I walk up to number twelve Grimmauld Place and knock on the door, yelping a little as my knuckles are bruised from the hard oak. I wait, shivering, warmth just a fading memory as no one answers. I can hear them in there laughing, so I pound harder, with my fist this time.
It's Molly that answers and she seems delighted to see me.
"Rose!"
She ushers me inside and quickly closes the door.
"It's utterly freezing outside, I do hope you weren't standing out in that storm for long? The boys have been so loud tonight," she frowns good-naturedly.
"Oh no, I just got here," I lie, giving her a smile.
"It's lovely to see you again dear," she pulls me into a hug and I try to blow her hair from my mouth.
"I was here just last week-" I start, laughing, but then before I can finish there's another pound at the door and Mrs. Weasley is once again pulling it open.
"Emmeline!" I hear her cry.
I relieve myself of my coat and boots and wander into the kitchen, where all the noise is coming from. As I enter, almost everybody looks up. I start to smile when they all look back down and the smile dies on my lips. Oh well, they're busy.
I walk over to the sink to get myself some water, though I'm not at all thirsty. It's so that I can assess the available seats without just standing by the door. There is a seat open next to Ginny, but she has her rather large purse covering the strip of table in front of it, and I don't want to sit down there just for her to say it's already taken, or being saved.
I choose a seat at the corner of the long table instead, next to Mad Eye Moody, who is sitting at the end directly opposite from where Harry and his friends and most of the Hogwarts teachers sit. Professor Snape is opposite me and so far there is nobody sitting on my other side. My fingers tap on my leg as I try not to slouch, while waiting for the Order meeting to commence.
It was not too long ago that we discovered, or Harry discovered I should say, that Snape is still on our side. There wasn't too much opposition to him rejoining the Order. It's been six years since Dumbledore died.
I was asked to join the Order two years ago. It was only because they were low on members, I know this. I am never given any dangerous assignments. The most that I can boast of is tailing people that we know aren't Death Eaters, but have no real proof of such. That and paperwork.
I honestly don't know why people give me so much paperwork. In both the Order, and my actual job. I'm an Oblivator who hardly ever gets sent out to Oblivate people. I'm forced to wonder that if times weren't so bad, would I be sent out at all?
I do know why people don't think I'm capable. But I'm not sure if I can explain it correctly. It's so much easier to just know things without explaining them and putting your ideas and thoughts into concrete words.
I'm shy. And cute. I smile and laugh all the time, and that makes people think that I don't grasp the amount of danger I'm in, especially the Order. But I'm not changing, not for them.
I can't quite explain my personality, mainly because I have no idea what it is myself. I'll give you an example. I once took a very detailed personality test, one that even Mind Healers use. You couldn't be fifty-fifty anything, you were either one thing, or another. I was an Introvert by one percent. One less mark in the Introvert column and I would have been an Extrovert. The text following told me that I'm often mistaken for an Extrovert, especially with my friends, but that I'm technically not. I'd say that's as close to fify-fify as you can get.
Almost everybody thinks that I am sweet, and nice, and soft-spoken. I'm not quite sure. I know that I am in one way, but I also have thoughts that are not sweet or nice in any way.
I can't stop myself from mentally pointing out everyone's flaws, including my own. I think the rudest things about people. Yet I wouldn't dream of saying them out loud to the person I'm thinking about. Only some people can get me to say what I'm really thinking, as long as the people themselves can't hear. I don't feel guilty, even though I think I probably should. Because some of my thoughts are really mean! Like wow-what-a-bitch mean.
I've killed someone before. And I've never once felt bad about it.
How's that for nice and sweet?
When I was sixteen, some low-level Death Eater burst into my home. I don't even think he had the Dark Mark, just the robes, one of those awful masks, and the spell to make the Dark Mark appear over our home.
He was torturing my aunt. I think he might have been drunk, I'm not quite sure. I do know that the attack wasn't at all planned out, because he didn't even know that I was there.
I walked calmly up behind him – he couldn't hear my footsteps over Aunt Emily's screams – until I was close enough that I knew I wouldn't miss. I raised my wand until it was pointing at his lower back and then murmured 'Expulso.' In case you're not familiar with the spell, it causes things to explode. Yeah.
Aunt Emily slumped over, unconscious, as the Death Eater gasped for breath. The spell isn't really meant for humans, so it had only blown a little hole in his stomach. I stood over him until I was sure he was dead, and then I went about assembling my story and putting a shocked and terrified look on my face. I Flooed the Ministry and informed them of what happened, panting and doing my best to sob.
I told them that I didn't even know what I hit the man with, it was whatever came into my mind. I told them to call St. Mungo's because he wasn't moving!
