Sorry to all my readers for the wait. The reason this took so long is because I had way too many ideas of how this chapter could go, and it took me a while to decide how I wanted to write it. I've discovered that there is writer's block and writer's downpour. At least with writer's block I know what to do. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Plus, thanks to my beta and I wish her a happy birthday.
Edited Nov 24, 2014
Chapter Six:
Assassin's Apprentice
May 31, 1981
Ministry Headquarters
8pm
Cornelius Fudge, Junior Minister over the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, is tired. Tired of all the obliviations he had to perform on some hapless muggles when they saw the secret passages and all other Ministry Building's enchantments as they failed.
"It's really very inconvenient," He grumbles to himself.
Every Ministry Employee was summoned to the disaster area. The situation became so dire they sent out a call to all Wizarding citizens who were of age, knew muggle repelling charms, or obliviation. Mostly, the measures were implemented too late. Many muggles had already been there and gone before their memories could be wiped.
There has never been a breach of the Statute of Secrecy this large since 1915 when a Common Welsh Green, one of England's native dragons, had escaped the reserve and attacked a fleet of German destroyers.
Cornelius rubs his aching temples and thinks, "The only bright side was that the muggle media hasn't been involved… so far."
Ministry Headquarters is in chaos. The whole ruling body of the Wizarding government were found unconscious in the High Council Room. Revival spells of any kind had no effect.
Council members and those of prodigious families were severely injured by the debris.
Many, such as Lucius Malfoy or Albus Dumbledore, would not escape without permanent scars and disfigurements. The idea that those who were deemed so powerful by the nation, could be defeated, caused more mayhem than all the Death Eaters attacks combined.
Whatever dark magic caused this made repairing the damage impossible, unless the effects disappeared on their own.
Most horrible of all, every single ward had fallen for the same unknown reason.
Fortunately, the cave-in and destruction was mainly confined to the High Council Room, so when his replacement came, Cornelius decided to head back to his Office. "I've done my stint and, Ministerial Order or not, there would be tea and then, blessedly, a cushy bed at home."
Merlin knows, he feels he deserves it.
As Fudge steps outside the elevators and turns the corner, he believes he sees flashes of red hair and a robed figure rush past him towards the emergency stairs, but when he looks again, they're gone.
Chuckling to himself over the absurdity. "Like any wizard would use the stairs. Blasted muggle lovers and mudbloods with their nonsensical ideas for 'emergency contingencies.' Pompously he rolls his eyes. "As if the floo networks would ever be disrupted and apparition made impossible. Talk about a foolish waste of resources. Those funds would be much better spent on a good party. Maybe that wonderful Firewhisky you can get imported."
Shaking his head, he continues on his way.
June 2, 1981
4 am
"It seems my destiny is to fall before the darkness."
My body has collapsed.
The desire to laugh is nearly impossible to deny. Mad mirthless giggles are working their way up my raw throat and out of feverish lips. It's absolutely hilarious! "I won, I pulled one over all the supposedly greatest witches and wizards in the whole freakin' world. But, by winning I am closer to defeat than ever before."
I'd call for help if my throat wasn't so swollen.
The freedom so hard sought and at such a steep price is a joke. Here I am; with layers of filth clinging to every inch of my body, the rain pouring down, it's the middle of the night and—thanks to the strong winds and the storm—I'm freezing.
Then come the self-recriminations.
"I lost another mother."
"I put myself through hell to save her."
"It wasn't enough."
"It's never enough."
When someone you love passes on, they take a piece of your soul with them. Mine is in tatters. I might not even have one anymore, considering all of my losses. I'm not sure I can be classified as a human either, because a human isn't stuck in a void. It's beyond heartache, loneliness, or grief. It's more like total devastation.
Within my minds eye are Muriel's trusting ways, the smell of her cooking, and how she would force me to watch the news. Then she'd turn off the volume and make up the most outrageous things, either mocking the news anchors or creating insane news stories. The way she used to hug me and how, sliver by sliver, the pain decreased to bearable levels.
