Chapter II: Eye of the Beholder
Emily…
Why is it that people can't just leave well enough alone? So, Mum's the Mistress of Magic, and everyone knows it. What's the need for a ball then? It's the traditional Inaugural Ball, which really is pointless. It's just a chance for people to get all dressed up, reporters to take pictures of famous people, and new styles to be introduced. Why, I don't even think that Mum wanted to go, and this whole ordeal was over her.
Maybe this whole Ball thing wouldn't be such a big deal if it didn't take days, yes days, of preparation. First, I had to buy a dress. Not even a normal dress, this was a fancy one with all the trimmings- pouf, sparkles, lace…ugh. And the worse part is my dress is light green. Mum already got a blue dress, so I got stuck with green. I wouldn't mind, under normal circumstances, but with a big, poufy, green dress like that combined with my red hair, I looked very much like an out of season Christmas tree reject.
Then, as if it couldn't get worse, you just had to add accessories. Don't ask me why. I think that it's all just some big ploy cooked up by the fashion world to steal all of our money. Third, of course, you couldn't look a knock out if you didn't have good hair and nails, could you? I had to get my hair done, I had to get a manicure, and I even had to endure a pedicure. Why women voluntarily put themselves through this is entirely beyond me.
Of course, everything seemed to go downhill since Mum was instated. The morning after, I went down to breakfast to find scary looking men dressed to kill in black with those ear things on and wands at the ready. Needless to say, that was a scary experience. Mum introduced them as Unspeakables (the wizarding secret service), Head Bodyguard being Artemis Cooper. Apparently, his twin brother, Atticus, was head of the Magical Technology Department, and also oversaw the majority of security at our house, Mum's office building, the Ministry building, and generally places of importance in the wizarding world- a technological genius, one might say. Going back to Hogwarts this year would be interesting- most likely; my friends would be frisked before allowed on the Hogwarts Express. Platform 9 ¾ would probably be abuzz with security, and my guess was that Landon and I would have to be escorted to school by bodyguards, considering that our Mum had to be in politics and we had no control over our parents' actions whatsoever. How embarrassing.
Then, as if things couldn't get worse on the home front, I went to wake Landon for lunch the day after the party. I didn't expect to find someone else asleep in bed with him. I nearly went blind, and Fiona was too embarrassed to talk to me (or look at me) the rest of the week. It really was a lucky thing, though. Now, I had blackmail material to keep Landon silent the next time that Snape gave me a detention, which would most likely be sooner than not.
Of course, when you think things are at the epitome of horribleness, you have people prodding you and pulling your hair, and all of these horrible things that should be done to criminals during their life sentence just to torture them. One Swedish lady, Helga, was yanking my hair so hard that I was crying by the first brushing though; a Chinese lady, Minh, was filing my nails something dreadful- she nearly scraped off the top of my finger while talking to her sister rapidly in Chinese and not looking at what she was doing. Then, as if I didn't feel enough like a Barbie doll, they did my makeup before shoving me into the Yuletide Wonder Monstrosity. In all fairness, though, it was a nice dress. Just not for me, considering that I had a strong desire to burn it using only my mind.
I was so relieved when they were done and I could go downstairs (of course they came to our house. Did you expect the Mistress of Magic to travel? Honestly!) with Landon and Fiona (he got a date, but I didn't. Kyle or Tom would have been so much fun!). They were sitting very closely on the couch, and talking quietly. Now, Fiona looked nice- I looked like a powder puff. They kind of separated when they saw me come in, and a blush that I'd been accustomed to lately crept up on Fiona's cheeks.
"You look nice, Emily," she told me with a smile.
"This thing itches," I said, lifting the hem to prove my point- my legs was red from scratching.
"Yes, well keep your scratching to yourself," said Landon, still a little miffed about the bed incident (don't even want to think about it lest my brain combust from such a horrible image).
I picked up this week's copy of Quidditch Illustrated, and flopped down on the couch, reading and itching simultaneously. I looked up when Dad apparated in, having just dropped Jack at Pop and Nana Granger's house.
