Prologue- Dead man walking.
"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"
The faces around him were greedy. Greedy for pain. Greedy for entertainment. Greedy for death. The sweat was thick in the air, as he shouldered past a squabbling couple, each as determined as each other to get the ring-side view on the glorious spectacle of today.
For a moment, the woman paused in her argument, her eyes suspiciously taking in the low brim of his hat, covering his face and the rich silk handkerchief tucked in his sleeve. But with practised ease, he let the crowd surge around him, blocking her view.
A huge roar rose from the crowd; and he watched with regret as a lone man was lead onto the platform by two guards. He made no resistance; instead smiling guilelessly out at the gathering, even when the first smatter of rotten vegetables hailed the sky and struck his form, his cheek, his torso.
"You have five minutes."
His quick eyes saw the guard whisper into his friend's ear, whom bowed his head in proposal. The people saw that as a plea for mercy; but in their murder fuelled haze it was a little too late. They jeered and taunted, the catholic priest forming the cross with his fingers, as the highwayman walked by; warding off any evil.
"DIE! DIE! DIE!"
The crowd would not be abated until they saw their new victim, drawn and gutted by the hour. Even the elderly had made their presence; wanting to see the person who would enter hell before they.
"Ladies, ladies," his partner in crime drawled, and when a ferocious roar arose from the men, quickly added, " And gentlemen."
The statement was ironic.
There was not a single lady nor gent present. But it certainly helped to catch the peasants' attention. He smiled a wry smile, as he gazed up his friend, still keeping his charms and wits about him, when Death with his scythe only beckoned metres away.
" It is I, Six string Jack, standing before you in the year of the Lord, 1811. I put my highwaymen atrocities aside to welcome you warmly into the gates of hell." He laughed heartily, taking a sweeping bow, tipping an imaginary hat into the scorned audience. Already the noose was being slipped around his neck, as he continued his banter, readily hefting himself up on the stallion being lead onto the platform. Under the loud yells and glares, the horse shied away as Jack, ever the horse-lover, whispered a few comforting words into it's mane.
The horse nickered but remained still, and Jack looked truimphantly at the crowd. Even the toughest of warriors would have been have impressed to see how he handled the animal, that would subsequently lead to his death.
Thirty seconds left. Jack shrugged, before crying out, "Draco, my man. If you are here then ride as fast and hard as you can out of London. Rob all ye stagecoaches for me, would ya? And it wouldn't hurt to stick a knife in one or two high society members either." He grinned.
" Shall long shall ye prosper!" He yelled, as the guard behind the horse, abruptly brought his hand down on it's flank. The horse bolted forward, carrying Jack with it as his neck provided a satisfying crack when the noose pulled tight.
He stared up at the dead body swinging to and fro among the gallows.
"Your wishes will be commemorated, my friend," he whispered before touching the brim of his hat in respect.
A/N: This is an original fic that never saw the light of day.... until today. Naturally I've converted a few details to fit into dramione... so hope you likes!
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