The Godmother

44. a horse with no name

It was all that was running through her mind the entire day. The knowledge that she was defending something that Voldemort wanted.

In truth, it made her want to destroy it. It made her want to burn it, shatter it, throw it into the ocean far from a quiet coast. It was something that Voldemort wanted, and she therefore never wanted him to have it.

It was a sudden light in a room that she never realised was dark. A gleaming smirk right into the eyes of the blind. She had something that he wanted. He'd have to kill her to get to it. That was sure.

Kingsley made it urgent that if anyone came that was a threat to themselves or the prophecy, to submit immediately and send word to the Order. "Its only an object", he'd said, "It's a mere tool. We know the information that is in it, he doesn't. If he doesn't reach it, he may come for us, next. Don't let yourself be the hero that dies over a cause that barely began".

Still, there was an urge there. A meeting point, where she'd decided that she'd do it, if necessary. She'd die over it. Then, again, she'd die over anything.

Life became like that when you've looked death in the eyes, multiple times. It became a rouse. A joke. All the seriousness was taken from it and turned into something to be laughed at.

As they returned home, they found a letter on the kitchen bench, written in Dumbledore's handwriting.

"Your shifts are;

- 12am to 8am, Tuesdays

- 12am to 8am, Thursdays

- 4pm to 12am, Fridays

Regards,

Dumbledore".

She was satisfied with three shifts per week. Admittedly, anymore would have made her go insane, though, she'd do them anyway.

Elizabeth turned to Sirius, who seemed just as content as she did. They both saw is as some form of repayment for Lily and James. Anything did.

As the sun began to have less effect on the earth, the dawning of winter came. The property began to feel like a shell- an enclosure of cool wind and rain, that was eventually to turn into snow.

Winter was approaching, quite quickly, at that. One day, Elizabeth was standing beside Sirius' shed, absorbing the heat of the sun that poured both down from her and reflected from the green tin shed. She was curious to know what he did in there. And when she opened the door, she saw him sitting on an old couch, drinking beer from a glass bottle. Barely enough to be drunk.

The next week, when she went to bring him lunch in his shed, she had to wrap herself up in one of James' old trench coats, still shivering as she walked across the short grass in her slippers. She dropped the food on a work bench by the door and quickly retreated back inside the house.

The days grew quicker, everything shrivelled in the cold. The acres of lawn seemed to take longer to grow, and the vivid green colour of the grass dissipated in the grey light of the winter dawning. The sky seemed to darken with each day- each fleeting night came and induced the following sun with its dulling monotonous moon.

Elizabeth went out shooting. But with each day that winter grew closer, animals appeared less and less. Hibernation had hit and the only animals around were small birds that floated around tree-tops. Not even invisible insects that buzzed roamed anymore.

The property had been hit with an absence of animals and nature. Almost as dried up as a pit in a desert.

It was a Friday. That meant that herself and Sirius were on the 4pm to 12am guard watch. They were on strict instructions per the hand-overs at the beginning of the shift when they arrived, and the end when they left. There was a strict list of questions to ask the changing shift person. It had to be personal- only something that they would know, before the shift could leave and be taken over the other.