Disclaimer:
This chapter contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing. The author strongly condemns acts of violence depicted below in any non-fictional setting.


A Mind in Shadow

- 1979, Unnamed Muggle suburbs -

An third attempt to meet.

"TRYST", the seated man printed out carefully onto the newspaper. The ink of the ballpoint pen was baby blue. This would be an uncommon ink colour in the Wizarding World except for specialised scrollwork. Even fountain pens were considered too modern for the conservative tastes of many wizards, and these were invented over a century ago.

He spared a glance across the room. It was clearly not over yet from the creaking of the bed. A muscular man was perched on the dresser, his legs dangling over the upset drawers. His masked face bobbed as he looked down at the antics in the bed below.

Accountant for the seasons.

The seated man gazed out of the window, observing the angle of the sun. Beyond was another world. A world of long days and warm nights, neighbourhood tea parties, conversations over garden hedges, splashing in the swimming pool... The lawn beneath was immaculate beneath the golden sunlight. Did the Muggle neighbours believe it to be a product of mundane lawn mastery, or did they suspect a more unusual source of perfection?

The Assimilators had held up the house itself as a demonstration that the Wizarding World could "assimilate" with the encroaching Muggle suburbs. The Separatists would have deterred Muggle construction with some interesting curses, while the Traditionalists would have defined the Muggles as tenants. It was no coincidence that most Traditionalists came from pureblood gentry for whom the benefits of their so-called rent exceeded the cost of ensorcelling payment from the Muggles. This household was not one of those families. He did not find it surprising that they were Assimilators. It would be completely in the spirit of self-interest.

"SUM -"

"Who's next? Lion?"

"- MER"

"You're a demon, Goat. I need more time," Lion replied.

The man looked up, and caught Goat elbowing Lion. Both of them were looking at him. "Your turn next, Snake?" Goat asked awkwardly. While Snake himself must know about the whispers that circulated behind his back, it would be bad taste indeed to take such gossip out into the open.

Snake rose to his feet. "Maybe. Time is something that is running out." He capped the pen and set it down on the dressing table.

"That's a Muggle quill?" Goat asked. His thin, oily voice was ingratiating. The distraction.

"This? Yes." Snake said. He picked up the pen again and examined it. "A curious thing. I think I will keep it as a trophy." He put it into the pocket of his Muggle clothes. Such was the ease with which he wore the strange clothing that he could have passed for a Muggle even with the mask on. But the man was no Muggle, for he next picked up a wand from the table and held it with the practised grip only a Wizard could have.

"Get out and smash some furniture." Snake ordered.

Snake strode up to the bed. Lion and Goat made way for him and left the room. From the way they deferred to him, it was clear that he was their leader. The Snake was always the leader, whoever the Snake was. The Goat came next, and the Lion was last. These were the rules. The Snake also knew the true names of Goat and Lion, whereas the other two only recognized one another by the designs of their masks. No, it would not be wise to cross the Snake.

On the other hand, there were always two to watch and report, two hoping to rise in station, two who would like to become Snakes themselves. Snake leaned over the twisted sheets, one hand pressing his wand to the forehead of the woman tangled within them, the other pressed against one of her bruised breasts.

"Shall we continue, Mrs. Smethwyck?" Snake asked.

Mrs. Smethwyck's glazed eyes focused on the man before her. They hardened with anger and her muscles clenched. Without the binding curse, she would surely have sprung up to strangle the Snake. Instead she spat into the man's face. The bloody spittle dripped down the patterned surface of the man's brass mask.

"Go to hell," she spat.

The man gave her nipple a hard twist in return. Mrs. Smethwyck gritted her teeth and glared at her tormentor as he toyed with her breast. He ignored her furious glare, keeping his gaze focused on the headboard. The pressure of the wandtip against her forehead eased as the touch of his hand grew gentle, even caressing. The murderous look on Mrs. Smethwyck's face turned to one of alarm as she saw how the rise and fall of her tormentor's chest grew quick and shallow.

A choked sob broke the silence of the room. Snake's hand froze on Mrs. Smethwyck's face. His gaze dropped from the headboard and met hers. The woman was fighting back the tears in her eyes, but her voice was controlled and dignified when she spoke.

"Please stop. I know you don't like it either. Your eyes were closed throughout just now. Don't do this."

"You presume to know." Nevertheless, the man lowered his hand and straightened. He moved his wand from her forehead to her nose. "Your husband should be back soon. Remember to convey to him the Dark Lord's regards."

Mrs. Smethwyck was staring at the wand right before her eyes. The next moment, they dart up again to meet Snake's.

"It's you!" She cried out.

Snake jerked back from shriek of horror and recognition.

"Why?" Mrs. Smethwyck screamed, her eyes wild, "Why are you doing this? You know me! You're S-"

The words ended in a gurgle and a spray of red. The woman groaned and twitched as the crimson storm splattered the walls and windows with its marks of violence. Snake stepped back, but the initial tsunami of blood had already drenched his clothes in gore.

