the one | h. potter

12. first mission

Smith Manor is cold. The halls look grey and there's dust layering upon every surface. It feels like it hasn't seen life in years, when I visited just last week. I walk through the house, pretending that I'm only visiting. That way, if I find Yaxley, I can tell him I'd been staying with the Malfoy's and that I'd only come to check around the house and get some stuff from my room.

I wander throughout the house until I hear footsteps in the room next to me. I stop in my tracks and let my voice echo throughout the hall.

"Hello?"

I get no response.

"Hello! Who's there?" I make my voice sound nervous, which is what Yaxley might expect. "Come out!" I draw my wand and walk into the room I heard the footsteps in.

I hear something shift in a closet to my right. I hold my wand out in front of my body and flick my wrist. The door opens and I see him.

Yaxley.

It's only been two months since I'd last seen him, but he looks like a whole different person. There were three types of death eaters after the war; those who were caught, those who escaped to their estates abroad, and those left behind. Looking at him, I can tell he was left behind. His face is gaunt, his eyes surrounded by purple circles, and he's lost a lot of weight. I gasp and lower my wand slightly.

"Yaxley?"

"Smith," he says. His wand lowers somewhat but then immediately rises again. "What did you get me for Christmas last year?"

I'm used to these; throughout the war, we would routinely check for imposters or spies in our midst.

"Christmas? We didn't celebrate Christmas last year," I say, and Yaxley lets out a breath and lowers his wand.

"I had to check." He looks at me. "You got any food?"

"Not on me. But there's got to be something that hasn't gone bad yet in the kitchen." We walk silently to the kitchen, and I manage to find a pack of dried fruit and a box of cereal. I turn to take out a bowl but Yaxley has already ripped open the box and started pouring cereal into his mouth.

"I've been in the Muggle suburbs for weeks," he tells me. "Just wandering about, until I saw the manor and let myself in."

"Oh."

"Where's your dad?" he asks.

"Azkaban."

"They didn't take you?"

"Why would they? They thought I was on their side."

Yaxley grunts and pours himself a glass of water.

He studies me for a moment. "You haven't been staying here," he says.

"I've been staying with the Malfoy's."

"How are they? Filthy traitors."

I glare at him.

"What? They've been freed! They'd rather run free and mock the Dark Lord's memory than admit the truth!"

"I've let you into my house, I've given you food. I could easily push you out, turn you in." Yaxley gulps at my words. "Don't. Insult. My. Friends."

For a second, he looks scared. Then he takes his wand out of his pocket and turns it on me.

"How are you here?" he asks. "You can't be here, they had enough evidence to lock you up for good."

I point my wand at his face. I sense a fight coming; once he realizes I've betrayed him, I'll have to take him out fast.

We stand, our wands pointed at each other in silence, until he strikes. He flings a wordless spell at me and I send an incarcerous flying at him.

I see him get bound in the ropes before I feel his spell hit me straight in the ribs.

I fly backward into the wall behind me, the pain in my ribs nearly blinding me. Slumped against the wall, I try to ignore the pain, instead focusing my energy on keeping Yaxley contained. I send red sparks to the front door with a flick of my wrist.

Within thirty seconds, ten aurors appear around the kitchen and restrain Yaxley with spells of their own.

I relax my spell and stand up. Immediately, my hands clutch my ribs and I'm forced to bend over. A pair of aurors approach me. I look up at them through the pain.

"Smith. Are you okay?" one of them asks. I don't recognize either of their faces or voices, so I shake my head.

"What did he hit you with?" the other asks.

"No clue," I manage to croak out.

One of the them takes the lead and levitates me in the air on my back. "I'm going to floo you to St. Mungo's," they tell me. "You're in no shape to apparate."

I nod weakly and roll my head back. They fly me to the floo and through the fire.

The last thing I see before I pass out is St. Mungo's white ceiling.