Chapter 2
I follow the night Can't stand the light When will I begin To live again One day I'll fly away Leave all this to yesterday Why live life from dream to dream And dread the day when dreaming ends
*
When the days grow long and the work is hard the natural human defense is to go back to a time when it was easier. This is why at the end of the day, the older generations like to slip their feet into their slippers pick up their mug of fresh coffee in one hand and the paper in the other and talk about the "good old days." This especially held true in a little English town called Hogsmeade.
Before the revolution Hogsmeade had been near perfect. It was one of those picturesque, postcard town with friendly locals and a relaxed atmosphere. Little antique-style shops and country cottages all in shades of faded blue and yellow made up the architecture of the town, nothing fancy, but that's the way people like Hogsmeade. It had a train station in town, was a mere ten miles from the sea, and was the only total non-Muggle settlement in England. These factors made it a haven for the tired and frazzled who were at wits end, as well as the young and carefree who wanted to enjoy a day at the beach. But that was before the Revolution.
The fighting at the nearby Hogwarts Castle had all but utterly destroyed the once beloved village. It soon became home to the outcasts. The destitute, outlaws, Regierung exiles, family members of war enemies, and those who made money off of them were now the occupants of Hogsmeade. At night the streets were filled with drunks, prostitutes, and Death Eaters, who came down from Hogwarts.
The Death Eaters, the Regierung's "elite" military league and the only resemblance of law enforcement in Hogsmeade, presence in Hogsmeade was no accident. Aware that the town was filling up with enemies and outlaws the Regierung had strategically made Hogwarts Castle the center for their unique army. It now loomed over Hogsmeade, a constant reminder of to the weary citizens of what it had become.
Kathleen Potter found it terribly ironic that she had to live here.
She followed Will and Josh slowly, listening to their laughter. She really hated this town. To her it was the ultimate symbol of the government's success in oppression. Her mom talked about what a lovely town it had been, back when it was a real town and not a DE brothel, and back when Hogwarts had been a real school and not Hell's training grounds. But to Kathleen, Hogsmeade reeked of failure.
"Hey, Kath do you actually plan on working today, or are you hoping that Hank will pay you for looking at Hogwarts?"
"I can dream can't I?" she replied dryly before following Will into the bar.
The dimly let building, which was simply called Hank's Pub, had three distinguishing features. One was the bar. The bar itself wasn't especially impressive, but it's reputation proceeded it. At the bar you could be served anything, from water to Coke-Cola to domestic beers to fine wines. Everyone around the town knew it was the best spot, and any visitors desiring a drink was quickly pointed in it's direction. The second feature was the old jukebox. It was a simple Muggle jukebox, but it had been bewitched to play any song the user desired, not just the mere fifty it came programmed with. It also received the WWN broadcast, so it served as the town's main news source, as most of Hogsmeade's occupants were not lucky enough to own their own radio. The third and most impressive was Hank Carlyle himself.
As she started to wipe down the bar Kathleen thought that if she hadn't had known him her entire life, she would never had guessed by looking at him that he was the most respected man in a town. Besides being the most successful business owner he also served as mayor. His main job was covering up Hogsmeade's crime scene enough to satisfy the Regierung. This was no easy task, and one he only accomplished by getting along with everyone. He was extremely friendly and accepting, everyone was welcomed to his pub for example, which in turn made him well liked.
He certainly didn't look like a hard-core law enforcer. He was at least middle aged, probably older, but no one knew for sure. He was tall and lean with short, dark hair, and was actually not bad looking for his elusive age. His only bad feature was his nose. It looked like he had gotten in a fight with cleaver, and his nose had been the unfortunate victim. While Kathleen wasn't a great fan of long noses, she found his to be much to short, more of a flab of skin to cover his nostrils then a real nose. It had frightened her as a child, repulsed her as a teenager, and fascinated her now as a young adult. Everyone in Hogsmeade had a story. Some were known, some weren't. Hank's wasn't. And she was sure his nose was connected to why he was running a business here, and not in a more populated region. People didn't look like they had parts of their face hacked off for no reason.
Hank and his mysterious nose were currently settled at one of the tables by the jukebox. He was reading the Daily Prophet while drinking out of a blue china mug (which Kathleen happened to know held a cup of black coffee with a dash of firewhiskey) and listening to the morning report. The particularly annoying and terribly inarticulate correspondent Cynthia Knight was blabbering about some report about St. Thomas and its delinquent students. Kathleen could think of no worse way to start the morning then listening to some bimbo who couldn't talk and only got her job because she was Christina Winslow's niece.
"Hank must we listen to this nonsense?" she whined while pausing in her work.
Hank took a sip out of his mug.
"Yes."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could utter as much as a syllable.
"You can not totally reject the world you live in just because you don't like the way it's going. This radio is your only connection to the outside. And as much as the idea repulses you, I would much rather see you become a Regierung worker then a barmaid."
Kathleen shuddered and resumed her scrubbing.
"How about neither. I'm certainly not staying here any longer then I have to. I'm telling you, the minute I turn eighteen I am gone."
"Where will you go?"
