I lost every one of these duels.
I am slime for, even on the verge of death, I hope that it too would be part of my vengeance on Malfoy. What for? Perhaps for what he had become, and I failed to; for getting what I never became worthy of.
I want to get back at him for you.
I love you. Forgive me.
Your Mark."
There were no tears. Only emptiness. She looked up at her husband's body in front of her.
"I forgive you," she whispered, hoping that he found what he'd been looking for – peace.