Empty Gold • d.meadowes

-43-

A constant pain thudded in her chest as Dorcas went up the stairs to her bedroom. She was hollow inside and she wasn't crying anymore, but it seemed like all the pains she had felt since childhood have been wrapped up together and fed to her. She tried to keep her mind empty, but every memory she had with her mother washed over her, replaying one after another, making it more and more difficult for her to breathe.

The house was empty, barren, void. Every sound that came in through the windows seemed to be amplified as they bounced over the walls. She has been alone in the house plenty of times, but never had she felt so lonely and so scared.

Dorcas lay down on her bed and curled up into a ball. A tiny, irrational part of her expected her mother to come into the room and press a warm hand over her forehead to check if she was ill. She would then head downstairs to make chicken soup for her, and then coax her to eat it all. Dorcas would start to feel better, not because of the soup, though it would play a role, but because of the love and tender care from her mother that had the magical ability to heal her instantly.

She closed her eyes and dozed off a little. When she opened them after several long minutes, she was still alone in her room. There was no one sitting on the chair by her bed, in case she woke up and needed something. No one to check her forehead for fever, no one to make soup for her.

Silent tears streamed down her eyes as Dorcas was reminded of all the things she would be missing.

A crashing sound jerked her from her reverie. She immediately leapt to her feet and shoved a hand inside her pocket to grip her wand. Someone was inside the house. No, there was more than one people. She could hear faint voices coming from downstairs. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor reached her ears and she slowly walked towards the door, placing a hand on the doorknob.

The sound of footsteps grew louder. Someone was coming up the stairs, yelling something to their companion over his shoulder. She twisted the doorknob and opened the door, just a tiny little bit. The intruder must have noticed the movement, for the sounds stopped.

"Who's there?" he called.

Dorcas let out a breath she has been holding as she realised that it couldn't be a death eater. She didn't know much about them, but she could fairly vouch for the fact that they wouldn't call out like that. She stepped a few feet away from the door, allowing herself enough space to keep an eye on the intruder should he come close to the door.

And he did. It was a blond young man, she noticed, and definitely not a death eater. He seemed to be in some sort of a uniform. He had his wand raised unlike hers, ready to use at any given moment, though Dorcas knew she had the upper hand in the situation.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

Dorcas frowned. "I should be the one to ask you that question," she answered coldly. "What is that uniform?"

The man looked down at his coat in confusion, before replying, "Uhm – I'm an Auror."

It became clear to Dorcas all of a sudden. He wasn't an intruder. He was here to investigate the murder.

She pulled her hand out of her pocket, relaxing a little. The man was young, perhaps no more than two or three years older than her. He was definitely young for an Auror. Ignoring him, she turned back to her table where lay a few of her textbooks from the muggle school she went to before Hogwarts. A few clumsy, childish paintings were taped to the wall in front of her.

"Ma'am?" said the Auror hesitantly from behind her. "May I ask, who are you?"

Dorcas didn't answer him. She moved to the window and slid it open, leaning forward to look outside. The window overlooked the street, to the opposite of which stood other houses in neat rows. Pedestrians walked by, people looked out of the windows, a stray dog or two roamed the streets aimlessly. The world outside was completely untouched and unaffected by the disaster that has taken place here.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," said the Auror firmly this time. "You shouldn't be here."

"I'm Dorcas Meadowes," she said impassively. "The woman who died was my mother. This is my house."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said. "I apologise for insisting, but this place is under investigative work, and no one is allowed inside other than us."

Dorcas couldn't care less about the rules. She had every right to be here and do whatever she pleased, more so than those men in their uniforms. But she had no energy for an argument, so she stepped towards the door to leave. "Continue with your work, whatever it is," she said to him in passing. "I won't bother you."

But he didn't seem ready to let go of the matter. With another I'm sorry, he reached forward to grab her arm. Instinct kicked in, and Dorcas whipped around at him fiercely. A hot blast of air erupted from her body and hit him with full force; he was immediately shoved off his feet and hurled into her table. His wand fell from his hand and she summoned it to herself. "Don't touch me," she said through gritted teeth, enunciating each word separately.

She tossed the wand carelessly at him. His ego seemed to have been hurt, for his eyes turned ferocious as he scrambled to his feet, though he was unable to stand upright as the edge of her table had rammed him on the small of his back. He picked up his wand, his mouth about to utter some curse.

But he wasn't able to proceed as footsteps thundered on the stairs and another man appeared, wand raised. He was older, and much taller than his companion, with stubble on his face and a hardened look in his eyes. He flitted his gaze between the two of them, before he decided to focus on Dorcas. His wand pointed directly at her nose. "Who are you?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"Dorcas Meadowes," she answered with a sigh. She was beginning to regret her decision of coming in here at all.

"Prove it," he instructed.

"Pardon me?"

"Prove that you are not a death eater," he clarified. "How were you able to attack him like that without even lifting your wand?"

Dorcas laughed dryly. "And that somehow proves that I am a death eater?" she questioned. "You give your enemies too much fucking credit. The death eaters at Hogwarts cannot even hold a quill upright without breaking a finger."

The Auror blinked a few times, evidently not having expected such a response.

"If I were a death eater, you both would have been dead by now."

He glanced at his companion briefly, before turning to her with suspicion in his eyes. But when the fallen Auror came up to him and said, rather reluctantly, "She's not a death eater," he finally lowered his wand. "I asked her to leave, but she went psycho on me."

Dorcas gave him a pointed look. "Are you sure that's what happened? I can help you refresh your memory if you like."

He was about to retort viciously, judging by the look on his face, but the older Auror stopped him by raising an authoritative hand. "Go to the kitchen and note down any clues you can find." After a slight hesitation, the blond stalked out of the room.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms Meadowes," the Auror said to her in a much softer voice that sounded odd in his stern features. "You can stay here as long as you like. And I'm sorry about my companion. He's new."

"Newness doesn't excuse unacceptable behaviour."

She left the room without waiting for his reply.