Hate this and I'll love you

Chapter Two - Family, Death Eaters and Martial Arts

I had a nice friendly chat with Bart, after I joined in their poker game and won hands down (I'm amazing at bluffing - cheating too). We talked about Lewis and he promised to keep an eye out for him, and Death Eaters in general, and caught up on old times.

At about three in the morning, which didn't feel that late for me because I had jet lag, or should that be Apparation lag, I staggered back to the Leaky Cauldron full off drinks I didn't pay for and money that I had stole. I had the most amazing dreams about Him, only to awake to find myself tangled up in the bedcovers and I fell off the bed and thumped my head on the wooden floor, which was one hell of a way to wake up.

At this point I wondered if I should go and visit my parents. I'm not too keen on visiting them, because they always find something wrong with me. I'm not saying I'm Mary Poppins or anything, (practically perfect in every way) but I could do with some recognition. They don't so it on purpose, I've got several brilliant and successful older Muggle siblings, who are all married with a mortgage and a picket fence. But, being a witch and all, not to mention working for a secret government agency that the government doesn't really know about , makes me abnormal.

You would think that they would see me as special or something, because I have talents that they don't have (being Muggles and all), but it's just like being dyslexic. I'm so misunderstood (insert self pitying sobs). And to put the cherry on the cake, I refuse to get married just to please them. "Please Skye, do something normal for a change!" is practically there war cry. Once I hear that phrase, I know that I'm in for a long lecture about how I could marry their friends Mark and Sybil McDonald's nice son (or something to that extent) and settle down to lead a normal/excessively dull life in which picking out cutains would be the highlight.

So you can see how I don't especially look forward to Christmas and birthdays.

I suppose…that having four older siblings made me need to be different to stand out and get some attention, and you know what they say, "All publicity is good publicity," which I reckon goes for attention too. When I was a teenager I pulled some pretty reckless stunts, which gave me the experience for this job, I guess.

But, since I was in the country, it seemed pretty rude not to at least go and say hello and drink tea and exchange news and unpleasantries, even if it did mean listening to mum harping on about how my sister Sicily has a brand new BMW and how Madras's wife is expecting again (yes, weirdly enough, my brothers and sisters and I are named after the places that our parents conceived us, I was conceived in the Island of Skye, Sicily obviously in the island off Italy, my brother Madras in India and my brother Brora also in Scotland; my parents are odd. And, worse of all, it's become a family tradition; I have a niece called Lille and a nephew called Berlin. What would happen, I ask myself, if one got impregnated in Portsmouth, for example? A child that is bullied at school, that's what would happen. And wizards are supposed to have odd names.). And then they ask me if I have a man in my life and try to give me advice I swear comes from the seventeenth century. It gets rather repetitive, but they are my family and you're supposed to love them, even if they are a pain.

So after an hour of writing all the pros and cons of visiting the dreaded parents in my room in the Leaky cauldron under the bedcovers as if that would somehow save me the horror of humiliation I always feel when facing them, I decided to brave all and go. Plus, they would feed me lunch and mum makes the best quiches. I have a one track mind. So I had a shower, put on clean Muggle clothes and apparated near their house, after purchasing a bottle of wine (to be polite, it's like a tradition, as if the pleasure of my company wasn't enough, they need alcohol to put up with me or something) and the door opened.

"SKYE!" came the shocked response to my fake and over enthusiastic smile. My hand was grabbed and I was literally pulled into the sitting room. I reckon they thought that I would try to escape if I were left on my own for two seconds, or maybe they thought I was a mirage.

My parents are rich and they like things that are expensive and show that they're rich, so their house is full off antiques and famous paintings and things like that. When I was a small child, I was in constant trouble, because I pretended I was a pirate and would jump on all the furniture and break things. It's a miracle anything survived, but I think it was asking for it, having fragile glass sculptures placed on table tops and having a four year old. The scary thing about the house, was that it was decorated in a Victorianesque style, and mum never seemed to change it in any large visible way, so it looked exactly like it did when I was five and managed to set the lampshade on fire. Maybe that's why my parents aren't too keen on magic, when I was a child I had no control whatsoever and always set things on fire or blew them up.

My mum is tall, thin, blonde, pretty, upper class and has amazing posture. Total opposite of me (except the pretty part; I'm not modest). She looks like an ironing board though, and I always feel that if I were to give her the tiniest of prods she would topple over. She also has this way of making me feel inferior to her because she's continuously prattling on about Art and famous artists and other stuff that I don't pay attention to because it's Muggle and mundane.

