White Revenge
Disclaimer: JKR you genius! All her! She owns anything recognised. Anything unrecognised is me.
Warnings: Violence, gore maybe sexual situations later on.
A/N:Hello lovely people. Well this little story is something I thought of a couple of days ago. Please do tell if you like, perhaps not if you don't. Sorry for any mistakes or crude writing (having not written in over a year, I'm a little rusty).Love you all lots and lots and hope you're doing fine wherever you are and whatever you doing.
Chapter One
Death of a Man
Any journey into the unknown begins with a sinking feeling of terror. The helpless panicked fear that you see in the eyes of animals before their inevitable fate catches them. That fear.
That fear was in the eyes of Terrence Moonkite. He was in Muggle London, an area seldom visited by himself, in a dark alleyway, meeting an anonymous person. In fact Terrence Moonkite could not be more in the unknown.
The reason he was in this dark hellish alleyway in the depths of the darkest murkiest foulest night of the year was this. A note, sent by the anonymous person, had arrived on his desk this morning promising in depth information on Voldemort. He assure Terrence the lack of trickery names and places were written to confirm the validity of the information and Terrence could not resist the opportunity. But Merlin's beard he was scared. Muggle London was a terrifying place; noisy, impersonal and dirty. This might have been the only time in Terrence's life that he ever wished to have been in Gryffindor at school.
"Moonkite?" A silky, smooth terrifying voice asked from behind him. He jumped round and saw a tall cloaked figure standing just outside of the building's shadow. He had evidently been there for sometime and Terrence cursed his foolishness.
"Yes. Yes, I'm Terrence Moonkite." He made his voice sound what he was not.
"Good Evening, we've met before."
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Murder of Ministry OfficialLate yesterday evening a ministry official, an aid of the Minister of Magic, was murdered in Muggle London. The killing of the official occurred in a deserted alleyway in the East End of the Muggle City. Official spokesman of the Ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt, described the attack as 'a harrowing attack on an innocent matyr.
The, as of yet, unamed official is said to have a wife and child who will be told before the name is released. The delay arises from the apparent problems in identification of the body because of extensive mutilation of the face and torso. This grisly crime against humanity is rumoured to be the work of a rogue Death Eater, as the death is different to the normal style of Death Eater killing yet the source of the evil is undoubtably the same.
All our thoughts are with the family of the victim.
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"And may we, who struggle against such evil, be strong in the face of hatred, valiant in the face of danger and open in the face of truth. Those who walk among us with wicked eyes and faceless souls let us say this; we will not give up, we will not give in and we will walk a thousand years more." The speaker, who himself looked as though he would blow over with the strength of his own speech, sat down wearily and nodded appreciatively at the sparse clapping.
The Minister of Magic stood and began his speech with the mournful tone of one who has just lost his new pet hamster. "I will speak only a few words. Sorrow rides hand in hand with war. Terrence was not a great wizard. He was a great man. His name and his memory shall never be forgotten."
A hum of small chatter broke out as the sitting stood to leave. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley stood with them working their way at a respectful pace towards the exit of the abbey, in which the sad partings never ceased to come since Voldemort's return. Singing started from the high levels. A lone female voice sung the requiem of the passing of a great life in Latin. She was obviously descended from the Veela, for all who heard her voice stopped and looked up to the highest rafters in search of this crying angel.
It was, surprisingly, Ron who prodded her awake from her revelry. Apparently, or so he claimed, constant Fleur in the Burrow meant he was building up an immunity to the Veela. They slipped out quickly before the quick hands of the Minister could grab them to ask about the 'Chosen One's activities.
By mutual consent they walked around the graveyard. The graves dated back to the beginning of Hogwarts and Hermione had always wished to look around. Ron had always found it immensely boring to walk round a graveyard reading about dead people, but Hermione had always enjoyed imagining what these people who had lived nine hundred years before her looked like, spoke like, enjoyed, ate. It was something incredible to her.
And it was a way to escape.
By the gods escape. Death hung over Britain like a cloud, polluting the air and dampening the soul. Pain, panic and sorrow. That was what you could see in every face. Everyone had lost someone and the war was hammering down the last hopes.
"Stop thinking." Ron complained. She looked up startled. His eyes rested on her with the knowing sardonic look which she assumed after seven years of friendship he'd picked up from her.
"Sorry, Ron." She looked back at the softly crunching ground before them. Green grass poked through small dashes of pure white snow and the colours were startlingly alive for such a cold desolate time of year. Ron. Ron was always alive in colours. He couldn't help it. She smiled slightly. Ron had grown up. At last his mental age had caught up with his physical and he had become an invaluable friend... friend...
He'd nowadays refuse to leave her. When they had first started attending the Last Ceremonies of the Great Wizards only a month after they'd left Hogwarts and she took a turn out in the graveyards he'd leave her to return to wherever they were staying at the time. But after the 21st October the year they left Hogwarts he'd grown up. And set orders that neither he nor she were allowed to be out on their own. That day had woken him up. It had woken them all up.
"How'd ya think Harry's doing?" Ron asked looking at her with mild earnest. He still relied on her resourceful logic and intelligence. It made her feel wanted and proud that he did.
"He'll have something to show us when we get home." Hermione said confidently as they turned around the back of the Abbey. Here the graves were three to four hundred years old. Hermione swished her flowers along the top of the long grasses which hid most of the graves from view.
"It's bloody cold."
"I told you, you should have brought a thicker jacket." Hermione told him reproachfully and turned off the main path into the well trodden path to the furthest back graves. A ministering statue of Albus Dumbledore heralded their entrance into the wrought black iron fenced area of graves. Above their heads read the words 'The Strength of Hope, Love and Justice Shall Prevail'. The shut the gate behind them.
In their routine forged through a year of wanderings they started towards Sirus's memorial. With no body there was no suggestion of a memorial until the Minister, wanting to woo himself to Harry's affections suggested it as a final apology. Harry denounced the idea but the guilt of those in charge carried the idea through. Harry had never visited it, but it was one of the most visited plots in the back graveyard.
As ever Hermione laid her one red rose at the paw of the great black dog and stroked his cheek. She bowed her head then rose to walk on with Ron to the next grave. A white lily at the tombstone for Luna Lovegood and a tear wiped from the eyes. Three forget-me-nots at the base of the grave for Colin Creevley. Another lily for Sturgis Podmore, a member of the Order of the Pheonix. All members, including the newly joined Colin Creevley and Luna Lovegood had the emblem of the Pheonix engraved below their names. During one of Mr Lovegood's saner moments he had told Hermione that that seeing that symbol below his daughters name was the second proudest moment of his life (the first being her informing him of the Moth Conspiracy).
The final grave was only final because it was closest to the exit from their round circle. It reserved the right for only one small yellow rose and ten seconds worth of silent thoughts. It read as follows.
Draco Malfoy
Redemption is never too late
All round bastard
Died 21st October 2005
Harry had been asked to say something about Malfoy. Hence the third line. Apparently the tomb makers were too in awe of him not to put it on Malfoy's tombstone. Hermione hoped his mother would never visit it. Narcissa Malfoy though had not attended his funeral and refused to even release his date of birth or middle name. Hermione had only seen her once since her sons death. It had been on Diagon alley. The woman was thin, broken like a dying reed, dressed in an elegant blackness. She was nothing if not proud even if it would kill her.
"Let's go home 'Mione." Ron slung an arm around her shoulders and they leant partially on each other to walk the respectful distance from the graveyard before apparting.
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