She paused for another moment and then went back to work with unnecessary force.
"Anywhere but here."
*
"Is it just my imagination, or does this class get more boring every day?" Mindy whispered from the side to Tessa's left.
Tessa nodded in agreement as she continued French braiding Rachel Zabini's hair. She had long given up on school, deeming it all pointless, with the exception of Charms. When her mother got aggravated with her dropping grades, Tessa had used her own argument against her, pointing out that St. Thomas' formal education wouldn't help become the cultured wife of a Regierung official.
Mindy, on the other hand, generally enjoyed school, but was quickly becoming dissatisfied with their new, foreign Potions professor.
Rachel turned her head around slowly, as not to mess Tessa up.
"Why did we even have to come to school today? When my slave told me about the bombings, I thought for sure we'd stay home."
"It's because if they cancelled school they'd set the precedent to cancel school every time. Plus they want to give those Phoenix people a 'we are not intimidated' type statement," Mindy explained.
"Miss Flint, Miss Zabini, Miss Malfoy, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?
"Actually, yes Professor," Mindy replied smoothly. "As I was just saying to Rachel and Theresia, I found it unusually that with pigment changing potions, on alive subjects, you add the dragon scales after the ragweed stems, when in color changing potions on inanimate subjects, you add the scales before the ragweed, and I was wondering if it had something to do with the advanced structures in the alive subjects."
He looked both disappointed and impressed.
"Actually Miss Flint is correct. You see-"
And with that he droned back on about whatever the hell Mindy had said to him. Once she was sure he was completely distracted, Rachel turned back around.
"Why does the Regierung care what those phoenix freaks think about them? What can a handful of ragtag terrorists have against the most powerful government in the world?"
"Well, they're just a handful now." Mindy started. " But not everyone's happy with the Regierung, and if they see the Phoenixes succeeding then they'll rise up too, and then the Regierung will have a coup d'etat on their hands."
"A coup d-what?" Rachel asked wrinkling her nose like she had smelt something unpleasant.
"A coup d'etat, it's French for-"
"I know what it means, it's just that I can't see a revolution starting because we get out of school for a day!"
"It's just the principle of the matter Rachel."
"Miss Flint.'
"Sorry, professor. I was just telling Rachel that you must be the single most challenging professor I've ever had," she said with false sincerity, flashing one of her smiles.
"If she wasn't so jealous of Mindy, Mom would love her," Tessa thought with a twang of jealousy. "She's the daughter she always wanted."
But Tessa really wasn't too jealous of her best friend. Even if Mindy was smarter, prettier, and more popular then her, she also had even more problems at her house. On top of smoking, her own father's habit that Tessa despised, Marcus Flint drank heavily, too. It wasn't unusual for him to take weekend trips to Hogsmeade, and hit up the bars. When he wasn't drinking he was constantly pressuring Mindy to bring up her grades, which Tessa found both ridiculous and impossible. Her mother was even more demanding then Tessa's. Because of the Malfoy's position of absolute power, Tessa's marriage would, quite literally, be the best money could buy. The Flints, while generally respected, were not nearly as well off. Tara Flint saw Mindy's relationship with Dace as her way into high society, and put endless pressure on Mindy to make it work out.
At that moment the bell rung, freeing them all from the drudgery of Potion's class. After waiting a moment in order to avoid the jostling contests her peers always managed to create, Tessa followed Rachel and Mindy into the long hall of St. Thomas.
St. Thomas was set up like a prison, one story with a single, endless hallway with the classrooms coming off of it like cells. It was named after Supreme Lord Voldemort I, who really wasn't a saint, but was hailed as one by the Regierung.
At the end of the hallway laid the girl's destination, the Dining Hall. The white, sterile room always seemed too bright and clean, almost daring her to just try and dirty it. It reminded her of when she was three and had spilt grape juice in her mother's white couch in her private sitting room. Her furious screams had caused Tessa to run out of the room sobbing. Luckily her father rescued her, and took her to a nearby lake where they fed the ducks and gave her mother time to regain her composure.
Tessa followed Rachel to one of the circular tables that filled the Dining Hall. It was the same table she had eaten at for the last ten years, ever since she started at St. Thomas. She had always sat there with Mindy, Rachel, Violet Burgess, and Tara Avery. Over the years various boyfriends had been added and then, in turn, dismissed. Dace was, much to Tessa's displeasure, the newest table addition, along with his best friend Hilary Lestrang, who Tara had recently taken a fancy to.
Rachel eyed Tessa's school bag with suspicion.
"Where's your lunch Tess?
"I'm just eating off of Vi today," Tessa replied nonchalantly.
Rachel's gaze became more sympathetic.
"Trouble on the home front again?"
"Why do you assume that every time I don't bring a lunch there's trouble at my house?"
"Oh please Tess, don't pull this bullshit, I've known you too long. Whenever your parents have another fight, you don't eat for another week. Your mom would be furious if she knew."
"If you've known me so long Rachel, how come you think I give a damn about what my mother thinks?"
"What about your dad? He wouldn't exactly be thrilled to know you become semi-anorexic half the time."
