Introduction to Quidditch task 2: Write about someone or something causing harm

For Sophie, via the gift tag, who requested a dark female character.

Auction: ParvatiLavender

Prompt of the Day: lies

Gobstones, brown stone (working) butterfly, monster, necklace

Showtime, All-American Prophet: Victorian!au

Count Your Buttons: "Is that… blood?"

Lyric Alley: I'm not a stranger to the dark

Arcade, Frost: jealousy, cold, London

Word Count: 1911

She doesn't mean for this to happen. She had only wanted to talk to the whore, just a little chat. This shouldn't have happened. Things might have gotten heated, but that shouldn't have led to the woman falling.

She takes several deep breaths, watching the prostitute's chest rise and fall. So, she's still alive. That should be a good thing, but somehow she knows it isn't.

The whore has seen her face. She'll tell; she'll ruin everything.

There's no time for doubt and uncertainties now. She grabs the whore's dark curls roughly, dragging her through the deserted Whitechapel streets.

Faint whimpers and groans fill the air as the whore's exposed legs scrape against the street, but she doesn't stop.

This has to happen before she loses her nerve.

…

"For you, my love."

Parvati looks up at that familiar voice. Regardless of how stressful her morning has been, Lavender's appearance never fails to make her smile. "You shouldn't be here," she says as her lover holds up a silver necklace with a ruby pendant. "That is gorgeous."

"Not nearly as gorgeous as you are, darling," Lavender counters as she moves behind Parvati, carefully pulling the necklace around her neck.

The silver is cold against her umber skin, making Parvati shiver. "Thank you."

"You seem tense," Lavender notes, rubbing Parvati's shoulders.

Parvati fights back a moan. She's meant to be working, and Lavender should not be here, but she always has trouble telling her lover no. Careful not to draw too much attention to herself—because working as a madam is one thing, but heaven forbid she be a homosexual as well—she takes Lavender's hand and leads her to the office.

"One of Padma's girls was murdered last night," Parvati says when the door closes behind them and cuts them off from anyone who might try to listen in.

The Patils have two of the most prominent brothels in Whitechapel—the Eagle's Nest for Padma, and Parvati's beloved Lion's Den. Both have done well over the years. So many people had expected them to have some sort of rivalry, but that has never been the case. If anything, the twins' common interest has brought them closer together.

"Murdered?" Lavender bunches up her skirt as she moves across the tiny office before sitting in the worn out chair. "Who? What happened?"

Parvati can't bring herself to sit. Her slender fingers tug anxiously at her crimson bodice. All she can think of is the look of pain in her sister's eyes when Padma delivered the news over breakfast.

"Daphne," she answers at last.

The poor girl had escaped a wealthy family hoping to marry her off to some brute of a man for the sake of money. Padma had given her a home. Parvati had met her several times when visiting her twin, and she had been lovely.

"Throat slit. And she…" Parvati trails off, fanning herself.

She runs a house of ill repute. By now, she is used people treating her as though she is not a proper lady, despite her title as Madam. Indelicate details so often slip, and she has managed to harden herself against the shock of it anymore. Lavender does not have that luxury. She is still a lady who has not had to experience the unpleasant details that come with life.

Parvati clears her throat, offering her lover an apologetic smile. "Forgive me," she says with a nervous chuckle. "Such things are not meant for polite conversation."

"When have you ever cared about polite conversation with me?"

With a small smile, Parvati moves closer, bending down and pecking her lover's cheek. "The details are too grisly, my darling one," she says. "Best not worry your pretty little head."

"I've told you from the start that this is not a safe profession," Lavender huffs, climbing to her feet and curling her slender fingers around Parvati's wrists. "London is not a safe place, and this only proves it."

"Lavender…"

Lavender's pale skin flushes a soft pink. "I have my dowry," she insists. "It's meant to go to my husband, but I can take it. We can run away to the countryside, and no one will bother us there."

Parvati sighs. It's a conversation they've had time and time again, and her answer is unchanging. The city may be grimy and rough, but she has a name for herself; people have learned to respect her as a business owner. If she leaves this behind, she leaves her power and reputation. In the countryside, her dark skin will make villagers assume she's some poor servant girl.

"You know I cannot leave this place," she says. "It is my home."

Her lover looks as though she wants to say something, but she quickly snaps her mouth closed and smiles instead. Lavender kisses her gently, pulling away with a sigh. "Forgive me, my love."

"Nothing to forgive."

…

This time, it isn't an accident. She picks her girl with care.

The whore is a sweet one, so kind and nurturing. She understands why so many men like this one.

She is careful. There is no confrontation, no great fight. The whore smiles in recognition, but that warm smile quickly fades when she sees the knife.

"This won't hurt a bit."

The whore opens her mouth to scream, but there's a flash of silver glinting in the moonlight. The blade slices through flesh so easily, and she watches as the whore sputters and gurgles, blood rushing from the long gash across her neck.