"Hey, Dad," I said via catcall, "you're lookin' hot tonight!"
He smirked at me, unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt. The cummerbund matched Mum's dress, but he downright refused to wear a tie with his tuxedo. If he was going to be dressed up and paraded around like a dog, then he might as well be comfortable, he protested. Mum drew the line when he had put on sneakers, though, insisting that he put on dress shoes lest she leave him for Uncle Harry. That put fear into Dad, although everyone knew just how hollow a threat that was, and he promptly put the shiny black shoes back on.
"Is your mother ready yet?" he asked us. We shook our heads, no. She was still under the siege of lipstick, blush, eye shadow and curling iron. Poor Mum, she hated having people play with her hair as much as I did. She didn't seem to mind when Dad did it, though.
Right on cue, Mum rushed down the stairs in a flutter of gown, apologizing for being late and worrying about forgetting her speech. Juliet, who doubled as her personal assistant, came down the stairs behind her offering affirmations of assurance. It seemed as if Juliet was always at our house. She wasn't always there, only when Mum was awake.
It was actually kind of sweet the way that Dad couldn't take his wide eyes off of Mum. Then, however, he broke the cardinal rule of the Weasley household- public displays of affection in front of the young, naive, innocent and very much impressionable children- when he walked over and kissed her.
"GAAAH!" came from Landon and I as we covered our eyes. It was an ongoing joke between the four of us. Fiona laughed as Mum and Dad shot the two of us annoyed looks and separated as a small man apparated into the room. We had come to know him as Atticus Cooper.
Atticus and his twin, Artemis, personified 'fraternal'. While Artemis was the stereotypical bodyguard- insanely built and tall, dark skinned, long black hair slicked back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, earring, menacing goatee and one of those ear talking things, topped off with a killer suit- his twin brother couldn't have been more opposite. Atticus was as short as I (granted, that isn't that short, but I was fourteen, and he was thirty-something), and his once naturally bronzed skin was bleached pale by the glow of computer screens. I was sure that he must be balding as well, because he never took that old and rumpled fishing hat (complete with lures) off of his head. Computer geek, yes, but he looked like he was going camping- that is, if people go camping with pocket protectors and horn-rimmed glasses (complete with tape).
"Hello, hello, hello!" Atticus trilled, sending a mock salute to his brother, who was standing on the stairs and surveying the room in a state of utter impassiveness. However, he did send a curt nod back to his twin. Artemis took his job very seriously.
"All right, Ron, Hermione," he said. Although Mum was still just…Mum, she was also the Mistress of Magic. All relationships aside, she deserved more respect than that, considering that she ran the Ministry. But Atticus was indispensable and he knew it. He also used it, as well as his naturally buoyant personality, to his advantage.
"Why don't you two come and sit on the couch for me," he said, setting his briefcase on the table, and unlatching it. "Hey, kiddo," he addressed me with a smile, "Why don't you budge up and let your mum and dad sit here for a bit. And a merry Christmas to you, too."
I smirked at him, picking up my magazine and moving to an armchair as Mum and Dad sat down where I had been sitting.
"Ron," Mum said as Atticus rummaged around in his briefcase, "I know we haven't actually done it in…well, never, but you do know how to waltz, don't you?"
Dad turned to look at her, and it appeared as if he was going through an internal battle: should he find Mum positively breathtaking or should he be annoyed at having to dance?
"I have to dance?" he finally asked. Although he could dance, and surprisingly well, at that, he wasn't exactly a Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire
"Well, yes, it's traditional."
"So, basically, I have no choice, but you're just asking me to make it seem like I do?" He quirked his eyebrow at Mum, and I could see the sides of his mouth twitching into a lopsided grin that got him on "Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizards Over Forty" list for the past two years (the fact that they moved him onto the 'over forty' list sent him spiralling into a pre-midlife crisis. Mum told us not to laugh at him, but even she couldn't control laughter when he came home sporting an earring one day. We were all very grateful when he got out of that 'I'm older than dirt' phase.).