Memories like these make the hole in my soul stretch and gape to terrifying depths as I lie in an alleyway.
The worst part is, I can't seem to grieve properly. Instead of feeling sad at her loss, all I can feel is anger, all-consuming fury. I look up into the storm with hazy eyes. Just like my body, I'm numb.
This is why night is the worst time. I fear the darkness, not because of cowardice, but because the deafening quiet forces me to face myself.
And I'm my own worst enemy; my most paralyzing demon.
I've come to the logical decision that never again will I allow anyone to get close enough to hurt me. "Another loss will... never mind, not going to even think about it."
The smell of rot fills my nose, jolting me out of my musings, and I have to fight down the rising bile. Maybe hiding behind a restaurant's trash can isn't the best idea I've had so far, but my survival demands I stay out of sight. There is no way I would let them take me again.
… Alive, at least.
Food became my main concern after the escape from the ministry. The only thing I'd managed to scrounge that was remotely edible, was dried out rolls. Let's just say my small stomach didn't agree with those at all.
This is the worst state I've ever been in. The wounds on my back are swollen and hot to the touch, and I'm terrified that they might be infected. I try to move, but I can barely lift a finger. It's not surprising, given the fact that I dug myself out of the rubble of the Ministry, and ran more miles than can be counted. I've almost no idea where I am.
Vaguely, I recall a sign reading Brixton something, but the information slips through the ever widening cracks of my mind. Every sound makes me flinch or jump, the fever and paranoia aren't helping. Yep, the nerves have definitely seen better days.
My thoughts drift over what I did to the ministry. When I blew up the trial room, I didn't expect the results to be so powerful. This gives me a huge advantage over my enemies and if I survive this night, I'll make sure to use it to the fullest extent.
For the first time, I allow myself to feel a bit of satisfaction. Some may wonder why I didn't kill Lucius then, or as I had recently dubbed him, Barbie. Well, the first, and most important, reason is the rubble got in the way. The second is, I don't plan on just killing him.
He deserves so much more than that.
First, I will take away everything he cares about. If it's wealth I'll steal it. If it's family I'll make them despise him. I'll rip his life apart, demolish his pride, and make him suffer until he's completely broken. I'll tear him down brick by brick. Then, and only then, will I allow myself to take his life.
Same goes for the rest of the Death Eaters.
Still, knowing that Lucy-boy's good looks are all kinds of disgusting right now, gives me a little gratification.
The battle to stay conscious is practically a lost cause, and just as my vision is darkening, I hear sounds of a scuffle, whimpers, and then three strange whistling noises.
Five men, in cheap suits, walk out of a door connected to the alley. Two of them carrying a body in their arms. The corpse is that of a youngish man probably in his late twenties with a bullet hole decorating his head, blood oozing out of the hole sickeningly.
Once again I'm a witness to a horrific crime. And once again, helpless to do anything. "Story of my life," I think bitterly.
Idly, I toy with the thought of calling the police and reporting this. I bat the stupidity aside. "If I try anything then I'm dead for sure. Magic, I can stop, but bullets are another matter. Why make more enemies? The guy's dead anyway, I can't help him."
"It's a hard lesson to learn but those in power will always prey on the weak. These men will get away with this, unless they're caught, and I am going to let them. Not my business. Besides, for all I know, the dead man could have deserved it."
A pressure builds in my chest. I close my eyes and try to push away the guilt, turning away from the scene. Regret from this situation echoes and resonates with the guilt from my past choices.
Savagely, within the confines of my soul, I take my conscience and slam it into oblivion. I've already realized that none of it was my fault, not my family's deaths, nor Muriel's fate, even if it feels like a lie. Muriel was right. By taking any of the blame, I am either justifying their actions or lessening their guilt.
"I'll get justice for her too, even if she doesn't know she needs justice. One more name for my list. To do this, I need to survive. That doesn't include jumping into situations that don't concern me."