The binding curse was broken. Mrs. Smethwyck continued to jerk and spasm. She was taking an unpleasantly long time to die. Snake backed up to the dressing table. The formerly white sheets grew so deeply scarlet they looked black. Blood ran down the mattress and bedposts onto the floor in a spreading pool.

Mrs. Smethwyck's eyes continued to glare at Snake accusingly until her body grew still.

Snake slowly lowered his wand. Blood dripped from his drenched shirtsleeves, down his hand, along his wand, onto the ground. He should have used the Killing Curse, but he had reacted instinctively at that moment. He had swung with the strength of a grown man rather than flicked with finesse; the horrific gash on the woman's neck was so deep that the white of her spine could be seen, and if not for the inability of his spell to cut bone, the woman's decapitated head would now be rolling around on her bed.

"Bloody hell!" It was Goat.

Snake flicked his wand hand, shaking the blood off in a jet. He turned to regard his conspirators, who had returned. Lion was doubled over at the doorway, retching in heaves. "An apt description," Snake said blandly.

"Why? You wanted t'smash the house." Goat asked, shaking his head.

"You're one to talk," Snake replied coolly, "Smashing didn't seem enough for you."

"You're bloody bonkers!" gasped Lion, from behind Goat.

"Did you think it's all fun and games, initiate?" Snake mocked, "Close your eyes, make a wish, and the Dark Lord's enemies will disappear?"

"But she's a pure-blood!" Lion protested.

"A blood-traitor," Snake said dismissively. "But more than a match for the two of your together, without me to take her down." Lion and Goat quickly lowered their raised wands at the threatening tone.

"Alright Snake, but I don't get it." Goat's tone was placating.

Snake snorted. "She's not a Muggle, Goat! Have you any idea what mischief she could wreak using your seed?"

"Ah... good point." Goat conceded. Such magic would be unpleasant indeed.

"Foolhardy, but I went along. I even cleaned up, knowing how sentimental you get towards your conquests." Snake jabbed a bony finger in Goat's direction.

"True, true." Goat was nodding now.

"Couldn't you just ... actually clean her up?" Lion said awkwardly.

Snake laughed rudely at Lion. "I let you have your fun, why can't I have mine?" He sighed in exasperation. "Time's short. Let's finish this before Smethwyck returns. Three children, one each."

"They're children, Snake!" Lion's pale brown eyes were wide behind his silver mask.

"Oh stow it, Lion." Goat rolled his eyes. He scratched his head. "But I dunno, Snake. Maybe we have an understanding."

"Time is short, but very well." Snake said.

"Are you both mad?" protested Lion. He raised his wand instinctively.

Goat turned, his wand pointed at Lion. "Different strokes for different folks, Lion. Let's go downstairs. Go on, Snake." There was a hint of respect in his voice that was absent before.

Lion lowered his wand dispiritedly and let Goat herd him out.

Snake lit up the woman. Cleansed in flames. He threw his cloak over himself and left the charred corpse.

The cloak was soaked through quickly. His feet left bloody boot prints as he walked down the hallway. No matter. Sunlight streamed in from the right, past impossibly cheerful pastel green curtains printed with little yellow fishes.

He released the spell on the first door. It was the baby's bedroom with pastel blue wallpaper and the same pastel green curtains. The baby looked at the stranger curiously with its big pale eyes. Slice. Burn. Easy.

The second bedroom held a girl of about five. She lunged at him with a pair of scissors the moment he released the door, but he knocked her back easily with a swipe of the wand. She fell into some elaborate structure stacked from playing blocks. Everything came tumbling down in a rumble of bright colours and limbs. Slice. Burn. Messy. Not as messy as the woman, but messy. Still, one ought to be consistent about such things.

The third bedroom was empty. Snake looked around. A twisted bedsheet was tied to the bedpost and stretched past the drawn curtains. Futile. The length of a bedsheet and even possibly a blanket together would not reach the ground. He brushed aside the little yellow fishes and looked out of the window. As expected, a boy also about five was clinging to the end of the bedsheet. The child was looking down at the quite distant ground.

"Hello there," Snake said. The terrified face of the boy turned up to him.

"Might I assist?" He waited. No response. "I suppose I shall then," he said. He flicked his wand, and the bedsheet parted. The boy hit the ground with a wet thud and was still. One had to be sure though.

Bangs and yells interrupted the coup de grĂ¢ce. Snake slid out of the window and floated to the ground. From the sounds that continued, there was a battle in the front of the house. He levitated the boy's body and crept around the side of the house.

It was Smethwyck and another. Lion was already sprawled out on the ground, unconscious or dead. Goat was stumbling from the combined assault of the two wizards.

He projected the boy at Smethwyck with force. The father broke off to rescue his son, letting Snake block the other wizard's hex and sweep Goat over. Goat lolled unsteadily in his grip. Useless. He managed to block the renewed stream of hexes, though one caught his shoulder and tore his cloak off. The pain blooming down his side nearly disrupted his concentration; Never underestimate the power of grief. But his bloody clothes proved to be a boon, as he finally completed the Disapparation with the brief letup in attacks.

Snake laughed at the horrified faces of the two wizards as he escaped into the void.