"Erm…right," said Mum with a smile. She never missed Dad's grins, and usually was able to spot them in advance.
"All right!" exclaimed Atticus, turning around from his briefcase to face my parents, "We're set. Hermione, I'm going to take a small likeness of your eye to get the colouring matched. You too, Ron." He held his wand up to Mum and Dad's eyes, and within two seconds, he had turned back to his briefcase, which had been turned into a makeshift laboratory.
"What are you doing, Atticus," Dad asked, as his head was tilted back by the small man and drops were being put into his left eye from the tip of the tech's wand.
"Well," said Atticus, as he moved to do the same to Mum, "This is a little invention that I like to call the Cornea Cam. It's a camera in the shape of a contact lens that allows us to see everything that you two can see in the control station. I took those samples to match the colour of your eyes to the cameras. Tilt your head back again, Ron. DON'T RUB THE DROPS! DON'T RUB THE DROPS!" We all jumped as he screamed the commands at Dad and were shocked at how easily he was able to switch back into mellow mode.
"Don't blink, now," he said to Dad as he hovered above his face with the Cornea Cam suspended by a pair of tweezers. "This is going to be a bit of a sting at first," he warned as he dropped the lens into Dad's eye.
"Blink." Dad did as commanded, and immediately, his hand shot to his eye.
"Bloody hell! What'd you do that for? Sting a bit! What the hell's the matter with you?"
"Sorry," Atticus said, "just a bit of a magical shock. You're next, Hermione," he said, plucking up the brown lens. "Wait…you're not wearing contacts, are you?"
"Oh, right. Sorry, forgot," she said as she easily removed the small lens from her eye. Of course, that was what was so different about her- the absence of her usual delicate, silver framed glasses. Mum's reaction to the shock was almost identical to Dad's, minus the swearing, of course.
"Ouch! Why on earth did you have to go and do something stupid like that! That was a bit more than 'a bit'; you could have warned us better!"
"Sorry," Atticus said, sheepishly as he put drops of a soothing potion into their eyes. They blinked, trying to get used to the feeling.
"All right, now that that's taken care of…" he lifted two things that looked like index fingers from his briefcase.
"Right or left handed?" he asked Mum.
"Right."
He slipped it onto Mum's left hand index finger, and it immediately conformed to the slender shape of her finger, manicured nail and all.
"If you feel uneasy, like you're in danger, at any point in time during the evening, just put pressure on your fingertip. It will alert us in the control booth. Remember though, it's better to be cautious than dead."
They both nodded as Atticus slid the mould onto Dad's left hand index finger as well. Artemis answered a knock on the door, and turned to us.
"The cars are here," he said, curtly. Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, James (Charlotte on his arm) and Rachel appeared in the doorway, all equally dressed up. Rachel squealed in delight over Mum's gown, and a little less squealing was heard when she eyed me from head to toe. I was just waiting for her to burst out with a rousing rendition of 'It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas', but I silenced her with my icy cold glare.
For some insanely odd reason that I really couldn't even begin to wonder about, we took flying limousines to this ball thing. Not like Floo powder is easier and less time consuming or anything. We kids did get our own, though. That was fun. James and Fiona were very upset to find that the mini-bar was empty; Charlotte and Landon, however, appeared scandalized that they would even think such a thing.
This stupid ball reminded me too much of the Academy Awards (we had a Muggle television, too). There was even a red carpet and people snapping pictures of the pretty dresses for them to turn up in tomorrow's fashion magazines and tabloids. Of course, mine would show up on the Dervish and Banges Holiday Catalogue, which would conveniently show up just after the fall term started, plastering me, complete in all Yuletide Splendour, all over the Common Room.