Tessa didn't answer. Luckily at that moment Mindy arrived with Dace and Hilary in tow, and just moments later Tara and Violet joined them. As the table fell into comfortable chatter about absolutely nothing, Rachel still kept her eye on Tessa. During the hour lunch break she ate exactly two strawberries and a spoonful of yogurt.
*
It was really no wonder that cigarettes were considered a sex symbol. Slim, white, and smooth, they fit perfectly between your fingers and rest easily on your lips.
He finished his mental examination of the fag and pulled out a silver metallic lighter. With a wisp of flame the end crumpled into black ash. He brought it too his lips and inhaled, savoring the taste before letting out a long tendril of smoke.
He really should quit smoking, and he knew it. Tessa absolutely hated the habit and wouldn't come near him if she smelt smoke on his clothes. But work had been hell, and even though it had been expected, it didn't make the ordeal any less torturous. He wanted to come home and just relax, but no, that couldn't be. Pansy and Dace were having another row, this time about whether or not he could bring Mindy Flint to a Regierung event they were attending next week. Pansy had expected him to take her side, and when he didn't she became irrational and moody for the rest of the evening. He had to escape all of them, and if the only way was through a cancer- causing agent, then so be it. No one lives forever.
He let out another breath of smoke, before leaning out on the balcony's railing and taking inhaling the night air. September was, without a doubt his favorite time of year. Tonight was exceptionally nice, with cool breezes filling the open grounds of Malfoy Manor. He was about to raise the fag again when a nearby voice interrupted his musings.
"Smoking kills you know."
He lowered the fag as a smile played across his lips.
"You sound like Tessa."
"That's not much of a shock considering I live with her."
She stood at the door with a basket of clothes (presumably Tessa's) balanced on one hip. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and understanding. He understood her emotions well, she, like Tessa, didn't fancy his smoking habit, but she lived in this house too. She saw everything he did, and probably more. She understood the need to get away from it all as well as he did.
"Come on out," he said beckoning with his free hand.
"I can't, I have to take these up to Tessa's suite, put them away, then collect her dirtied clothes, take them down to laundry room-"
"Hermione, you work too hard."
She shrugged in agreement.
"There are worse things."
"Indeed" he thought. Then aloud added, "No one will miss you for five minutes. Besides, you work like a horse all day and need a break."
Her original excuse had been a feeble one, because at that she put down her basket and walked out. As she walked, she placed her hands at the bottom of her back, and arched it slightly. He felt a stab of sympathy for her. When she came to the Manor just after the end of the Revolution, she had just begun recovery from a back injury she had received from fighting. The constant toil of work put strain on her back, and had never allowed her to properly recover. As a result in a few years, it had been totally ruined, and she was in constant pain because of it.
"How's your back feeling?" he asked when she reached him.
"Fine, just a little sore from all the laundry," she lied, not letting him know exactly how much pain she was really in.
He snorted in disbelief.
"You really need to do something about it. If you don't it will only get worse and you won't be able to do anything by the time your forty."
"Do something about it. Yes, I think I will. Maybe I'll talk to your mother. 'Narcissa, dear, can I not work endless hours for you and your family, because my back hurts?' Yes, I see that going over well, thank you for solving all my problems."
He took in another breath of smoke and blew it out parallel to her, in order to spite her. He was rewarded when she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"You're absolutely impossible, I hope you know that."
He pondered the statement for a while.
"Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, Pansy tells me that all the time."
"That's probably the only intelligent thing to ever come out of that bitch's mouth."
"Despite how shrewd and possible accurate your opinion of her is, it would probably do you good not to refer to Pansy as 'that bitch,'" he replied curtly as he tapped the end of the fag on the balcony. After a close examination he decided it was officially dead, dropped it to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his boot. When he looked back up he met Hermione's disproving glare.
"Someone's going to have to scrub that spot in the morning. And if it's me I will personally find every last fag in this house and destroy them," she threatened placing her left hand on her back again.
Amused, he watched her as she tried to knead the pain out with her one hand.
"That isn't going to help too much. You can't apply enough pressure or cover enough of the area of your back."
He chuckled as she gave him a look of pure exasperation.
"Thank you Sherlock, not only did you tell me something I already knew, but you also contributed nothing to the solution of the problem."
"Well, I am exceptionally good at that."
Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "That's for sure," under her breath, just loud enough for him to barely catch it. She continued rubbing her back for a while longer before giving up. He was right, there was little good she could do on her own. She closed her eyes, enjoying her few moments of freedom, and trying to distract herself from her aching back.
"Someday, that Phoenix Experiment, or whatever it's called, is going to rise up and blow you out of the water. And when it does, the first thing I'm going to do is hire a personal masseuse."
She smiled as she heard him snort. It was with either surprise or laughter, she really couldn't tell just by the sound of it.
"That's the first thing you're going to do? You're not going to try to find your son or anyone else in your family, for that matter. You're going to go find a masseuse."
His voice was full of disbelief, that wasn't swept away with her fervent nod.
"They'll still be there when my massage is over. But I can't guarantee my back will be without one."