I was actually forced to see a Mind Healer for two weeks after that, not that I thought I needed one. But I bought a book on how people act after something like that and did my best to imitate it. I think I did a rather good job.
That is not something a nice, sweet girl does. Trust me.
"Attention," Minerva cleared her throat. She usually does the speaking. I suspect that Harry would feel rather uncomfortable. "Attention, Ronald."
Everyone's supposed to call everyone else by their first names now. Although nobody dares with Professor Snape, besides a select few. I think he'd hex Harry if he tried. And vice-versa. Or no, Harry would get back at him some other way. Make him pet a kitten, or something.
I listen as various plans are outlined and the more key members give reports on how their latest assignments have gone. By now Seamus and Dean have sat down in the seats next to me. They are both leaning on the table to see around Ginny - who has moved her bag, I notice.
I try to lean on the table as well, to see around Seamus, but he's sitting with an elbow up, and slouching onto it. I'd need to practically lay down over the table to get around him. I lean back in my chair, hoping that there is a gap between the people's heads that I can use to see the current speaker, but no such luck. There is a solid wall of bodies separating me from them.
I really can't help but feel slightly resentful of Seamus. If I was someone else he wouldn't have leaned forward so far. Certainly Professor Snape is having no trouble seeing, nor anyone else at the table. But that's always been the way things are with me. Pity party in room three.
Moody has noticed, though he notices everything, and I feel rather embarrassed.
"What we really need," squeaks Flitwick, "is for You-Know-Who to think that Harry here is dead. He'll get lax. He'll believe that we're all devastated by the loss, and won't be on guard as much."
It's true that the man has been ridiculously careful. Harry destroyed the Horcrux's before Voldemort noticed, but getting the last bit of his soul, still attached to his body, has proven to be a much harder task.
"Well yes, Filius," Minerva says, slightly patronizingly. "But there is no suitable way to manufacture Harry's death. He just won't believe it."
"Well then let's think of a way," his tiny fist pounds the table. I can barely hear the thump. Poor little shrimp.
"I really believe it to be the only way left. We have exhausted everything else."
This is also true. They've been working horribly hard. And I keep a potion with me all the time now to sooth hand cramps, generally derived from Order paperwork.
People are putting in their ideas, which range from Harry being blown up, to being 'killed' in full sight of lots of people. I can't resist standing up a little to see Harry's reaction. He's looking a bit disturbed.
"Okay, okay," Hermione interrupts. "Stop. The only way You Know Who will believe it is if he can do it himself. Or possibly if one of his Death Eaters does," she adds thoughtfully. "We could try…" she trails off.
"You know, not everyone can hear your thoughts 'Mione," Ron huffs. "We've talked about this, remember? It's only you."
"Shut up, Ron," she says absently. "What if we could get one of his more trusted Death Eaters to think that they've killed Harry? And then he could see the evidence for himself in their mind."
"And how do you propose making said Death Eater believe they've killed Mr. Potter?" Snape raises an eyebrow.
He's looking distinctly unimpressed with the whole thing, though unimpressed is really the only other face he shows besides blank, or angry.
There is silence from the other end of the table and I can only assume she's thinking about it. I can't think of any other way besides this Death Eater actually killing someone.
"Well…" she starts, probably about to say something about modifying memory.
"They'd have to kill someone who looked like Potter," Moody barks and Snape's face fades back to blank. Although it's a rather pleased blank, I think. Maybe he's envisioning a mix-up and Harry actually dying. Or maybe he's a necropheliac. It would explain a lot.
Faces around the table are looking shocked and there is dark murmuring coming from all over. Am I the only one who expected this?
"I agree," Harry says thoughtfully, and Molly gasps. "So we get a Death Eater, Polyjuice him, Imperius him, and stick him in front of Bellatrix Lestrange."
The people's murmurs sound vaguely less disturbed.
"Bellatrix will not kill them, she'll torture them - which would break the Imperius Curse - and then bring them to the Dark Lord. Who would notice, if not right away, that one of his Death Eaters were missing, Potter," Snape sneers.
He's really not the most pleasant person. Though I suppose he's not too bad. But then again, he might be a necrophelicac, and I have a generally low opinion of such people.
"So we get a lower-level Death Eater, one that Voldemort," flinches all around, "wouldn't notice missing, and then create a scenario where Bellatrix can either kill 'me' or leave. We could have Order members close behind the fake me. Close enough that she wouldn't have enough time to grab 'me' but far enough that she couldn't get a clear shot at any of them."
The room is silent as everyone digests that, looking for the holes.
"The Dark Lord would notice eventually, even if it was only an unimportant Death Eater," Snape shakes his head. "The information would make his way to him before we had time to act."