We pulled up last- how clichéd. The doors were opened for us, and James stepped out first, Charlotte on his arm. Landon and Fiona followed, and then Rachel stepped out. Reporters immediately flocked to her. I mean, why wouldn't they? She was gorgeous, and had already earned herself cover pages on TeenWitch. I was left without many people taking pictures of me- I'm not sure if it was the dress, or the hair (although photographers loved taking pictures of Aunt Ginny), or maybe my lack of…a feminine figure. Whatever it was, I was left by myself, more or less. That was, until, a reporter from Quidditch Illustrated started talking to me, alerting all of the reporters who weren't able to get through to Landon that I, also a daughter of the Mistress of Magic, was present. I then realized how nice anonymity was.
I stood stock still, smiling occasionally as flashes were going off around me. The Quidditch Illustrated reporter was the one that I answered the most. He was asking questions about my goals and when I was going to take England up on their offer to play. I was told that the offer was under the table, and was completely shocked when I was asked about it.
Inner poise…I reminded myself, once again grateful that Rach had forced me to read/watch Bridget Jones's Diary (although I would never tell her that).
"When I'm put on the draft list," I said, with a pacifistic smile. I actually got a few chuckles, but was quickly ignored when the last chic limousine pulled up. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny stepped out first. Uncle Harry, as always, was immediately bombarded, assaulted and harassed by over-zealous reporters. When Mum and Dad stepped out, however, attention immediately shifted to Mum.
Ron…
"We're out," I whispered into the small microphone implanted into my cufflink. And my children thought that I was retired. Actually, the only ones that knew I wasn't were Hermione, Harry, Artemis and Atticus. I was still an Unspeakable, working in the Department of Mysteries with Harry. Up until a few weeks ago, Hermione had completed our team, adding an intellectual prowess that was irreplaceable. Now, as the Magistrix, she was involved in everything.
I was amazed, yet again, by my wife. She handled everything in stride, which is more than I could have done, had I been in her position. As we walked inside, she greeted the bigwigs, smiled for photographers (I could already see the disdain in their eyes when their sight fell on my lack of tie), politely answered the questions of the journalists, posed for fashion magazines (she was breathtaking that night), and complied with the wishes of the Unspeakables. And this was all before we were even ushered into the ballroom.
Finally, though, the doors were opened, and I escorted my wife down the stairs. At the head table with us were our children, Albus, Sirius, and the Potters. It was a well-known fact just about everywhere how close our families were, despite the blood tie. It was almost clichéd- three best friends all ending up in the same family. Dinner was served, but none of us got much to eat. What with reporters from every magazine on the face of the planet (including Quidditch Illustrated for Emily), politicians asking Hermione's view on the most trivial things that I've ever heard in my life (even more so than the liberation and unfair treatment of house elves), and over attentive waiters, we were barely able to get a word in edgewise to each other.
Emily stood up once she was finished with her dinner and moved to the outskirts of the room where I saw her talking to a boy. That, in and of itself, was infuriating. But then, she had the nerve to laugh. Needless to say, I was a little…put out.
Emily…
They had finally let us go inside, although we weren't even completely inside, even then. I made my way to the outside of the room to keep out of the stampede to talk to famous people. I found that they had set up chairs, and my feet were very pleased as I sat down.
"Someone sitting here?" asked a voice.
"No."
"Oh, hey."
I turned to look at whom it was who was talking to me. "Oh!" I said, surprised to see Will. "Hi. What are you doing here?"
"I was dragged here by my Dad and this weeks' girlfriend. You? Oh, wait…"
I laughed. "Yeah, I kind of have to be here." Of course, it was kind of awkward. I'd only met the guy once, and even then, it had been under rather strained circumstances.
…
…
"All right, then," I said, "They're letting us inside, now. I guess I'll see you later?"
"Yeah, later."
Honestly, how was I going to survive an entire year with this bloke?
Dinner was excruciatingly boring. Everyone decided to stop by and ask questions over stupid things like the cohabitation habits of Sudanese slugs. I picked at my meal, not being very hungry at all. This dress was kind of compressing my airflow, resulting in light-headedness such as that when I've been flying around in circles looking for the Snitch too long. I saw Will move to the edge of the dance floor that our tables were surrounding, and decided to join him.