Her fingers tangle in the blonde curls, and she pulls the whore along to the alley she'll be left in. There's still plenty of time before anyone will discover the body, plenty of time for her to finish her job properly.

She pushes up the whore's skirt and takes care with the bustle. The blade falls once again, slowly, carefully cutting into flesh.

…

Parvati is in her little garden when Potter and Weasley appear. "My girls aren't ready for company quite yet, boys," she tells them, smiling as an orange and black butterfly lands on her white roses.

But they don't smile, and she feels her blood run cold. This isn't a personal visit; this is business.

"Another girl?" she asks, resting her hand against her chest.

"One of yours," Potter confirms. "Hannah Abbott."

Parvati falls to the ground. Weasley is at her side in seconds, helping her to her feet once again.

"What happened?"

"Same as the last," Weasley tells her, carefully dusting her skirts.

Parvati pulls away from his touch with an indignant huff. He offers her an almost apologetic grin.

"Throat slashed," Potter says. "And she had…" He trails off, clearing his throat. A deep red stains his cheeks.

"Twice a week, you're here, dropping your trousers and finding paradise between my girls' legs, sir," Parvati says sweetly, trying not to laugh when his blush darkens so much it borders on purple. "I am not some fair maiden. One of your men let the details of the first murder slip to my sister."

Potter glares at the ground, tugging anxiously at the collar of his uniform. "Very well," he says. "She was mutilated. Abdomen cut open, uterus removed."

"What sort of monster would do this?" Parvati whispers. "Hannah was so kind."

"We were hoping you might know," Weasley says.

Parvati shakes her head. It doesn't make any sense. London has always been dangerous, but that danger has never reached her doorstep. Now, in the span of a week, two girls are dead, and it's a little too close to home for her to be comfortable.

Weasley offers her a polite bow of his head before pushing a hand through his red hair. "Well, if you hear anything, let us know."

With that, he and Potter start off. Potter pauses at the garden garden and turns to Parvati. "I would make sure your girls don't roam the streets at night," he says. "It's not safe."

"You don't have to worry about that," she assures him.

…

"It isn't fair, is it?" She circles the whore with a wicked grin on her lips. "Why should women like you get all the attention? What about me?"

She's lost track of the number of whores she's killed over the past few years. By now, she's earned a fair bit of infamy. They call her the Whitechapel Murderer and Jack the Ripper. The latter is her favorite because it means they think a man is doing this. No one would ever suspect her, and her lies become easier to tell.

The whore—some filthy wisp of a girl as the brothels are still oh so cautious—has tears in her dark eyes as she begs for mercy.

Her blade is not merciful. As with the many whores before, she makes quick work, slicing open her throat and watching the blood bubble and flow.

…

"You have to come with me."

Parvati nearly screams when she sees Lavender in her bedroom. "You shouldn't be out at— Is that… blood?" She rushes closer, so afraid that her love has been hurt.

"It isn't mine," Lavender says calmly.

"Lav… What's going on?" Parvati whispers.

"She was just a whore," Lavender says. "They all are. Filthy, sinful things. They don't deserve your attention, my love."

Her stomach twists as understanding hits. Lavender has been there for her each time, offering her sweet comfort and kissing her fear away. And it's been nothing but lies.

"You… You killed my girls?" Parvati asks.

Lavender's plump pink lips twitch as though she wants to smile. "Your girls," she says. "That's your problem. They aren't worth your time and care. They were scum!"

"They were human beings!" Parvati screams, taking a step back as her fingers curl inward and form fists.

"I do hope you'll come with me willingly, my love," Lavender says softly. When she moves forward, Parvati notices the blade in her hand. "I don't want to hurt you. You're too special."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Parvati moves steadily away until her back is against her desk. Her heart pounds as her hands work frantically, feeling blindly behind her back.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. Daphne was an accident. I just wanted to talk to her," Lavender insists as she approaches. "But it was for the best. She deserved it. Yours and Padma's girls are what keeps you tied to this filthy place. I wanted to take that away from you."

She gets the drawer open and reaches inside. "You killed them," she says.

"So that you and I could have a life together! Can't you see that? Everything I did was for you, for us!"

"I love you, Lavender."

Her lover's expression softens.

"But I can't have a future with a monster."

Quick as a flash, she grabs the Derringer pistol from the drawer, cocking the hammer as she brings her arm around. "I'm sorry, my love," she whispers before pulling the trigger.

The bullet embeds itself in Lavender's forehead. When her lover falls to the floor, there's still a small stream of smoke and the sickening smell of burnt skin mixed with gunpowder.

She doesn't have time to let the shock set in. There is no way the gunshot will go unheard, and she has to move quickly. She grabs what money she can, as well as any jewels she might be able to sell along the way.

Lavender had been right. Parvati cannot stay in London.