He studied her face for a moment, and then searched his pocket for another fag. Having successfully found one, he lit it, then turned back to her.
"You're weird."
She let out a laugh that broke the empty silence of the night. He shook his head in amazement and went back to smoking.
*
Hank was a pacifist. When Kathleen had asked him about it, he merely replied 'I've already lived through two wars, and I pray I don't have to live through another.' And with that he went back to his firewhisky with a nod to the customer who had just entered the pub.
This wasn't really a surprise to anyone who knew him. Hank was against everything. War topped an ever growing list which included the government, the rebels, the banking system, prostitution, DEs, terrorists, drugs, premarital sex, birth control, abortion, and about everything else in the world. The only thing he openly supported, that Kathleen could think of, was alcohol. And he would probably oppose that if he didn't own a pub.
Hank was probably the only Hogsmeade local who didn't want to see Operation Phoenix destroy the Regierung. That was why it was so ironic that every Saturday, Monday, and Thursday the members of the most well known, and successful, resistance group, met in his cellar.
Kathleen had long ago acquired the key to the back cellar door. It proved to be irreplaceable, as it gave the members entrance to the cellar without actually entering the pub. It would have been next to impossible for Kathleen and Will to smuggle everyone behind the bar and into the cellar without attracting Hanks' attention.
They were a relatively small group. However this was by plan, rather then accident. Roy Creevey, founder and leader of the group, would only allow in people he knew, without a shadow of doubt, could be trusted. The smaller numbers also allowed easier organization, and meant less attention to the individuals.
It was a dominant male environment; the only other female in the group was Eileen Finnigan, who Kathleen suspected was there more for reputation then anything else. Towards the end of the Revolution, Eileen's uncle Seamus had switched sides and joined the DE forces. His betrayal had been a deciding factor in the outcome of the final battle, and had led to Kathleen's father's capture and eventual death. Today he held a prominent position as Head of Security for the Malfoys. This shamed Eileen's family to no end, and Eileen had made it her personal mission to life to alienate herself from her uncle's legacy.
Roy was excited. He seemed totally exasperated as members divulged in small talk and rushed them through the talk of money and supplies. 'This means he has an idea,' Will thought. Which was unusual, as Roy like to let time elapse between strikes. 'Which means it's something big,' Will realized grimly.
As talk died down, Roy stood exuberantly. Kathleen stared at him unimpressed.
"This better be good," she muttered to Will. "We don't need another disaster like the one at Breckenridge."
Will nodded in agreement. While ambitious, Roy tended not to focus on the details within his plans. He tried to conduct a raid at the town of Breckenridge, in York. Breckenridge, a Regierung hotbed, was also the location of the Malfoy Estate. What Roy hadn't thought of was that there would be increased security there in order to protect the Imperial family. The raid was unsuccessful and had caused them to lose two members to DE curses.
"As you all know," Roy started, "Next weekend is the Regierung's Imperial Ball. All of the Regierung official, and their families, attend-"
"Yes, Roy, we know all this. Cut to the chase."
"I was getting there, Andrew, if you would be more patient. As I was saying, all of their family members will be there. Now let's talk about Draco Malfoy."
"What about him?" Will asked.
"Well, he was once a fearless fighter, but he's lost his backbone since his children were born. He's so concerned about his kids, that he doesn't like to get involved in the Regierung too much."
"What's your point, Roy?"
"My point is, that he is aware of this as well. In fact, our contact in the Manor has informed me that at the Imperial Ball, Draco will abdicate his right as heir, and name his son Dacian as Lucius' heir."
This pronouncement was immediately followed by a wave of whispers, as everyone assessed the situation. Kathleen was the only one who silently absorbed the situation.
"Now," Roy began again, and the noise immediately died, "My contact has also informed me that for security reasons, the Malfoys take four of their limousines when traveling. In the first one is Draco and Pansy's daughter, along with slaves and security. The second one is Lucius and Narcissa's. Draco and Pansy are in the third one, and Dacian brings up the rear. On top of his security and all that, he will also be accompanied by Melina Flint, his current girlfriend."
"Flint?" Eileen asked slowly. "Is she related to that drunkard who comes down to the pub every weekend?"
"Does it really matter?" Roy snapped. "Look, here's the plan. It's fifty miles between Anguitenentis Gate and Breckenridge. That will give us plenty of time."
"Time for what!" Kathleen snapped impatiently.
"Time to hijack Dacian's limo and kidnap the newly named Regierung heir."
*
A/N: Sorry, this took a lot longer then I expected. Once again (for those of you who didn't read the note on my bio) this is the un-betaed version, so it may be reposted. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, especially since I'm out of school.
However, I'll warn you that I'm still in total shock of my second favorite character being killed in OOTP. I won't say names for those of you who haven't had the privilege of having your heart ripped out and stomped on by Mrs. Joanne Kathleen Rowling-Murray (wow, who else is impressed that I know her full name), but I'm having a hard time dealing. Chocolate will help if anyone's interested.
By the way, as I was informed, a fag is the British slang for cigarette incase anyone was confuses. I just thought it was funny.