"Hello," I said, walking over to where he was.
"What do you think made the Beatles so awesome? I mean, they had bad haircuts, their lyrics are shallow, their songs had four chords, and, come on, three guitars and a trap set? That's hardly music. But…the Beatles! I mean, man, they were awesome- a phenomenon!"
I stared at him for a moment, before saying, "What, do you just sit around thinking about that stuff? Who does that? You have way too much time on your hands." We laughed for a bit, before lapsing back into that uncomfortable lull.
"So, what's Hogwarts like?" he asked me.
I smiled. "Hogwarts is…wonderful."
"Details?"
"What do you want to do?"
"Erm…how many people are there?"
"Erm…perhaps, three hundred students? But there's usually only forty in a year, and seventy in a house. Give or take, of course."
"House?"
"Gryffindor, the best, of course, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff."
"Oh. You're in Gryffindor, then?"
"Yep."
"Oh."
The lights dimmed. That was our cue to go back to our seats, as the speeches were going to start. Everyone who was mingling made their way back to their seats. I took my seat next to Landon and sat back as Gramps got up to give his succession speech.
Gramps's speech was sufficiently boring, as I'd expected it to be. A bit of well-placed humour lightened the mood, but it didn't do much to ease the boredom. He talked about all that had been accomplished while he was in office, and how eager he was to watch the government develop through the hands of his daughter-in-law.
"Throughout the years, the Ministry has been able to do many great things. I am grateful to have been apart of them," Gramps was saying.
This dress was too itchy. I was very aware of it, as I began fighting the urge to scratch. One time, I leaned down just to delicately itch my ankle, but Mum shot me a look, clearly saying that it was not a good idea. Dad kind of smiled and shook his head, but then averted his attention back to his father, who was still talking.
I stole a glance to the door, wondering if after Gramps' speech I could make a run for it. I could go to the bathroom and scratch to my heart's content, and then sneak back in when Mum's speech was over. It sounded like a plan, as soon as Gramps was done.
Ron…Hermione was getting nervous. I could tell by the way that she was twisting her napkin on the table and by her lips, nervously moving as she reviewed her speech for the umpteenth time in her head. I'd seen her go through these motions before- any time we'd ever had to take a test, whenever she was nervous about telling me something, or whenever she was pressed for time. It was one of those adorable traits that she'd had when we were younger that eventually won me over.
It was those small little quirks that made me love her so much, I think. Just like art, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Though many people wouldn't classify Hermione as 'beautiful' per say, I think that she's gorgeous, breathtaking, ravishing. What had started out in our fifth year as a superficial physical attraction had blossomed into admiration, respect, and the deep-rooted love that had kept us together for all of those years.
I put my hand on hers, which were still twisting the napkin. The poor white linen never had a chance.
Even glancing over at Emily now reminded me of her. Her wildly curly hair just screamed out for the whole world to know who her mother is. The way she had the same small, straight nose as Hermione's, except smattered with my freckles and big blue eyes had always been my downfall when hounded with 'Daddy, please?'s, and even now, as she wrinkled her nose in an apparently itchy frustration, I was reminded of when she was three years old: a curious, sharp, trouble-making, adorable and endearing little girl that had won my heart the first time I saw her- screaming and all. For that reason, she was Daddy's Little Girl, and nothing could have changed that. I was sure that I would be an emotional wreck on her wedding day, whenever that may be (and presuming that I don't murder her fiancé just for looking at her). But hopefully, her wedding was a long way off- I was thinking another fifty years- and I wouldn't have to think about it until then.
Hermione let out a nervous sigh that was barely coherent. I caught it though, and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. She smiled gratefully at me, something that could usually make me melt, and turned her attention back to Dad. I didn't, though. My eyes stayed on her. She threw her napkin down onto the table, and removed her small hands from mine, twisting them nervously in her lap. I gave her knee an encouraging squeeze, causing her to jump a bit and suppress giggles. She hated it when I did that, because she could never keep her laugh back.