The voice of my conscience, sounding suspiciously like my mother, points out that what happened to my family and Muriel wasn't my fault, but not reporting this would be.
Internally I argue that my responsibility is only to myself. "My safety, my happiness, my survival, and my anything and everything, is on my shoulders because no one looks after you. In the end everyone walks alone. Is this selfish? Yes, but it's the way of the world. I learned long ago that I don't have what it takes to bear the title of hero."
No way will I get involved.
I hold my breath as the footsteps are nearly past me.
Then, like usual, fate steps in and screws me over. A cat, and funnily enough a black cat, pounces on a trash can's lid and the whole thing tumbles over. This might not have been problem, if the cat hadn't knocked over one of the smaller trash cans that just happens to hide me from the men's sight.
Tensing, I jerk away only to fall weakly to the ground again.
Before I can even string two thoughts together, the trash bins are thrust aside and I'm being pinned to a wall by my throat, with feet dangling six inches from the ground. The pain explodes in my back and lights are flashing in my eyes. He must have rattled my brain with that last shove.
Brown curly hair, grey eyes, the guy's nondescript, like that boy who you say hi to in school but can never remember his name. I can see there isn't a bit of emotion in him. This is just a job and I'm in the way.
It's bizarre how the human mind works. I should feel panic, fear, or anger, but all I dredge up is slight curiosity, depressive listlessness, and wonder at how he doesn't seem like a murderer.
My bleeding hands don't even try to remove the grip from my throat. The dizziness from lack of oxygen is becoming a real problem, but I don't have the strength to put up much of a fight so I let my body go limp. Fever and lack of air muddle my brain.
"Floating away, that's what I'm doing." And I wonder why I even thought that I could fight anyway. Hopelessness, it's something I'm becoming use to. He's strong, so much stronger than me. His hand feels like a vice around my neck. They have guns and make it their occupation to kill. From the start, I never had a chance. The odds were always stacked against me, it's nothing new.
In a brisk monotone voice, he says, "Boss, we got a witness. Looks like a stoner." Of course he came to that conclusion with my lack of resistance and glassy eyed stare.
An older man, who doesn't even glance my way as he brushes past us, says, "Handle it." Like I'm a non-entity, a waste of space, or a scuff mark on his shoe, mildly annoying but not important.
It's the dismissal that bothers me. Under all my apathy something ignites, but I snuff it out. "Fighting wouldn't do me any good, save maybe more pain before they take me out."
I'm going to die and he's looking at me like a pest. The same look a bimbo sends a broken nail. Lazily, he unholsters a gun. Seconds, that's all I have left.
My head lulls to the side and I catch a glimpse of what's behind Mr. Strongarm. Seems I've got a knack for nicknames, anyway, at least the storm has stopped and I can see clearly.
Horror rises, freezes me in place, and I can't suppress it.
Retching noises fill my throat but nothing comes up.
There's a pregnant woman, and two toddlers. All with a bullet hole in their heads. One of the toddlers has brown hair. The pregnant woman's face still has traces of tears.
It's a hit on an entire family.
An entire family!
Not simply some man that may or may not have deserved his fate. Not some addict or gangster but a father, mother and twin girls.
"The twinlets will never know what it means to have their first crush or go to school. They'll never marry and have children of their own. They wouldn't total their first cars at sixteen or have a wild teenage rebellious phase. The parents wouldn't get to experience that either."
"All of that was stolen from them, just like Dianna. Just like my parents."
It's too easy to see the parallels between this family and mine. I can imagine what this family's fate must have been. A father who begs for his wife and children to be let go, a mother's pain, kids forced to watch as their father is tortured. And on closer inspection he does look tortured.
The thugs throw the bodies in the back of a van with no more concern than a sack of potatoes and slam the doors shut.
I think, "Arrogance, so much arrogance," and bite my bottom lip hard enough that it bleeds. They strut around like they own the street. Probably because they do.
My apathy vanishes before it can fully form.