I follow the night Can't stand the light When will I begin To live again One day I'll fly away Leave all this to yesterday Why live life from dream to dream And dread the day when dreaming ends
*
When the days grow long and the work is hard the natural human defense is to go back to a time when it was easier. This is why at the end of the day, the older generations like to slip their feet into their slippers pick up their mug of fresh coffee in one hand and the paper in the other and talk about the "good old days." This especially held true in a little English town called Hogsmeade.
Before the revolution Hogsmeade had been near perfect. It was one of those picturesque, postcard town with friendly locals and a relaxed atmosphere. Little antique-style shops and country cottages all in shades of faded blue and yellow made up the architecture of the town, nothing fancy, but that's the way people like Hogsmeade. It had a train station in town, was a mere ten miles from the sea, and was the only total non-Muggle settlement in England. These factors made it a haven for the tired and frazzled who were at wits end, as well as the young and carefree who wanted to enjoy a day at the beach. But that was before the Revolution.
The fighting at the nearby Hogwarts Castle had all but utterly destroyed the once beloved village. It soon became home to the outcasts. The destitute, outlaws, Regierung exiles, family members of war enemies, and those who made money off of them were now the occupants of Hogsmeade. At night the streets were filled with drunks, prostitutes, and Death Eaters, who came down from Hogwarts.
The Death Eaters, the Regierung's "elite" military league and the only resemblance of law enforcement in Hogsmeade, presence in Hogsmeade was no accident. Aware that the town was filling up with enemies and outlaws the Regierung had strategically made Hogwarts Castle the center for their unique army. It now loomed over Hogsmeade, a constant reminder of to the weary citizens of what it had become.
Kathleen Potter found it terribly ironic that she had to live here.
She followed Will and Josh slowly, listening to their laughter. She really hated this town. To her it was the ultimate symbol of the government's success in oppression. Her mom talked about what a lovely town it had been, back when it was a real town and not a DE brothel, and back when Hogwarts had been a real school and not Hell's training grounds. But to Kathleen, Hogsmeade reeked of failure.
"Hey, Kath do you actually plan on working today, or are you hoping that Hank will pay you for looking at Hogwarts?"
"I can dream can't I?" she replied dryly before following Will into the bar.
The dimly let building, which was simply called Hank's Pub, had three distinguishing features. One was the bar. The bar itself wasn't especially impressive, but it's reputation proceeded it. At the bar you could be served anything, from water to Coke-Cola to domestic beers to fine wines. Everyone around the town knew it was the best spot, and any visitors desiring a drink was quickly pointed in it's direction. The second feature was the old jukebox. It was a simple Muggle jukebox, but it had been bewitched to play any song the user desired, not just the mere fifty it came programmed with. It also received the WWN broadcast, so it served as the town's main news source, as most of Hogsmeade's occupants were not lucky enough to own their own radio. The third and most impressive was Hank Carlyle himself.
As she started to wipe down the bar Kathleen thought that if she hadn't had known him her entire life, she would never had guessed by looking at him that he was the most respected man in a town. Besides being the most successful business owner he also served as mayor. His main job was covering up Hogsmeade's crime scene enough to satisfy the Regierung. This was no easy task, and one he only accomplished by getting along with everyone. He was extremely friendly and accepting, everyone was welcomed to his pub for example, which in turn made him well liked.
He certainly didn't look like a hard-core law enforcer. He was at least middle aged, probably older, but no one knew for sure. He was tall and lean with short, dark hair, and was actually not bad looking for his elusive age. His only bad feature was his nose. It looked like he had gotten in a fight with cleaver, and his nose had been the unfortunate victim. While Kathleen wasn't a great fan of long noses, she found his to be much to short, more of a flab of skin to cover his nostrils then a real nose. It had frightened her as a child, repulsed her as a teenager, and fascinated her now as a young adult. Everyone in Hogsmeade had a story. Some were known, some weren't. Hank's wasn't. And she was sure his nose was connected to why he was running a business here, and not in a more populated region. People didn't look like they had parts of their face hacked off for no reason.
Hank and his mysterious nose were currently settled at one of the tables by the jukebox. He was reading the Daily Prophet while drinking out of a blue china mug (which Kathleen happened to know held a cup of black coffee with a dash of firewhiskey) and listening to the morning report. The particularly annoying and terribly inarticulate correspondent Cynthia Knight was blabbering about some report about St. Thomas and its delinquent students. Kathleen could think of no worse way to start the morning then listening to some bimbo who couldn't talk and only got her job because she was Christina Winslow's niece.
"Hank must we listen to this nonsense?" she whined while pausing in her work.
Hank took a sip out of his mug.
"Yes."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off before she could utter as much as a syllable.
"You can not totally reject the world you live in just because you don't like the way it's going. This radio is your only connection to the outside. And as much as the idea repulses you, I would much rather see you become a Regierung worker then a barmaid."
Kathleen shuddered and resumed her scrubbing.
"How about neither. I'm certainly not staying here any longer then I have to. I'm telling you, the minute I turn eighteen I am gone."
"Where will you go?"
