Pure

And so, the Malfoys and von Deitrichs grew up and apart, and eventually the longing for my first true friend and companion faded to a faint twinge of loneliness that I could never quell. Some bonds, I've concluded, run too deep. I have a faint suspicion my parents suspected this, so, to squash their own guilt, showered me with anything they thought I might want; books, pets, exotic trips to satisfy my curiosity about the rest of the world, and more.

From an early age, I knew I was incredibly blessed, however I still... couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with the wonderful picture that was my life. Often, I'd argue against these feelings with logic and fact: I had a beautiful home, two wonderful, loving parents, and I wanted for nothing of any material means. But, I could never put my finger on it, until the summer after I'd turned ten.

I had just finished my lessons with my personal tutor, Phillip, for the day and wanted to spend some time with my father, since he had a day off. Cheerfully, I skipped to his study, whistling the newest Celestina Warbeck song, "You Stole My Cauldron But You Can't Have My Heart" which my mother had shown me the previous day. When I reached the door, however, I heard something that chilled my blood and froze me to the floor.

Someone was screaming. But, not in fright: in agony. It turned my heart inside out; I wildly tried to think of what torture could cause that amount of pain. An image of my father hurt leapt to the front of my mind. My heart felt like it would beat out of my very chest and I was about to burst in the study when I heard his voice. I stopped, transfixed in horror.

"I trusted you to be ov great knowledge, Artyom; your brother Antonin shpoke so highly ov you bevore he vas imprisoned in Azkaban. Now, I know you hafe the knowledge ov the Dark Lord's location. I implore you, most zincerely, to tell zee truth, or zere vill be vorse sings happen," came the cold, amused voice of my father.

The screams cut off into high pitched, breathless sobbing. I still stood outside the door, my eyes wide when it broke off.

"Master von Deitrich, I promise you that I know not of his whereabouts, or I would have sought him out myself," the man said earnestly, his voice shaking.

I heard Father sigh, and he said, "Dolohov, I am sorry to hafe to do zis-"

"-No! I beg you!" screamed the man, but my father's voice overpowered his.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green light flashed under the door and I heard a loud, sickening thump. By the this time, my hand had flown to my mouth and silent tears were streaking their way down my face. I had thought the world of my father, but now...

I heard my father's advancing footsteps and before I could blink, I had turned and fled down the hall. I realized, with a detatched fascination that I was in my room, out of breath without any memory of getting there, and sobbing: just like that man my father had murdered.

I remained in my room for the rest of the day, ignoring Father's voice floating up the stairs: "Prinzessin! I hafe made your vaforite vood!"

My room was bathed in the orange glow of sunset when Mother came in and saw me curled into a ball on my bed and staring out my window that overlooked the Black Forest, my face white and frozen, I'm sure, into an expression of shock. She came over and sat beside me, a knowing expression on her face.

"Your vather is not an efil man, Saden," she said quietly and for the first time in hours, I turned away from my window and shot her an incredilous look. She sighed and glanced down at her hands. "He is doing vat is best vor the vamily, liebling. Ven zee Dark Lord returns, vee vill be highly vafored."

I had to clear my throat, but when I finally spoke, it trembled. "He vas screaming, mama, like he vas dying. He begged- he pleaded vith vather and he still k-killed him."

Mother, my sweet mother, shrugged, unmoved by my description. I shook my head, now feeling an emotion foreign to me at the time swell within my chest: disgust. I turned away from her, and stiffened at the touch of her hand on my back.

"Saden-" she began, but sighed once more. Her long, dark hair brushed my cheek as she leaned down to kiss my forehead. "Ich liebe dich*," she murmured, then left my room, leaving me to ponder over my entire life and the beliefs of my parents.