"And now," Dad said, "I confidently leave you in the competent hands of my daughter-in-law, Hermione Granger-Weasley."
I smiled at her, and clapped along with everybody as she stood and regally walked to the platform. She gave Dad a kiss on the cheek before standing behind a podium and smiling at the crowd in front of her that was still cheering. One by one, people began to stand up, until the entire congregation was standing in an ovation. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emily stand and leave the ballroom.
***
Emily…I couldn't take it anymore. Just when I thought that Gramps's speech would never end and that I was going to die of extreme itchiness, some itch relief god heard my prayers and he wrapped it all up.
"Now," said Gramps, beaming, "I can leave you with confidence, knowing that you will be in the competent hands of my daughter-in-law."
Mum stood up, and gracefully made her way to the head of the room. Stand up…stand up… I needed a standing ovation. I had to get out of here. My legs were going to fall off if I didn't itch them. My fingers were just itching (no pun intended) to scratch my itchy legs. This stupid dress. Dresses suck. Someone finally stood up, and soon the entire hall followed suit.
Wonderful opportunity to get my arse out of there.
I slipped out of the ballroom and into a hallway lined with Unspeakables. I wasn't sure where exactly to go, but my Seeker sense of direction sent me down the hallway and to the left. Of course, then I was stuck between two more turns. I moved to make a right, but then, I heard the noise. It sounded like pleading, screaming, crying…I couldn't quite place it. There were two voices- one high-pitched and frightened, and the other, deep and threatening.
"Please! No!" screamed the high voice. It was a man's that was for sure, but higher than usual. He sounded terrified.
"Do you know what you've done?" hissed the low voice. There was a dull thud, and moans of pain from the higher voice. More dull thuds echoed through the corridor, and the screams grew louder.
"Shut up!" the low voice hissed at him. "You ruined my life. You don't deserve to live."
I knew at that point that it was all over. My fate was sealed. I should have gone to get help, but I was rooted to the spot. Nothing would be tearing me away from here, although I was scared out of my mind. My breathing was shallow and fast, my heartbeat skyrocketed, and I was only going to intensify it as I slowly walked to the door, pressing my ear to it.
The sound had stopped. There was no more screaming, no more horrifying thuds, no more threats and no more sounds of movement at all were coming from inside. I take after my parents in many ways, one being my curiosity and desire to learn. It was that horrible curiosity that drove me to open the door and peer inside.
The first thing that came to my mind was to scream, and yet, my body took over with that immediate reaction as my brain processed what my eyes were seeing.
In the blink of an eye, I heard the door slam and lock behind me; I felt someone grab my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back; I felt a gloved hand being clasped over my mouth; I felt the most intense fear ever in my life; I heard hissing in my ear, and felt the person's warm breath against my ear.
"What did you see?" he hissed.
"Nothing," I said, through his gloved hand. He whirled me around, still with a tight grip on my wrist, although my mouth was now free.
The sight before me was one of the most terrifying things that I'd ever seen in my life.
The man was normal.
There were no oddities about him- no evil smile, no lazy eye, nothing special. His eyes were the coldest steel grey and soulless. No life reached those eyes. Even then, there was no emotion; it was as if he'd been offered the world, and refused it. This refusal reflected in his bitter eyes. He had seen so much, sacrificed innocent lives, and suffered his share as well. His hair was receding and greying, but it was evident that the floppy locks were once a chestnut brown. His face was weathered and tan, reminding me of a charming actor, however not anywhere near complacent. He wasn't very tall at all. In fact, he was just barely taller than I. He was clean cut, much like my father or uncle. He wore a designer suit- a Muggle suit. Just below his jaw line, where his jugular was located, a small tattoo was barely visible. It was a zigzag emblem that I'd seen before in history books, but I couldn't place it. The normalcy of him was unnerving. He looked like a man who was well respected that you wouldn't give a second glance if you happened to pass him in Diagon Alley.
"I'm going to ask you again, Emily Weasley. What. Did. You. See," growled this man.
