Mum is beside herself with worry. She was up all night, sitting at the window. Waiting.
Da hasn't come home yet.
Those men came back yesterday and my father went with them, he took his robes and mask. I hate those things. Their very presence in the house makes me feel ill.
Mum won't tell me where he went or what they were going to do. She just looked at me with tired eyes and asked if I understood why he supported the Dark Lord. "Because someone has to fight for the Pure, because the taint of the Muggles has spread and families such as ours have suffered for it, because we deserve better" - the expected answer flowed from my mouth by rote.
"But do you really understand?"
I know it's what my father believes. That if the Muggle-borns weren't around then Pureblood families like ours would get a better shake. He barely makes enough to keep the three of us fed and to pay my tuition since he lost his job at the Ministry when I was still a baby. All my life I've heard about how things would be better if the Muggle-born were gone. I think it's easier for him to blame the man who took his job and happened to have Muggle parents than it is for him to accept that he might have been at fault.
Not that I would ever, ever dare to say that to him or Mum. Honor thy Mother and Father.
But I think it. More than I should. And then I bury the thoughts deep inside where no one can see them, and do as I've been taught.
Some one is coming up the walk.
It's him, he's home! But why is he limping?