A Memory Of Shadows

2 - A Home Worth Burning

3 months later...

When her mother had died, Verin had considered many times setting this place on fire. She had been 13 years old, dragged out of her bed of the Slytherin dormitories in the middle of the night and brought home only wearing her pyjamas. Her father had awaited her in the parlor, staring into the fire while Ministry officials had rummaged the place. "Do you think this is an appropriate attire?" he had spat at her, scanning the soft grey satin. He seemed to collect himself, then, feeling the glare of an Auror on the back of his head. Remembering the role he would drop the instant the door closed on those people: a sad, traumatized husband. Verin had not dared to speak, had not dared to ask where her mother was, what had been going on. Her father hated questions more than he hated her. A daughter, where there should have been a son to uphold his pureblooded legacy. "Anyway," he collected himself, lacing his tone with a hint of devastation she had instantly known he did not feel. "There has been an accident. Your mother has...She died." He tried to sound choked. It had felt so ridiculous, she had almost laughed. Almost. And then it had hit her. "What?!", she couldn't stop herself. Verin just stared at her father, frozen to the spot by the door. He searched for her gaze then, holding it. Eyes full of anger, of warning. Later the Daily Prophet would speak of a terrible incident, of a sickness that had befallen the poor, fragile woman. How she, in her state of delirium and poor circulation had left her bed at night, thinking she had to go to work, only to faint on the landing of the second floor and, in an attempt to gain her composture had tried and failed to grab the banister, falling down the stairs to her death. How her poor, strong, caring husband had been the one to find her. How he had cared for her in the weeks prior, never losing hope his beloved wife would return to health.

Only her mother had never been sick or fragile. Adrasteia Wilmot, neé Rosier, loving mother to Verin Salome, unloved wife to Corban, had simply outlived her purpose as the first lady of the infamous house of Yaxley. And thus she had been removed from it as her father had seen fit.

Of course, no one ever had uttered such suspicion. His own standing within the Ministry and its highest ranking had been enough to ensure that. How convenient it had been that, as Aurors and other officials had scanned the scene, Lucius Malfoy had stormed the scene, overlooking the investigations, while his wife, obviously beyond with grief, had taken care of their close friend and daughter. It was Narcissa who had tucked her into bed that night. Her who had laid out Verin's clothes on the day of the funeral and held her hand. No, no one had ever looked at Corban twice. No one but his own daughter.

Not even a decade later, Verin stood atop that very same landing, staring past the massive chandelier onto the foyer. It was all she had done since her return. It was all she had done since the Battle of Hogwarts. Staring.

Now that is was all hers, the house, the fortune, the freedom- she did not know what to do with it. Other than burn it. The decorating had to be redone and since there was no one left, it would only be appropriate to move into the main bedroom. Her own bedroom had been outlived, anyway, with Posters of bands she no longer listened to, books she no longer cared for, clothes she no longer wore. Sleeping in the same room her father had felt wrong. The hatred overwhelmed her whenever she stepped into these chambers, just as the large office below.

But her father rot in Azkaban, would rot there until he met his end and she had things to take control over. Things to do. Maybe she would not burn the entire place down like it deserved, its family history almost as dirty and dark as the ancient prison itself. But Verin would make sure to remove all traces of her father and his Death Eater remains. Her own remains. She would smoke it out until it was all gone.

Verin took a deep breath and blinked, pulling herself back to the present. It was a harder task than expected. After so many years of nothing but staring and living in her own and others' pasts, she felt drowned by the possibilities of her new freedom. Her houseelves moved the daily life of the Manor in the rhythm she set upon them, not the other way round. And yet there seemed not much she had to do, everything had been in perfect order when she had arrived back home. As if father and she had just stepped out for the day, gone for hours not years.

In the foyer Verin was halted by Ebbie, the oldest of her houseelves, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "Good afternoon, Miss. Where may I serve you the tea?", she asked kindly. It was always the same room, and yet, she asked every day.

The conservatory had always been her favourite place in this forsaken place. From the little seating area by the edge one could see straight down the cliffs the house had been build on, giving a panorama view of the bay and the sea below. When the weather was good and warm, one could sit on a little terrace by the side and stroll down to the gardens and the beach below. Ebbie must have opened the windows and doors ealier, for a soft breeze had washed the smell of plants and flowers with a salty tang and as Verin stepped down onto the sandstone, she could hear the seagulls loud and clear. As the houseelf excused herself, Verin let go of the hibiscus blossom she had gently clipped between her fingers and turned.

"Ebbie, one more thing," she called after the elf in the doorway. "Miss?" "If you could prepare the fireplace in the parlor, please, I will go to London for some shopping after tea." Ebbie stared at her, eyes widening. "Miss, are you sure, Miss?" she tripped over her words," I mean, surely you don't have to trouble yourself. Ebbie can arrange anything to be brought.." "Thank you, Ebbie, that will not be necessary. I wish to go on my own." The elf gulped. She knew better than anyone about Verin's state since her release. The staring, the thinking, the helplessness concerning everyday life. She had seen it. But it was time. They both knew it. This could not go on forever. "Very well, Miss Verin."