Epilogue

I lay on my right side on the small cot, the springs uncomfortably poking through the musty sheets. I ached all over. My head was splitting, and the nerves in my right shoulder shot sharp pains through my upper body. I ran my tongue around my mouth, feeling two loose teeth, and tasting the coppery tang of blood. The rough fabric of the hood scraped against my swollen face. It smelled old and damp. My hands were bound behind my back, and I'd lost feeling in my right hip. I couldn't move.

In the four years since Hogwarts, I'd studied with the best minds in the Wizard world. I had become amongst the best in what I did, and it all came down to this, brought down by a four-point Crucio. One, I could handle, but four crumbled my shield and left me vulnerable. I'd lost track of time, but I'm sure that I'd been here for a few days.

A door opened, and I heard a low, deep chuckle as large, rough hands grasped my upper arms, and I was pulled to my feet and pushed forward. Staggering, I hit the wall, and my tormentor chuckled again, thrusting me forward once more. I stumbled, disoriented, in pain, blind, and scared to death.

The questions were always the same, "who are you?" and "what is Dumbledore up to?"

I returned to England a year ago to help my grandfather track and undermine Riddle's followers: Death Eaters. No one knew who I was or exactly what I did except for two of Dumbledore's supporters. I was simply known as "Elizabett". I provided information pertaining to Riddle's growing influence: a spy, of sorts. To everyone else, this being was known as Lord Voldemort. To me, he would always be Riddle, the man who killed my parents, the man who sought to dominate the Wizard world, and the man I must fight to stop.

My grandfather was building a force to rival Riddle's. Where Riddle was referred to as the Dark Lord, my grandfather's group was referred to as The Light. Many recognized Riddle's coercion and turned to my grandfather for help and protection. They would fight with him.

The first man I met was a portly, straw-haired Auror named Alastor Moody. Dumbledore felt that this "fire first, talk later" Auror had better know not to aim at me.

The second man I met purely by accident. Albus and I were talking at the makeshift headquarters when a young, red-haired man burst in. His wife had just had twins, and he was excitedly spreading the news. Arthur Weasley worked at the Ministry but was fiercely loyal to Albus.

These two men had become the liaisons between Albus, the Light, and me. But somehow, my position had been compromised.

"Crucio!" I buckled from the pain, screaming, and falling to my knees. "Are you going to talk now?" a smooth drawl asked.

"I have nothing to say," I gasped, struggling to breathe.

"Pity. Crucio." The searing jolt struck again, and my lungs felt like they'd burst.

"Is that the only curse you know, or is it your favourite?" I defiantly fought through the pain struggling to remain somewhat upright.

"My favourite, actually," the drawl casually replied. I could hear the amusement in his voice.

"You can't get blood from a stone. I can't tell you what I don't know." I spat, gasping for strength.

"Oh, but it's such fun trying," the drawl dripped with arrogance before it cried again, "Crucio."

I finally fell backward in violent spasms, writhing on the floor, and eventually curling onto my side in a small ball. I stopped moving; my breath coming in short, pained gasps.

"Hmm," I felt a boot prod my hip. "Well, she's no use to me like this," the drawl said dismissively. "Maybe she'll be of use to you boys. She's all yours," and with that I heard the click of male boots retreat from the room, and suddenly felt like a bone being thrown to a pack on wild dogs.

There was a menacing chuckle as strong hands grasped my shoulders, and the hood was fiercely yanked from my head. I was rolled onto my back; my hands still painfully tied behind me. I tried to open my swollen eyes to catch a glimpse of my captors but couldn't keep them open for long. But, I could see, there were three of them, they were big, and they were advancing on me.

"Is she breathing?" a man with a raspy voice anxiously asked from across the room. "I want to have a go at her!"

"I can't tell," the closest voice to me grumbled as his hands ran up the inside of my legs, grabbing hold of my knickers, and roughly pulling them off. "Would it matter?" he leered.

There was laughter in the room, and I lay as still as possible, my breathing shallow. At this point, the torture had disrupted all empathic abilities so a mental battle was out of the question. Play dead. I thought. It may go easier on you.

About an hour later, I heard the door open again, and a new set of footsteps entered, static filling the air.

"What are you doing here?" the deep voice above me barked.

"If you're finished with her, I'm to return her body to Dumbledore. A message, shall we say, that the Dark Lord means business," the new voice replied crisply.

"Does Malfoy know what you're doing?" a raspy voice asked from the other side of the room sounding very disappointed.

"Of course. He sent me. Do you think he wants to get his hands dirty? I'll take care of this mess." The new voice was frighteningly dark.

I felt the man above me retreat and right himself, and there was movement in the room. Shortly after, I heard grumbling as the men left, slamming the door closed behind them.

There was a pause, and a sense of someone close. I recoiled as I felt my clothing being straightened. Long, slender fingers touched my throat, checking my pulse, while a strong hand slid behind my neck, steadying it as my head was lifted. Then, I felt a vial press to my lips.

"Trust me," a smooth voice whispered. "Drink this."

I had no strength to fight as the contents of the vial were poured into my mouth. He rubbed my throat to induce me to swallow, and as my body slackened, the world slipped away.

I was secluded in a small, sterile room for several days, my body racked in pain. The broken bones and bruises were mending, but my energy, both physical and magical, were gone. I didn't know how I got there, and I couldn't move.

My grandfather's voice was frantic as he whispered in my ear. "You'll be fine. We must play out this charade. You must heal."

Suddenly, another voice choked from behind him, and my heart thudded in my chest – Grandmaman.

"Catherine made her own choices." Her voice was harsh and angry, but barely above a whisper. "But, this child was never given that opportunity, and look what it has brought about. My child and my grandchild are dead because of your cause."

"People die in battle." My grandfather's voice was soft but unemotional.

"You sacrificed your own family, Albus, your blood." I could almost picture her shaking her greying head, her heart-shaped face drawn in pain, and I wanted to get up, to reassure her, but I couldn't move. "Your cause is a righteous one, even noble, but I will hate you forever for what you have done to this family." With that, she approached and took my hand in hers, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Good-bye, my sweet child," she whispered, and I could feel her teardrops on my cheek.

As she left, my grandfather approached again, and a small, cold object was furtively pressed into my palm. "I'm so sorry," he whispered as others entered the room.

The voices were familiar. Five men. I knew them all: Arthur and Alastor, Remus, James and Sirius. I was lying on a board, dressed in a light shift, flowers spread around me, and I could hear them talk as the board was raised. They carried my body outside to a platform and placed me on it, and I could feel the summer breeze blow as the men backed away. There was crying, both male and female, from those that knew who I was and those that now realized that "Elizabett" was Alicia. Albus said very little, but his words were sombre and filled with sorrow. He cast the first fiery spell to ignite the platform, and others joined with their spells, saying "good-bye". The wood crackled, and the flames rose around me. I gripped Albus' object in my hand, tears flowing freely. It was getting hot, too hot, and the Protective Shield around me was suddenly gone. Within a second, I felt a familiar tug through my navel, and I, too, was gone…thus, to everyone's belief, creating a ghost.