Reality snaps back into place. A quitter isn't who I am. I didn't survive Voldemort, his Death Eaters, and the Magical Government just to die now in a filthy alley. Steel hardens my soul. The only thing left tying me to this world is hate, vengeance, and a call for blood.
Whatever hesitancy and slight unease I had is no longer a problem. Superimposed over each of these thugs is the image of Death Eaters.
All I can think about is making them suffer but since they're not here, why not take advantage of the next best thing? These thugs may not be Death Eaters but they seem close enough.
I become reacquainted with an old friend, rage. It bubbles up, drenches the senses, boils in the belly and then, finally, like a switch turns on, there's the adrenaline.
Strength enters my muscles and they start to twitch.
There isn't any weapons on me.
This is probably the stupidest thing I'll ever do since I'm very likely to die in the next few minutes.
Yet, the grin won't come off my face because none of it matters.
Almost cackling in vicious amusement, I use the wall as leverage and slam my knee into the thug's balls. A stray thought almost makes me cackle "Ironic how this is the second time in a year I've made a man sing soprano."
"Wow, either I must really hate men, or well, I don't know why I instinctively go for the balls first. Female nature perhaps?"
Surprise flutters over his grim expression. I'm actually happy mud is covering me because it'll be that much easier to wiggle out of his grip.
When he drops me, the weight shift makes him stumble a bit and I tackle him. Fighting like a wildcat I scratch, bite, and wrestle him for the gun. I even go for the eyes but nothing I do phases him. Not a talkative chap this thug, which makes goading him into a mistake that much harder.
The other men are laughing. They don't see me as a threat. That's okay they'll learn.
He rally's himself and once again I'm being pinned, with him on top.
They catcall, "Hey, gonna let some druggie get you Marv, or are you so desperate any woman will do?"
His associates having attitudes like that means Marv must not be very popular.
"Why is there always laughter? Do all murderers need to laugh in the face of their victims? Is it murderer code 101?"
"They really shouldn't do that, because it's all 'fun and games' until everything goes…"
Boom!
A gunshot bursts through the night and I watch as all the lovely little strands of hair, lumps of brain matter, and bits of Marv's scalp splatter across the cement. I don't have time to ponder the ramifications of taking a life. Almost losing my grip on the gun, I roll him over for use as a meat shield and wait for the on coming bullets.
Then wait.
Wait.
And wait some more.
Working up the nerve I peek over Marv's lifeless body.
Under the moonlight with hair floating like a silvery halo in the wind and standing over four headless bodies is a middle aged man. With a feline grace he sheaths a katana.
There's an atmosphere around him I've never felt. Languidly, he saunters over in my direction, his feet making zero sound. This isn't like Voldemort, or even the dead men around me. No, he's out of their league and much more dangerous. Knowledge, primal knowledge, fills me and I know—down to the core of my very being—that I'm in the presence of a true predator.
Automatically, I back up. All of my instincts are screaming at me to avoid him or run yelling bloody murder.
A black leather trench coat fades into the darkness around him.
When he's twenty feet away from me, I begin to pant.
Fifteen feet away, my heart feels like it's going to explode.
Ten feet and my body is shaking harder than it did after the Cruciatus curse.
Then there isn't anywhere else to run and tears, I thought I wouldn't shed again, pour out of my eyes from the sheer fear coursing through me.
He examines Marv's body and then turns startlingly dark eyes in my direction. Speaking barely above a whisper in a rich baritone he asks, "Did you do this?"
All I can do is nod quickly. The idea of lying to him, even though I'm very good at lying in general, makes me want to curl up in the deepest darkest hole in existence.
In a sober tone, he states, "I have need of an apprentice."
The man's eyes pierce me, giving me a weighing look.
"You'll do."
Turning around, he says over his shoulder, "Come," and pauses when he sees I'm not following.
Slack jawing, eyes large, my mind shuts down and I faint.
Okay, for those of you who are anxiously waiting for interaction with Harry, watch out for the next chapter and I warn you, there will be a bit of a time skip.