"Skye! Darling! To what do we owe the pleasure?" she asked, perched on a chair, smiling. I smiled back.

"I was in London, because of work so I thought I'd come and say hello…" I said, a bit lamely. I don't write very frequently to my parents, mainly because their letters are full of news about my childhood friends who are multi millionaires or something, whereas I live in a hovel with a junkie who claims to be Jimi Hendrix reincarnated, despite the fact he can't play the guitar to save himself and wears a neon pink jumpsuit because that's how the ladies want him. That was a hint, Roberts. Please give me a pay rise before I'm strangled in the middle of the night by the lunatic I live with.

So when I do come over to England, I feel this need to please her. It's stupid really. I go out of my way to rebel against her, but at the same time I just want to be loved (cue soppy music). Which is how I ended up at some art gallery, admiring something made of paper mache that looked suspiciously like a three year olds made it.

Admittedly I was supposed to be working, the visit to my parents was supposed to be a quick in out operation, but you know how it is. Nothing is ever rational when it comes to parents, like when your mum sent you a Howler about how she was fed up doing your laundry as you're a forty five year old wizard and you should be able to do it yourself. Plus, I feel my mum has this claim over me, I mean, she gave birth to me and put up with me when I set things on fire and really, I think she just wants me to be happy. Except she thinks that the things that make her happy make me happy which doesn't necessarily follow.

However, it was pure luck that I was there (unless you don't believe in coincidences) because that was where the Death Eaters decided to randomly strike.

As I mentioned earlier, the UK was in a bit of a pickle. At this point, for the last year, Dumbledore had been trying to persuade the Ministry of Magic that Voldemort had returned, but as with all facts, it was ridiculed then aggressively denied before it was taken to be the truth. Unfortunately, it took the best part of a year, a crazy loon called Umbridge wrecking Hogwarts and an attack on the Ministry by Lord Voldemort himself before anyone woke up and smelt the coffee.

But that was before I got there. When I arrived, the ministry had accepted that he had returned and were handing out leaflets on how to save safe and generally trying to avoid panic and mass hysteria. After all, they had been using the Daily Prophet as propaganda against Dumbledore and Harry Potter to make it seem like those two were bullshitting the press, so a big turn around would probably confuse most people. So Voldemort had to time his attacks very carefully and quickly, because he wanted to cause panic and disarray.

Remember that Death Eaters hate what they call Mudbloods, us poor muggleborns, and are really joining up with Voldemort because it gives them a chance to torture Muggles and Mudbloods without being put in Azkaban for life. They believe we're inferior, but it's really just blind prejudice. So the Death Eaters get to have some fun, and Voldemort gets to cause panic and shake up the Ministry who really couldn't do a worse job if they tried, and ultimately gain control and I don't want to know to what extent he would abuse that power.

So they attacked a Muggle art museum, which just happened to be the one I was in, which was about the only exciting thing that happened to me in that evening, unless you count some sixty year old art veteran trying to hit on me. It was a big square room, only one entrance and exit, tall ceiling, very crowded, approximately seventy people, some of which had drunk copious amounts of champagne. The Death Eaters stormed in, with their masks and cloaks, completely freaking the hell out of most of the Muggles just by appearance alone, and the lights visibly dimmed, but you could still see them pretty clearly.

My father, always calm in situations like these, pulled out his mobile phone from somewhere (portable telephone that operates by those satellites they stick in space) and called 999 (muggle emergency number for police and fir brigade and ambulances etc). Of course, I did one thing better, I pulled out my wand and waited for the opportune moment. They flooded in, and there was only ten of them and Voldemort wasn't with them, which made me feel a hell of a lot more confident. The Muggles had started screaming and shrieking and running about like headless chickens; generally attracting attention to themselves.

Calm as you like, one of the Death Eaters pointed his wand out in front of him, which made the crowd stop and be silent. I reckon they thought it was some kind of gun, but then this idiot man called out, "Are you joking, a wand?" incredulously.

This of course made the Death Eater scornful and he started to say, "Crucio," at the man who had been rude, from behind a statue made of clothes hangers, I discreetly pointed my wand at him and whispered the shield charm, protgeo.

I know, I know, who would want to make a statue of what I swear resembled a large hat out of clothes hangers?

I couldn't let the Muggle be tortured like that, Roberts, I know it was rash, but I made sure they didn't see where it came from. The crutacius curse is so strong that he could have lost it's mind if it was on for long enough; it's bloody painful. And you know I have a habit of jumping into danger like it's a queue to an Aerosmith concert, I'm reckless and I know it but can't help it and probably won't change.