She paused for another moment and then went back to work with unnecessary force.
"Anywhere but here."
*
"Is it just my imagination, or does this class get more boring every day?" Mindy whispered from the side to Tessa's left.
Tessa nodded in agreement as she continued French braiding Rachel Zabini's hair. She had long given up on school, deeming it all pointless, with the exception of Charms. When her mother got aggravated with her dropping grades, Tessa had used her own argument against her, pointing out that St. Thomas' formal education wouldn't help become the cultured wife of a Regierung official.
Mindy, on the other hand, generally enjoyed school, but was quickly becoming dissatisfied with their new, foreign Potions professor.
Rachel turned her head around slowly, as not to mess Tessa up.
"Why did we even have to come to school today? When my slave told me about the bombings, I thought for sure we'd stay home."
"It's because if they cancelled school they'd set the precedent to cancel school every time. Plus they want to give those Phoenix people a 'we are not intimidated' type statement," Mindy explained.
"Miss Flint, Miss Zabini, Miss Malfoy, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?
"Actually, yes Professor," Mindy replied smoothly. "As I was just saying to Rachel and Theresia, I found it unusually that with pigment changing potions, on alive subjects, you add the dragon scales after the ragweed stems, when in color changing potions on inanimate subjects, you add the scales before the ragweed, and I was wondering if it had something to do with the advanced structures in the alive subjects."
He looked both disappointed and impressed.
"Actually Miss Flint is correct. You see-"
And with that he droned back on about whatever the hell Mindy had said to him. Once she was sure he was completely distracted, Rachel turned back around.
"Why does the Regierung care what those phoenix freaks think about them? What can a handful of ragtag terrorists have against the most powerful government in the world?"
"Well, they're just a handful now." Mindy started. " But not everyone's happy with the Regierung, and if they see the Phoenixes succeeding then they'll rise up too, and then the Regierung will have a coup d'etat on their hands."
"A coup d-what?" Rachel asked wrinkling her nose like she had smelt something unpleasant.
"A coup d'etat, it's French for-"
"I know what it means, it's just that I can't see a revolution starting because we get out of school for a day!"
"It's just the principle of the matter Rachel."
"Miss Flint.'
"Sorry, professor. I was just telling Rachel that you must be the single most challenging professor I've ever had," she said with false sincerity, flashing one of her smiles.
"If she wasn't so jealous of Mindy, Mom would love her," Tessa thought with a twang of jealousy. "She's the daughter she always wanted."
But Tessa really wasn't too jealous of her best friend. Even if Mindy was smarter, prettier, and more popular then her, she also had even more problems at her house. On top of smoking, her own father's habit that Tessa despised, Marcus Flint drank heavily, too. It wasn't unusual for him to take weekend trips to Hogsmeade, and hit up the bars. When he wasn't drinking he was constantly pressuring Mindy to bring up her grades, which Tessa found both ridiculous and impossible. Her mother was even more demanding then Tessa's. Because of the Malfoy's position of absolute power, Tessa's marriage would, quite literally, be the best money could buy. The Flints, while generally respected, were not nearly as well off. Tara Flint saw Mindy's relationship with Dace as her way into high society, and put endless pressure on Mindy to make it work out.
At that moment the bell rung, freeing them all from the drudgery of Potion's class. After waiting a moment in order to avoid the jostling contests her peers always managed to create, Tessa followed Rachel and Mindy into the long hall of St. Thomas.
St. Thomas was set up like a prison, one story with a single, endless hallway with the classrooms coming off of it like cells. It was named after Supreme Lord Voldemort I, who really wasn't a saint, but was hailed as one by the Regierung.
At the end of the hallway laid the girl's destination, the Dining Hall. The white, sterile room always seemed too bright and clean, almost daring her to just try and dirty it. It reminded her of when she was three and had spilt grape juice in her mother's white couch in her private sitting room. Her furious screams had caused Tessa to run out of the room sobbing. Luckily her father rescued her, and took her to a nearby lake where they fed the ducks and gave her mother time to regain her composure.
Tessa followed Rachel to one of the circular tables that filled the Dining Hall. It was the same table she had eaten at for the last ten years, ever since she started at St. Thomas. She had always sat there with Mindy, Rachel, Violet Burgess, and Tara Avery. Over the years various boyfriends had been added and then, in turn, dismissed. Dace was, much to Tessa's displeasure, the newest table addition, along with his best friend Hilary Lestrang, who Tara had recently taken a fancy to.
Rachel eyed Tessa's school bag with suspicion.
"Where's your lunch Tess?
"I'm just eating off of Vi today," Tessa replied nonchalantly.
Rachel's gaze became more sympathetic.
"Trouble on the home front again?"
"Why do you assume that every time I don't bring a lunch there's trouble at my house?"
"Oh please Tess, don't pull this bullshit, I've known you too long. Whenever your parents have another fight, you don't eat for another week. Your mom would be furious if she knew."
"If you've known me so long Rachel, how come you think I give a damn about what my mother thinks?"
"What about your dad? He wouldn't exactly be thrilled to know you become semi-anorexic half the time."
