chapter twenty

                                    

                                          
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The group stared at Clara. She could feel her heart racing and she willed herself to remain strong. Her father smiled at her, not a kind one that makes you want to run to someone, but a cold one that sent shivers down Clara's spine.
"What are you doing here?" she said, hoping this was some sort of joke.
"I'm doing my job, and what are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from this lot."
"I'm trying to save someone. Please dad, just let us through, I know you know this is wrong. This isn't you, please."
Clara felt pathetic trying to plead with her father in front of everyone. But how could he have joined this horrible group? Her father was kind, intelligent, he wouldn't do this, would he?
"Sorry sweetie, but you need to stand down now." There was a pause and Clara thought for a moment. A sickening twist developed in her stomach as she met her father's eyes.
"It was you, wasn't it? The day at the bank. I could've sworn it was a woman who killed her, but it was you. You've been working with the Dark Lord all along-"
"Clara we can discuss this later-"
"No!" shouted Clara, her body shaking with anger. "How could you? What, she didn't want to join so you just decided to hell with her, huh? You told me you loved her!"
"Clara, please, it wasn't me."
"No? Then who was it? Which one of you fuckers killed my mother?"
There was a small laugh and Clara searched the group. Clara's father bent his head and stepped to the side. Bellatrix stepped forward, her wand curling her hair and her mouth wide open, producing a horrid cackle.
"Oh, sweetie. We couldn't just let mumsie walk out, could we?"
"You-"
"Yes, yes. It was me, I killed mummy, blah, blah, blah. I had my reasons though, there are just some things about the Dark Lord that you wouldn't understand."
"How 'bout you start explaining then." Harry said, stepping in front of Clara. He tossed the orb in his hand gently and stared directly at Clara's father.
"You must be the famous Harry Potter." 
"Yeah that's me, and you still haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over," he said. 
"Do not play games with us, Potter," said Malfoy. 
"I'm not playing games," said Harry, stepping sideways slightly so that his foot crushed Clara's with his own.
"What?" she whispered, pain shooting through her toes.
"Dumbledore never told you that the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?" said Malfoy sneeringly.
 "I — what?" said Harry. "What about my scar?"
 "Harry! What?" whispered Clara more urgently behind him. 
"Can this be?" said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Clara, moving his lips as little as possible, "Smash shelves —" 
"Dumbledore never told you?" Malfoy repeated. "Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why —"
 "— when I say go —" 
"— you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording. . . ."