"Then we use someone else." I can imagine Ron shrugging. "Umbridge has been causing enough trouble, and she's evil enough. Let's get her."
I hear someone, probably Hermione, smack him on the arm and Molly gasps again.
"And if we can't 'get' her, Ron?" I think Remus is using air quotes, his voice hard. "Who else will you deem worthy enough to die? Will you hand pick them? What requirements will they have to meet? How do you judge whether someone is evil enough to die?"
"Alright," Ron sighs, sounding embarrassed and disgruntled. "You've made your point. But then who else can we use?'
"How serious are we about this?" Moody's eye swings wildly.
"Very," Harry says with determination. "We've been talking about this for awhile…" he pauses. "There's just no other way."
"Voldemort," people flinch, he ignores it, "will not slip up until he thinks he's won his battle against me. And people are dying. As we speak his Death Eaters are attacking again and again."
I still can't see him, but I imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.
"There's no other way," he says again.
"Then we need to get a volunteer."
People break out of their admiration-filled silence to stare at Moody with horror.
"A volunteer?" Harry sounds slightly less certain.
"I agree," Snape nods once. "The Imperius Curse is too risky anyhow. With the slightest torture it could break. Or it could just break on it's own, if the person is strong-willed enough. We can't afford that. We only get one chance at this."
"You want someone to volunteer to get tortured and then killed!?" Molly explodes, rising from her chair so fast that I can hear it tip over.
I'm quite surprised that she kept it in this long.
"It's outrageous!" she screams and I sigh. "And inhumane! We'll be just as bad as You-Know-Who himself!"
Settle down, folks. We could be here for a while.
"I don't see why," Moody says calmly, obviously used to this. "They'll be volunteering. And nobody needs to get tortured. The Order will be close by. Bellatrix will only have time to kill them and run."
"Oh, is that all?" she snarls.
"Molly, shouldn't you let the person decide for themselves?" Snape sneers. "Maybe they'll want the war done with as much as us? If someone volunteers, then you will not be able to stop them."
"And where are we going to find such a volunteer, hmm?"
She sounds slightly hysterical. I'm glad now that I can't see her face, what with the idea sparking in my mind. It's a good idea. Depending on your opinion of good.
"We ask around," Dean shrugs.
"Oh yes, let's go from door to door, asking people if they'd like to be murdered by the most insane person I've ever heard of! Won't that put the Order in everyone's good graces!"
"So let's ask the people in the Order first," Ron shrugs, sweeping a hand around to include the many people squeezed together around the long table.
"Are you volunteering?" Moody looks at him with distaste.
"No." I can practically hear him blanch. "But maybe somebody else…?"
"Ron, nobody in their right mind-" Hermione starts, but is cut off by Remus.
"Some people want this war over and done with, without their families being hurt, Hermione."
I want to voice my thoughts, the ones I've been thinking since this good idea started, but I'm not quite sure how. My voice is odd, you see. It can be rather loud, in the right moments. But as soon as anybody I'm not entirely comfortable with is in the room, it seems to shrink and fade. I'm not quite sure what happens. I'll try to be loud, but it just won't come out that way. It seems to echo from the back of my throat, in too high of a pitch for people to properly hear. It's bloody annoying.
And I never did learn the game of when exactly to cut in to a conversation, as all the others are doing now. I'll open my mouth and then someone else will jump in before me. Or no one will pay attention in the first place. And then there's also the fact that nobody can see me. That's not entirely helpful.
"I just really don't see anyone in the Order volunteering," Molly says, with an air of somebody willing their words to be true.
"I don't think anybody in the Order should volunteer," Tonks cuts in, sounding scandalized. "They're too important!"
"If this goes the way we hope it will, then that won't matter, will it?" Dean says loudly. "Harry'll kill You-Know-Who, and then the rest of us will take out the Death Eaters! One more person won't make that big of a deal!"
"Vell I don't see anyone volunteering, do I?" Fleur contributes, for the first time.
Her accent has gotten so much less noticeable.
"QUIET!" roars Moody, and the table shakes. Everybody shuts up. He takes off the Sonorous Charm and continues. "You lot haven't even asked us if we'd like to die yet. Why don't we just get that out of the way, and then we can go back to the pointless arguing."
I love Moody. In fact, I think he may be my favorite Order member. Good God, if you ever want to laugh, just hang around him for half an hour. Sarcastic humor, much?
"I still think it's really pointless," Molly stands up, shaking her head. "But would anyone like to volunteer to be killed by Bellatrix Lestrange?"
I can finally see her face – Dean has shifted a little in all the excitement – and she looks completely sound in her belief that nobody would volunteer to die.
I calmly stand up, pushing back my chair with a horrible scrape and smile.
"I would."