Tessa didn't answer. Luckily at that moment Mindy arrived with Dace and Hilary in tow, and just moments later Tara and Violet joined them. As the table fell into comfortable chatter about absolutely nothing, Rachel still kept her eye on Tessa. During the hour lunch break she ate exactly two strawberries and a spoonful of yogurt.
*
It was really no wonder that cigarettes were considered a sex symbol. Slim, white, and smooth, they fit perfectly between your fingers and rest easily on your lips.
He finished his mental examination of the fag and pulled out a silver metallic lighter. With a wisp of flame the end crumpled into black ash. He brought it too his lips and inhaled, savoring the taste before letting out a long tendril of smoke.
He really should quit smoking, and he knew it. Tessa absolutely hated the habit and wouldn't come near him if she smelt smoke on his clothes. But work had been hell, and even though it had been expected, it didn't make the ordeal any less torturous. He wanted to come home and just relax, but no, that couldn't be. Pansy and Dace were having another row, this time about whether or not he could bring Mindy Flint to a Regierung event they were attending next week. Pansy had expected him to take her side, and when he didn't she became irrational and moody for the rest of the evening. He had to escape all of them, and if the only way was through a cancer- causing agent, then so be it. No one lives forever.
He let out another breath of smoke, before leaning out on the balcony's railing and taking inhaling the night air. September was, without a doubt his favorite time of year. Tonight was exceptionally nice, with cool breezes filling the open grounds of Malfoy Manor. He was about to raise the fag again when a nearby voice interrupted his musings.
"Smoking kills you know."
He lowered the fag as a smile played across his lips.
"You sound like Tessa."
"That's not much of a shock considering I live with her."
She stood at the door with a basket of clothes (presumably Tessa's) balanced on one hip. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and understanding. He understood her emotions well, she, like Tessa, didn't fancy his smoking habit, but she lived in this house too. She saw everything he did, and probably more. She understood the need to get away from it all as well as he did.
"Come on out," he said beckoning with his free hand.
"I can't, I have to take these up to Tessa's suite, put them away, then collect her dirtied clothes, take them down to laundry room-"
"Hermione, you work too hard."
She shrugged in agreement.
"There are worse things."
"Indeed" he thought. Then aloud added, "No one will miss you for five minutes. Besides, you work like a horse all day and need a break."
Her original excuse had been a feeble one, because at that she put down her basket and walked out. As she walked, she placed her hands at the bottom of her back, and arched it slightly. He felt a stab of sympathy for her. When she came to the Manor just after the end of the Revolution, she had just begun recovery from a back injury she had received from fighting. The constant toil of work put strain on her back, and had never allowed her to properly recover. As a result in a few years, it had been totally ruined, and she was in constant pain because of it.
"How's your back feeling?" he asked when she reached him.
"Fine, just a little sore from all the laundry," she lied, not letting him know exactly how much pain she was really in.
He snorted in disbelief.
"You really need to do something about it. If you don't it will only get worse and you won't be able to do anything by the time your forty."
"Do something about it. Yes, I think I will. Maybe I'll talk to your mother. 'Narcissa, dear, can I not work endless hours for you and your family, because my back hurts?' Yes, I see that going over well, thank you for solving all my problems."
He took in another breath of smoke and blew it out parallel to her, in order to spite her. He was rewarded when she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"You're absolutely impossible, I hope you know that."
He pondered the statement for a while.
"Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, Pansy tells me that all the time."
"That's probably the only intelligent thing to ever come out of that bitch's mouth."
"Despite how shrewd and possible accurate your opinion of her is, it would probably do you good not to refer to Pansy as 'that bitch,'" he replied curtly as he tapped the end of the fag on the balcony. After a close examination he decided it was officially dead, dropped it to the ground and smashed it with the heel of his boot. When he looked back up he met Hermione's disproving glare.
"Someone's going to have to scrub that spot in the morning. And if it's me I will personally find every last fag in this house and destroy them," she threatened placing her left hand on her back again.
Amused, he watched her as she tried to knead the pain out with her one hand.
"That isn't going to help too much. You can't apply enough pressure or cover enough of the area of your back."
He chuckled as she gave him a look of pure exasperation.
"Thank you Sherlock, not only did you tell me something I already knew, but you also contributed nothing to the solution of the problem."
"Well, I am exceptionally good at that."
Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "That's for sure," under her breath, just loud enough for him to barely catch it. She continued rubbing her back for a while longer before giving up. He was right, there was little good she could do on her own. She closed her eyes, enjoying her few moments of freedom, and trying to distract herself from her aching back.
"Someday, that Phoenix Experiment, or whatever it's called, is going to rise up and blow you out of the water. And when it does, the first thing I'm going to do is hire a personal masseuse."
She smiled as she heard him snort. It was with either surprise or laughter, she really couldn't tell just by the sound of it.
"That's the first thing you're going to do? You're not going to try to find your son or anyone else in your family, for that matter. You're going to go find a masseuse."
His voice was full of disbelief, that wasn't swept away with her fervent nod.
"They'll still be there when my massage is over. But I can't guarantee my back will be without one."
