Of Doves and Dragons

Chapter Forty: The Graveyard

"They say I may be making a mistake. I would have followed all the way, no matter how far. I know when you go down all your darkest roads, I would've followed all the way to the graveyard."

-Halsey, Graveyard

Landing on the edge of the graveyard was the easiest part about the experience. The rest was disconcerting at best.

The moment they touched the ground, Ember was climbing off the back of the broom. She couldn't quite put her finger onto why flying made her nervous, she wasn't especially afraid of heights, nor did she not trust in Draco's capabilities. Perhaps it was the control, or rather lack of control, over the situation that kept her on edge.

She glanced around the desolate cemetery. It was dark, nearing midnight, and a deep fog had settled over the field. She had an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach as her eyes glanced around the area. "I've been here before," She whispered, more to herself than to her husband.

"You've been here?" Draco asked incredulously as he dismounted the broom and shrunk it down so that it would be able to conveniently fit in his pocket.

"Just there," She pointed to an old shack of a house less than a quarter mile away as he came to stand next to her. "It's where your father first brought me to see him. Where he marked me."

Draco squinted through the fog. "It could have been a different house." He looked around the looming grave stones. "I don't know what Death Eater would rightly choose such real estate."

She breathed a laugh at his heavy sarcasm. "You know muggles think all witches and wizards live in graveyards or swamps. Probably because of all the spirits."

Draco felt a shiver run down his spine. "Most muggles are idiots."

Ember rolled her eyes and began to walk down the lanes lined with tombstones. Most of them were grandiose in size, far taller than she and all the more intimidating for it. More than once she questioned if this was really necessary. She was no gravedigger and the longer the two lingered, the more she felt the dew in the air mingle with a sense of foreboding and stick itself to her skin.

She could tell Draco didn't feel much better about the state of things. And honestly he wouldn't have followed anyone else into a graveyard at midnight when the world was tilting on its' own axis. To make matters worse, this wasn't just some poor fellow they would be desecrating (although that would have been a whole other form of bad), this was the remains of Voldemort's lineage; something you knew deep in your bones, you shouldn't mess with.

They walked in silence, Draco's wand and the moon their only source of light. The grass was wet and spongey underneath their shoes but was otherwise well maintained and Draco hoped that whoever the caretaker was, they wouldn't have a run in with them tonight.

"Here," Ember whispered, standing before a giant winged, clothed figure, with a looming scythe. Draco stopped beside her, staring up into the hidden face of the stone. The statue was so realistic that he wouldn't be surprised if it was death itself coming to laugh in their faces at such a preposterous idea.

She grasped his wand out of his weakened grip and pointed it closer to the headstone. He eventually tore his eyes away from the haunting figure to the names etched in stone: Thomas Riddle, Mary Riddle, and Tom Riddle. It was shocking to think that the Voldemort they now knew had once simply been someone's son.

Ember backed away, her eyes trained on the ground, trying to figure out the best way to dig and how far the actual graves would extend to.

"How are we going to know which bones are which?"