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xxiii. TWENTY-THREE
FOOLISH
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MELORA'S MOTHER WAS THE MOST TRUSTED DEATH EATER OUT OF THE LOT, WHICH WAS A TITLE THAT SHE UPHELD PROUDLY. Years before her birth, her mother had been one to constantly assist Lord Voldemort during battles (or wars), or fulfill everything she could in whatever task he had set for her. And even after fifteen years in Azkaban, she continued to serve with the exact same attitude. Somehow, the devotion she had came across as admirable. Whilst her intentions were largely sadistic, her loyalty was immensely strong, and Melora thought that that in itself was something to be proud of.
The woman had insisted that she would teach her daughter the Dark Arts almost immediately after she had engraved the Dark Mark into her skin. When Ilia and Prescott had been forced to scar their own hands by Umbridge, Melora had hoped that she would not have to bear any mark on her skin throughout her lifetime, completely ignoring the fact that her family was so engrossed in cherishing Lord Voldemort and his wishes. She'd been so oblivious to the mark that she'd known she would have since she was young. And for that, she felt foolish.
Since leaving Hogwarts, Melora had also learned of Umbridge's disappearance. It was very biased, how Ilia had described it to her in the letter (despite how Melora had told her not to write to her anymore). Things such as: That old hag was hanging onto Potter's every word, she was so obsessed with getting rid of Dumbledore. Or even: I've never been too fond of that forest, but when I heard that the centaurs had taken her, I wanted to run in and give them all individual presents.
Oh, how Melora had missed Ilia once she had left the school.
And even more so after their argument:
There had come a day in which Melora had chosen to meet up with her friend, yet also decided to wear the locket that she had been given for Christmas the past year. And that was her first mistake of the day. The second, was practically screaming at Ilia for dating Lee Jordan, when she had been supportive of it for roughly a month prior to their meeting. And lastly, when Ilia had asked if something horrible was happening at the manor, Melora had seized her glass of Butterbeer, thrown the contents at her friend, before slamming the glass against a wall and allowing it to shatter beside her. She left the Hog's Head immediately, with no apology, and without clearing up her mess.
It was safe to say that Melora Lestrange was not friends with Ilia Nyxeris. Oh, and she was then also banned from that pub.
Bellatrix Lestrange wanted her daughter to be viewed as powerful. She had hope that Melora could be a skilled witch in many areas of magic: from Potions to Charms, from Apparition to Occlumency, from Defence Against the Dark Arts to attacking with the Dark Arts. Bellatrix had high expectations for her daughter, and Melora only hoped to live up to them all as best she could.
"The Dark Lord is on the rise again," she had said, an evil smile spread across her face again as she spoke of her master. "And it's about time we assisted him properly, I'd say. We, as well as several other Death Eaters, will break into the Ministry tonight to retrieve a prophecy for the Dark Lord. Of course, we won't be without the help of Potter, but he doesn't know that yet."
Melora knew that this was the moment for her to speak up and agree, but in the back of her mind she knew she could not do such a thing. It was an understatement to say that the idea of joining her parents to break into the Ministry of Magic - which, she reminded herself, was so important that its security was nearly impossible to get through undetected - scared her.
"I... I can't do that, I-" she said quickly, and the smile on her mother's face dissolved in a second. In fact, she looked a little angry that she had been defied. "I don't know anything about the Dark Arts, I've never performed any of the spells. I'd get arrested before I could even try."
"You've been at that school for seven years, and you're telling me you don't know a thing about the Dark Arts? Was there not, if I remember, a class that directly taught the theory of the Curses?"
"Yeah, the theory," Melora nodded. She wasn't intending on being so arrogant, she just hadn't quite got her brain to function yet. How she could convince her mother to allow her to avoid going to the Ministry, would require intelligence. "I can defend myself against it."
But that's no use if she's the Death Eater.
Bellatrix pursed her lips, as if debating how to respond to her daughter's defiance. Melora suspected that she would become rather violent as an outcome to her rage, but she was left shocked to see her mother's grin return. Slowly, she leaned closer to the girl's face, and continued taunting her.
"You're not scared, are you?" she laughed.
Melora shook her head.
"You're backing out, Melora," she said sternly. "You're a coward. I didn't put that mark on your arm for you to just flee every time a task is handed out."
Bellatrix poked Melora's forearm as she mentioned the mark, and the girl flinched as she felt a sharp pain spiral up her left arm. At this, her mother laughed. Melora glared at her. She didn't want to go to the Ministry at all; she knew people would be waiting for them, especially if they were planning to meet Harry Potter there. There was no doubt that he would bring people with him. Azkaban didn't appeal to her too much.
Her mother sighed before her. "I can get you out of this one easily, but you'll look pathetic. If you had any smarts at all, you'd come. If not, then that's your choice, and it's your little issue."
And just as the last word had left her tongue, she Disapparated. As Melora was, once again, left alone in the manor, she began to process what had just happened. Death Eaters. The Ministry. A prophecy. Harry Potter. Lord Voldemort. Melora Lestrange was involved in everything with no chance of escape.
Suddenly, everything became far too realistic for her to bear. She collapsed into the seat beside her, breathless, and began to cry. Tears made their way down her cheeks, before they each plummeted down the floor, shattering and splashing about. She raised a quivering hand to her head, which had grown hot from her panic.
After drawing several shaky breaths, she cursed loudly. What had she done to place herself in such an awful situation? From the floor above her, she could hear Knoiseate humming to himself as he worked. She felt her heart plummet even further. She didn't want to be at the manor. Conflicted between her panic and her frustration, she was left unsure of what to do with herself.
Because at that current moment in time she was so wrapped up the in terrifying thoughts of her life, she decided to Apparate somewhere she shouldn't. But the weight of her problems was managing to drag her brain away from focusing, and as she spun around during the first few seconds of Apparition, her mind turned from her destination.
She appeared in the middle of a field, the most excruciating pain coming from the top of her left arm. She barely got time to look over at it before her eyelids fell heavy. The want to scream out was so powerful, but Melora's tears somehow managed to stop her. They continued to race down her face, and some managed to mix themselves with the thick, deep red substance that collected beneath her body.
Don't scream. Don't make any sound that determines your pain. You're strong, Melora.
But as her body welcomed the darkness looming overhead, she felt the pain intensify. Finally giving in to what she had so foolishly brought upon herself, she screamed.