He studied her face for a moment, and then searched his pocket for another fag. Having successfully found one, he lit it, then turned back to her.
"You're weird."
She let out a laugh that broke the empty silence of the night. He shook his head in amazement and went back to smoking.
*
Hank was a pacifist. When Kathleen had asked him about it, he merely replied 'I've already lived through two wars, and I pray I don't have to live through another.' And with that he went back to his firewhisky with a nod to the customer who had just entered the pub.
This wasn't really a surprise to anyone who knew him. Hank was against everything. War topped an ever growing list which included the government, the rebels, the banking system, prostitution, DEs, terrorists, drugs, premarital sex, birth control, abortion, and about everything else in the world. The only thing he openly supported, that Kathleen could think of, was alcohol. And he would probably oppose that if he didn't own a pub.
Hank was probably the only Hogsmeade local who didn't want to see Operation Phoenix destroy the Regierung. That was why it was so ironic that every Saturday, Monday, and Thursday the members of the most well known, and successful, resistance group, met in his cellar.
Kathleen had long ago acquired the key to the back cellar door. It proved to be irreplaceable, as it gave the members entrance to the cellar without actually entering the pub. It would have been next to impossible for Kathleen and Will to smuggle everyone behind the bar and into the cellar without attracting Hanks' attention.
They were a relatively small group. However this was by plan, rather then accident. Roy Creevey, founder and leader of the group, would only allow in people he knew, without a shadow of doubt, could be trusted. The smaller numbers also allowed easier organization, and meant less attention to the individuals.
It was a dominant male environment; the only other female in the group was Eileen Finnigan, who Kathleen suspected was there more for reputation then anything else. Towards the end of the Revolution, Eileen's uncle Seamus had switched sides and joined the DE forces. His betrayal had been a deciding factor in the outcome of the final battle, and had led to Kathleen's father's capture and eventual death. Today he held a prominent position as Head of Security for the Malfoys. This shamed Eileen's family to no end, and Eileen had made it her personal mission to life to alienate herself from her uncle's legacy.
Roy was excited. He seemed totally exasperated as members divulged in small talk and rushed them through the talk of money and supplies. 'This means he has an idea,' Will thought. Which was unusual, as Roy like to let time elapse between strikes. 'Which means it's something big,' Will realized grimly.
As talk died down, Roy stood exuberantly. Kathleen stared at him unimpressed.
"This better be good," she muttered to Will. "We don't need another disaster like the one at Breckenridge."
Will nodded in agreement. While ambitious, Roy tended not to focus on the details within his plans. He tried to conduct a raid at the town of Breckenridge, in York. Breckenridge, a Regierung hotbed, was also the location of the Malfoy Estate. What Roy hadn't thought of was that there would be increased security there in order to protect the Imperial family. The raid was unsuccessful and had caused them to lose two members to DE curses.
"As you all know," Roy started, "Next weekend is the Regierung's Imperial Ball. All of the Regierung official, and their families, attend-"
"Yes, Roy, we know all this. Cut to the chase."
"I was getting there, Andrew, if you would be more patient. As I was saying, all of their family members will be there. Now let's talk about Draco Malfoy."
"What about him?" Will asked.
"Well, he was once a fearless fighter, but he's lost his backbone since his children were born. He's so concerned about his kids, that he doesn't like to get involved in the Regierung too much."
"What's your point, Roy?"
"My point is, that he is aware of this as well. In fact, our contact in the Manor has informed me that at the Imperial Ball, Draco will abdicate his right as heir, and name his son Dacian as Lucius' heir."
This pronouncement was immediately followed by a wave of whispers, as everyone assessed the situation. Kathleen was the only one who silently absorbed the situation.
"Now," Roy began again, and the noise immediately died, "My contact has also informed me that for security reasons, the Malfoys take four of their limousines when traveling. In the first one is Draco and Pansy's daughter, along with slaves and security. The second one is Lucius and Narcissa's. Draco and Pansy are in the third one, and Dacian brings up the rear. On top of his security and all that, he will also be accompanied by Melina Flint, his current girlfriend."
"Flint?" Eileen asked slowly. "Is she related to that drunkard who comes down to the pub every weekend?"
"Does it really matter?" Roy snapped. "Look, here's the plan. It's fifty miles between Anguitenentis Gate and Breckenridge. That will give us plenty of time."
"Time for what!" Kathleen snapped impatiently.
"Time to hijack Dacian's limo and kidnap the newly named Regierung heir."
*
A/N: Sorry, this took a lot longer then I expected. Once again (for those of you who didn't read the note on my bio) this is the un-betaed version, so it may be reposted. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, especially since I'm out of school.
However, I'll warn you that I'm still in total shock of my second favorite character being killed in OOTP. I won't say names for those of you who haven't had the privilege of having your heart ripped out and stomped on by Mrs. Joanne Kathleen Rowling-Murray (wow, who else is impressed that I know her full name), but I'm having a hard time dealing. Chocolate will help if anyone's interested.
By the way, as I was informed, a fag is the British slang for cigarette incase anyone was confuses. I just thought it was funny.