Written for the Marauder Era Challenge where I was given Rodolphus Lestrange, The Leaky Cauldron and the genre Horror.
Written for the Harry Potter Day Competition for the Marauder Category and Not a Bad Word Count Category.
Written for the Competition for Hard-core Marauder Fans for the prompt, The Leaky Cauldron.
Written for The Competition That Must Not Be Named.
Any glorification of death, violence or murder found within is purely creative and the point of view of the character and DOES NOT represent the view of the author and SHOULD NOT be considered healthy attitudes. Take it with a pinch of salt and the artistic licence with which it was intended.
WARNING for character death, sadism and violence.
August 26th, 1978. Saturday.
Today was the best day for business in the Leaky Cauldron all year round. A man, since departed from us, was made to pull the statistics out of a filing cabinet at the Ministry last week.
Precisely forty one minutes past twelve in the afternoon would be the busiest time. I surveyed the crowd as lunches were being served. Smiles and laughter filled the air, and a smile crossed my face. I knew what happened next, and they didn't. They were oblivious, blind and stupid.
The inn was filling up, but there were twenty three minutes to go. Parents were agitated today, the last Saturday before the start of the School Year. I could see the look in a mother's eye that she probably thought was panic. But she didn't know panic. Not yet.
I looked to my wife, on the other side of the crowded room, and I could see the same knowing, haughty smile on her face that was stretched across mine. In moments like this, it felt like I could almost love her.
I looked around the rest of the room, making sure everyone was in position. My brother was by the door, ready to block it when the moment came. My wife's brother in law, tall and proud, was sat at the bar nursing a whiskey he did not drink. The rest of us were scattered around the room. We were ready to spread His message; we were ready to punish those that would stop us achieving our glory.
Twenty one minutes. I looked around the room once more. Forty three adults. Fourteen children. One baby. A wave of disappointment washed over me. Where were the children? Weren't there usually more than that? There should have been more children. Disease ridden things whose lives were rose gardens without the thorns. Someone had to teach them about fire, and thunderstorms, and strangers not being safe, one day. The look of terror and shock on their faces as they learnt that lesson was a favourite of mine.
Twenty minutes. A family walked in, denim and corduroy, eyes wide in wonder as they stared around the room. Two parents and four children, one too young to walk. Stare, Mudbloods, stare and bow down to us, at what we have that you have hardly dreamed of. I looked at the little curl of blonde on the forehead of the creature that clutched its mother's jacket. It would be first.
Eighteen minutes. Time slowed in my impatience. I wondered if any of the sixty four people in that room would leave breathing today. I hoped not, until my eyes settled on a young boy. He's perhaps around six, and quiet. His family were laughing and he just gave a small sad smile, silent. I hoped he would survive. I hoped he would be the last one alive, and he couldn't sleep for memories of their screams.
Fifteen minutes. The final quarter was upon us and we waited, knowing the fates of so many in front of us were sealed. I wondered again if we were right in our estimations. The Aurors would not be here for at least twelve minutes after it began, and the Order of the Phoenix, if we were right and they had not heard of today, would take seven. How much damage could we do in seven minutes? I looked around the seven of us. Me, my brother, my wife, her brother-in-law, her cousin, the others. Seven instigators, seven minutes, sixty four people. As another three families walked in, the total came to seventy five. Nearly eleven each. I surveyed the crowd and chose my eleven.
Twelve minutes. Two more families. Hunger was beckoning people here. They would not get that meal. Eighty four. Twelve each. Excellent.
Nine minutes. One family left, eighty one. There was still time. My impatience grew like a fever inside of me. My wand was in my hand, ready.
Seven minutes. Another family arrived. Eighty five.
Five minutes. Nearly.
Four minutes. My heart began to race with anticipation.
Three minutes. My brother and the tall, proud one began to move into place, ready to block the doors. My wife whispered the incantation on the windows to make them impenetrable. No way in. No way out. The plan would hold.
Two minutes. No one had seen us. No one was scared. That would all change.
One minute. We stood up and stepped into the light. It took a moment for us to be noticed, for wands to be drawn, for panic to spread.
Zero. I raised my wand to attack as my comrades did the same, and the first scream fell upon my ears like music. I had never felt so alive. The little girl with a bow in her auburn hair. Dead. The mother sheltering her dear son behind her with eyes that had given up hope. Dead. I worked my way through them like ants, marching in a line, one by one. Dominoes.
We had been wrong. It took six minutes for the Order to begin to show up. The blood traitors were first, joining the fray. They broke through the defences on the window and leapt in to defend. Knights in shining armour, I suppose they thought. Stupidly brave and soon to wind up dead,I thought. They were no match, outnumbered as they were. The Mudblood and her bewitched little pet came next. People were still dying. Eight minutes in and their friends began to arrive. The boy of ours was the first to leave. I always knew there were no guts behind those cold grey eyes. My brother was next. He hadn't yet learned that death was not to be feared. My wife and I were the last to leave, together.
I took one final look around the scene before we went, casting the Mark above the Inn. Death and destruction lay in our wake, a warning to any that would threaten our superiority. I left the echo of my laughter behind.