I gasped. He knew my name. This heartless creature knew who I was and could kill me in an instant with his bare hands, if he was so inclined. But he could do more…I thought as he backed me into a wall. This man was so much stronger than I, and could have done virtually anything he wanted to me when it came right down to brute strength.
His head jerked up as he heard the sound. It was distant, but quickly approaching. The sound of footsteps running was echoing throughout the corridor; the Unspeakables had heard me scream.
I saw the terror in his eyes. Think like Mum…think like Mum…
"There!" I cried, mustering up all the bravado that I could find within me, "You see! They're coming for you. Once they see what you've done, and I tell them what I know, you'll be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of your life!"
The look on his face then was of inner turmoil. He had a choice: he could either, stay and kill me resulting in his arrest, or he could leave a free man while I lived, yet had the knowledge to convict him.
"I hope you know that I'll come for you. I'll come for you when you least expect it- while you're asleep in your fourth year Gryffindor dormitory; while you're playing Seeker for the house Quidditch team; while you're riding your horse, Lady. Watch your back, Missy. If I find out that you've told anyone, anyone, I'll not only be after you in a heartbeat, but your family, friends and all those that you hold dear as well; is that clear?"
I nodded in fear, my bottom lip trembling. This man was practically inside my head. He knew me, not the Emily Weasley, Seeker, from Quidditch Illustrated, but Emily Grace Weasley, the person.
He threw me on to the ground, as the footsteps grew closer. He shot something from his wand, causing the window to explode. Waiting for him was some kind of cable, allowing him to slide safely into the building across the street. It was clearly a planned job. It wasn't until he was gone, crashing through a window opposite mine, that I let my tears fall. I wailed like it was my job as I walked over to the man on the floor with trepidation.
The man was large around the middle, and it took much effort for me to turn him over. It was then that I screamed again. His eyes were open, shocked in fear. His half moon glasses were askew and broken. His portly frame was mangled and drenched in blood. His head, grey and balding on the top, was bashed in on the portion by his temple. Blood streamed from his mouth and other wounds. This man was not killed by magic, but by force, making it all the more terrifying. However, there was something that was more terrifying than any of it.
I knew him.
His name was Beecher Fitzgerald, a judge for the magical court. He had been one of Mum's colleagues for years, and they were friends, as well. They had sentenced many a man to Azkaban together, both just and fair.
Then something clicked in my head. The killer knew my name and personal information. This job had been planned. It was common knowledge that Mum and Fitzgerald had been friends and worked together on many occasions.
This killer was after Mum next, and I was just a bump in the road.
I looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood- an innocent man's blood. I involuntarily sobbed harder.
No. No this wasn't happening. I couldn't say anything, or else he'd follow through on his threats. He'd find out, someway, somehow; he'd find out.
I'd forget it. It never happened. I'd have to get it out of my mind, somehow. This couldn't possible have happened to me. Not to Emily Weasley. If I forgot it, they couldn't use truth serum on me. If I forgot it, they'd never know that I knew. Hell, I'd never know that I knew. I didn't see the killer, I would say. I would tell them that I'd walked in on Fitzgerald's body while I was trying to find the bathroom.
The Unspeakables rushed in, wands outstretched. I was already forgetting
Ron…Hermione stood at the platform, addressing everyone in a cool and confident voice that I was used to hearing from her. She was as nervous as hell, though; her hands were shaking.
"I am so grateful that you have deemed me worthy to lead you. I promise that I will-"
The air was pierced with a shrill scream. My hand flew to my earpiece, and I saw Harry and Hermione do the same, waiting for instructions. People glanced nervously at each other, and the Aurors waited patiently for some instruction. None came, so it must have been under control. Hermione continued.
"I promise that I will uphold the…"
But I tuned her out. I looked around the room frantically, and through the glass-paned doors at the top of the grand staircase, I saw Unspeakables rush from their posts with their wands at the ready. My eyes scanned every corner of the room. I saw the boy, Will, that Emily had been speaking to before, looking as bored as any kid would. He was by himself, though.