So the shield charm blocked the curse, but I hoped they wouldn't use Avada kedavra, because nothing can block that, and the man who had called out and would probably never again was saved. Hurrah! Unfortunately it alerted the Death Eater that there was at least one witch or a wizard in the room. Also, the Muggles were very confused and were keeping quiet, which was a blessing I guess.

"I know you're there," she called out, for it was a female Death Eater, and she seemed to be the leader of the other nine Death Eater. "And I'm going to get you," she threatened in the sing song voice of one who is truly barmy. I didn't do anything, as the opportune moment had not come about. There was a long pause, although it only lasted about ten seconds, I felt like it lasted into infinity and beyond. The person behind the mask was scouring the room, and I made sure to keep my head down and then provided some tears. If being a mercenary doesn't work out, I think I'll either be a con artist or an actress…or both.

"Fine," she snapped, angry that she couldn't identify me from the Muggle, which should have taught her something; we're not that different. I mean, we're all still humans, aren't we? "I guess I'll have to force you to show yourself," and with that she summoned the man who had called out, making him fly across the room, limbs at awkward angles, to lie at her feet, her wand aimed straight at his head. "I'll kill him if you don't show yourself," she warned.

This I decided, was way out of my hands. And probably not the opportune moment, but I started to go forward, only to hear the big doors, that provided the only exit to the Art House From Hell as I now thought of it, crash open and wizards with wands burst through it. Now that was the opportune moment.

I stupefied the main Death Eater woman, when she had turned round to see the crashing noise and pulled the man back into the crowd. The people who had just rushed in and started attacking the Death Eaters were out numbered, so I thought they could use a hand, although I reckoned that I should protect the Muggles as they were totally defenceless. So I erected one of those temporary force fields with Aegis very quickly. I had to point my wand at the crowd and for some reason I thought they would cower or flinch, as if I were about to attack them. Surprisingly enough they didn't, maybe it was all to fast for them to realise what I was doing; I had to be very quick as there were Death Eaters behind me, or they trusted me. I glanced very briefly at my parents, wondering what they thought of the whole situation; it was the first (and hopefully only) time they saw me in action.

Returning to the fight after approximately ten seconds, I kicked a wand out of one Death Eater's hand and pushed him, swivelled round and stupefied another Death Eater that was about to curse someone. You see, it's really useful being empathic when you're in battle, because although I can't read people's minds (which is impossible, the nearest you can get to that is Occulmency) because I can sense their emotions and vaguely guess what they're going to do next. Or, know when to run like the wind when I'm really not going to win the fight.

I was alternating between throwing punches and cursing the Death Eaters; I know that I should only use my physical abilities with demons because some of them repel magic, but I'm so used to fighting that way that it's second nature. Plus, Death Eaters, or wizards in general, really don't expect you to use martial arts on them, so it adds the element of surprise. And also, I think that using martial arts is like a way of venting sexual frustration for me; it just takes out all the extra energy I have from not getting any (insert more self pitying sobs).

In between knocking some Death Eater unconscious and hexing another, I managed to yell, "Call me butter, because I'm on a roll!" which was not the smartest thing to do, as it just made me a target. I couldn't help it, I was battle crazy with the rush of adrenaline through my veins. By that time, I'd taken out about three Death Eaters and the other people had taken out about four. When I yelled out in the heat and frenzy of battle, the two of the Death Eaters stopped fighting other people and headed for me. I managed to take out one after ducking so the curse made the giant cloth hanger hat melt and exploded the paper mache thing (which was the only good thing to come of the battle).

The other people were helping me, of course, but some of them were hurt and lying on the floor, seemingly floating in and out of consciousness, one with interesting pink hair was bleeding very badly at the shoulder and another who was very tall and black was protecting the two on the floor. There was only two left, so while one battled on with the remaining Death Eater, one came to help me.

Imagine my surprise when it was Him, the man of my dreams. That sounded as corny as I meant it to. Of course, this distracted my concentration for one second, but that was enough, as I was staring at him like a giddy school girl. The next thing I knew my head hit the floor with a crack.

Woo hoo! I have reviewers! Oh Nightelf, I know, I'm RUBBSIH at summaries...can I steal that? It sounds so good and I'm not intelligent enough to make a decent one of my own...please?

Constructive criticism will be loved like a chocolate ice cream on a hot day.