A Memory Of Shadows

3 - Bertie Bott's Every Emotion Beans

Loud. It was so loud. Verin stood almost motionless in front of Sugarplum's Sweet Shop, only rummaging through the little box of Bertie Bott's Beans every now then. So far she had tasted caramel, sunday roast, a brussel sprout one she had almost spit onto the street, and grass. She stared at the unhealthy grey one, now, feeling not so brave anymore. When she was little, those Beans where her favourite sweets. With everything being so predictable in her life, so sorted and carefully arranged, each box had been like an adventure. Sometimes, a vomit tasting one. But an adventure nontheless.

The harsh February wind blew across her face, loosening one of her chocolate brown curls she had so carefully tucked beneath her forest green hat. Despite the cold, unfriendly weather it was a fairly busy afternoon in Diagon Alley. She had had to wait in a small queue at Gringott's and the swarming on the cobblestones had thrown her off for a moment, but it had turned out alright. No one really looked at her twice.

There were not many people still alive and outside who would recognise her anymore. Maybe someone could feel a sense of familiarity when looking at her, remember her face from the newspaper five years ago or see her father's eyes. Twifit and Tatting's, of course, had asked her for her name when she had dropped in earlier to acquire some new clothes. While the shop assistant had halted in his motion for a moment, he had then only proceeded to fish out her old costumer's card, updating her measurements. Nothing more. Verin, on the other hand, had felt her heartbeat quicken, the fear rising, rising, rising. Just as it had at Gringott's.

She was a criminal. A torturer. A destroyer. A Death Eater. Daughter of a Death Eater. Daughter of Death. Daughter of Dust. Whatwouldpeoplethinkhowwouldtheyreactwhatwhyhowwhatif. Her mind turned in on itself, the noise of the Alley drowning to a deafening roar. She had taken a couple of deep breath, eyes closed, counting down from ten, slowly, painfully slowly and then, then she had opened them again. "Yaxley," she had whispered, her voice shaking only a little. "Verin Salome Yaxley. I wish to withdraw money and be informed about the status of my finances." The goblin did not seem impressed. Or anything, really.

Money, new clothes, some new quills and parchments, flower seeds. Sweets. For someone tucked away from society for so long, and even before having never been alone here, she had handled herself quite well. If one did not count her two panic attacks and her constant self-talking and self-reassuring. Verin was still here though, still standing, munching beans. It could have been worse. Much, much worse. Maybe she would stroll into Flourish & Blott's, just to roam. A shiver went through the witch, the cold slowly creeping through the folds of her robes. So, with a last look at the sickly grey bean, she popped it into her mouth. "Dust," she muttered, "Wow. So cheerful."

Verin carefully averted her gaze as she passed Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, drowning out the shame and guilt and stepped into the book shop. The warmth washed over her features the moment she stepped through the door, flushing her cheeks. She pulled her gloves off and loosened the clasps of her cloak, revealing the folds of her long woolen skirt. The scent of books tickled her nose and she wiggled it as she made her way closer into the shop.

Back in school, she had not been the brightest of witches. Mostly because she was uninterested and, maybe, a little lazy. She had still loved some classes, like Ancient Studies and History of Magic or Alchemy. Usually stuff others found utterly boring and torturous. Time trickled on around her, people coming and going, the doorbells jingling softly while Verin scanned shelf after shelf. She was so lost in thought, she did not hear the sharp intake of breath and calling of her name under approaching footsteps, did not feel the uncomfortable shift in the atmosphere until it was too late.

In Verin's peripheral vision, just above the edge of her book, appeared a man, dressed in black. "Verin." The familiarity of his voice, thick with emotions she could not really place, crept into her veins. Her heart sank like a stone thrown into the ocean, race race racing towards the depths of the sea. Verin looked up, meeting eyes paler than her own. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. "Draco," her breath hitched.

When had she started to shake? Verin could feel tears in her eyes, the terror overwhelming her. "I.." she tried to say something, but she did not know what. No, no, no, this could not be happening. This could not be happening. He ran his gaze over her, the many folds of her skirt held by a belt with extra holes pushed through, her jumper hanging loosely above a crisp, white blouse. Her too bony fingers and her too pale face with the too dark circles under her eyes. Her once so thick brown hair, now a little dull. The panic beneath the blue of her irises. The guilt, the shame, the sorrow. She could feel him drink it all in like she had become liquid under his touch. Maybe she had. Oh god, under his touch. His hand lingered on her elbow as if to steady and confront her at the same time, only the book separating them. She could feel his fingers burning her through all the layers.

Once, Draco and she had been friends. The kind that, if one were honest, were without a choice. There had been no one else. Their parents had been so close, Lucius and Corban brothers of a cause long lost, Narcissa and Adrasteia bonded through motherhood. Verin wasn't even two years older than Draco, so their parents had had high hopes for them once. They managed to endure each other for a while. Forced politeness and friendly gestures where it was necessary.

But then the world changed into a dark one. At first, it was just a little hustle. A whisper in the wind that crept up to you, caressing your neck. The kind that keeps you on your toes, but not enough for you to realize how much your world is going to change. For the worse. Her father's longing and greed for a pure world had been suffocating. So suffocating that, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned and stepped into the light, it had felt like a release to her. For a moment, Draco had felt it, too. The letting go of the leash their indoctrinated views had been led on. They had talked about it, then. Before their fathers had been punished for their betrayal to the Dark Lord. Before the two had become the prices their parents had paid. Verin had freshly graduated from Hogwarts as she had joined the Dark Lord's ranks and they had both received their marks. She had been of little interested to the Dark Lord, put to the side lines until father had found her a good husband to reproduce with. Her only value was her blood and fertility. Of course, she had been trained in the Dark Arts and went on missions. Secondary ones, for the Dark Lord. Horrible, unspeakable, nightmare-creating missions for Verin. For Draco it had been worse. So much worse. She can still remember the haunted look in his eyes when she had stepped out of the vanishing cabinet at Hogwarts. The way he held his then fragile body as if it took nothing to break him apart. She remembered the smile she had tried to give him, the smile he could not give her and a quick squeeze of their hands. Nothing had been left for them.

But there was something else she remembered. On the night of the battle of Hogwarts, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had made a choice. A choice for their son. A choice to be part of a better world. The Malfoys had made the right choices that night. Corban, however, did not. And he had left her to rot.

Just as Draco had left Verin to rot, alone on that forsaken bridge. Alone in that last fight that she did not want to fight. She remembered that day so clearly. This hollow, trapped, devastated feeling.

Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me with them. Come back for me.

They didn't. No one did. And had she turned and left by herself, she would have died on that bridge by her father's hand. Like her mother had.

Verin could not break apart here. Not on her first outing, not in front of others, not in a bookshop, not at all. She had to leave. Now.

So, before Draco could get a word out, she pulled away, dropping her book to the floor. "I am so so sorry", she whispered, lowering her gaze, and carefully moved backwards. Verin held onto herself, her sanity, her calmness, as best as she could. She flipped her wand gently, her pile of floating books landing safely on a table. Don't make a scene, don't leave chaos. Keep calm, it is only seconds. Only seconds, she told herself, ever so carefully making her way outside.

Her feet had not even both touched the cobblestone as she apparated, leaving Draco Malfoy behind.