My little girl was nowhere to be found.
I lifted my cufflink to my hand, and said, "Atticus, can you get me a visual on Emily."
"We can't find her, Ron," said Atticus.
I heard a second scream resonate throughout the dining room, and I stood up so fast that my chair fell over backwards. Hermione met my eye, as terrified as I was. She rushed from the platform as I rushed towards the door. I wasn't surprised to see Harry running next to me. In addition to being my partner, he was also Emily's godfather (and Landon's, and Jack's for that matter), a role that he took very seriously, mainly because of his relationship with his own godfather. If Emily (or Landon or Jack) were ever in danger, I knew that I could count on him to be at my side. I felt the same way about his children.
We were scaling the grand staircase as the door was flung open, and Emily was practically dragged in, in a state of complete disarray. She was crying hysterically, and although she was drenched in blood, Hermione didn't hesitate to wrap her tight into a hug, stroking her hair and whispering to her. Harry and I exchanged a glance, and we stormed out of the room. I was mad as a hornet- someone had tried to hurt my baby. This was not going to end well for him.
I ran in the direction that the Unspeakables were running, so furious that I could barely see straight. Harry and I followed them to a conference room, secured by Aurors and Unspeakables. We flashed badges secured to the inside of our jackets, and with our high ranks were automatically given clearance into the room. What I saw was unbelievable. And then I knew.
Emily had seen it happen.
Harry had the same appalled look on his face that I did, however, he recovered and started barking orders.
"We need a forensic pathologist in here," he said. "Secure the surrounding area; perhaps we can nab him before he Apparates. It appears as if he was really mad to have beaten a man to death like this; certainly he can't be thinking clearly enough to apparate."
"Wait a minute," I said, my eyes trailing from the carnage to the window. A wire was hanging and leading to another broken window across the alley. I picked my way across the room with broken glass crunching beneath my feet. "This was planned," I said, fingering the wire. "He could have Apparated in here, and he could have Avada Kedavra-ed the bloke if her really wanted to. I think that this killer we're dealing with is a Squib."
"You think so?" asked Harry.
"I don't know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Hermione's better at this. We need to get her in here."
"I'm sorry, but we can't do that," said one of the Aurors (who worked for me, by the way), "Sir, we believe that this was an assassination attempt on the Magistrix. We can't knowingly endanger her by letting her waltz into a high risk area."
Harry and I turned to him with narrowed eyes. We'd done this speech at least twice before, only with slight alterations given the circumstance that we may have been in. You can get away with murder when you're famous (not really).
"Let us tell you a few things," Harry started. He always started. "One, you work for us. We'll be the ones giving orders around here."
"Two, my wife is one of the best damn Aurors that we've had. With a case like this one, you're not going to be able to stop her."
"And three," said Harry, "There's really nothing that you can do to stop us."
"Sorry, mate."
The man was flabbergasted, and nodded his head.
"Good," the two of us said together.
I brought my cufflink to my mouth. "Artemis," I said, "I want you to take my kids and the Potter kids to the Burrow. Make sure that Emily is with my mother, all right? Make sure that Hermione's security is taken care of, then get her in here."
"Yes, sir," came through my earpiece.
This was going to be a long night.
Author's Note: Do you know what I realized during the beginning of this chapter? My baby grew up! Landon, my innocent, cynical, noble, brave, funny, somewhat naive, shy, and smart Landon grew up! He's not Ron and Hermione's baby, no, he's mine. And he's grown up! Well, considering that he's a fictional character, he didn't grow up, per say, but he's a different Landon now. Sure, he's still the same, but now he's more mature. It's kind of strange to be writing about my new and improved mature Landon from someone else's perspective. Anyway, sorry, this took a really long time to update. Finals suck, but aside from this, it was a difficult chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, and while uploading wasn't working, I wrote another chapter! It will be up in a few days before I go on vacation on Sunday! Review, children, review!