Disclaimer: Do not own, so do not sue.
#C a t. i n. S h a d o w s.
#two
I learned today that he has a name.
#
Lucius Malfoy looked over the broken city of London, and it was beautiful in his eyes.
Practicing dark magic is an addiction worse than any drug. It usually starts out with experimentation, when the user tries out spells that he believes to be innocuous. As the first stage progresses, the wizard finds himself enjoying the surge of power and the magical "high" that using dark magic can give. He draws further in, thinking himself to be in control, not realizing that the magic itself is beginning to take over.
Sometimes practitioners retain enough of their minds to realize what is happening before it consumes them. Most of the time, he feels such a constant need for that power that the sorcery consumes him. Eventually, like any dragon chaser shooting up one time too many, the wizard's mind deteriorates till all he sees or feels are splashes of pain against a blackened world.
Lucius Malfoy had been stronger than most. His dip into the insane world had been a detached one. He held most of his mind in rein, though many Death Eaters below him knew of his strange thought processes. He was not a man to cross, despite the madness frosting his glacial eyes..
The pale Death Eater enjoyed his post in this city. From his position the streets and slums spread to the horizon in a barren gray wasteland. He could watch as mothers in rags ducked behind the next snatch of crumbling ruins with equally filthy children, trying to escape the rain. The men had long disappeared, rounded up for menial tasks in a life of enslavement. Most of the young girls and boys had also been taken, though for a different form of employment.
Lucius's grin was feral as he scrutinized the rubble beneath his office. He'd been stationed with a rather tedious management desk job, but it did grant him a great view.
A warm breeze floated through the open window, ruffling a few of the papers on his desk. Lucius glared idly at the cloudless blue sky. It really ruined the effect of such a desolate city. What a pity. He would have to do something about it eventually, spoiling the atmosphere like that. Even though spring could not be denied-and how many clear days like this were there in London?-the Death Eater felt that it was giving someone out there happiness and hope. That was unacceptable.
"Must bend under the will of my master," Lucius muttered softly to himself, fingering his wand. "Must not enjoy themselves like this. Unacceptable."
Only six months ago he would have realized the folly, the strangeness of his words. But the shadow of his craft had well caught up with him now. Over and over he repeated his phrase, punctuated with an occasional "mmmph."
#
I knew where I wanted to go. That was a start.
The problem was now, how the hell do I get there? One does not simply walk to London from the remains of Azkaban. My thoughts were at least clear enough to do that, although not nearly as lucid as the water that surrounded me. I could see all the way to the bottom, and it sure as hell was a long way off to the bottom.
Options. I was never really any good at swimming. I had been dragged to Dudley's lessons a few times, but that was before his blubber had increased to the level that he didn't need to try-he would just float. Quite a while ago. I wondered if he had died of heart attack yet. I should check-- I scowled. When I got off the rock. So swimming was definitely out. Maybe my Firebolt? I mean, if I could Summon a wand from that far off, maybe my broom would come too.
There was another strange feeling that I was trying to pin down. Malfoy Junior and his despicable ratty sidekick had left something behind on this wave-scoured island. It was a familiar sensation, one that had clung around Sirius when I'd first met him like a cool second cloak. One that stretched back to McGonagall, more subtle than her shrewd gaze. And Scabbers… I could associate it with Scabbers too, though I'd never thought about it before, really.
Draco and Sirius, Minerva and Wormtail.
I laughed. How absurd of me not to realize… Though with his lack of will, I wonder how Malfoy became an Animagus. The falcon must have helped the coward when skirmishes got messy. I can feel my lip curl. No better than Pettigrew.
And scrape scrape scrape from the back of my mind he came, crawling with soundless noise to riffle through my memories like a filing cabinet. He paused for a few moments there, trying to remember something I had forgotten. A vision of Dobby with a wad of Gillyweed suddenly hit me, and the pain that followed was hard to swallow.
#
"Two of them, sir."
Lucius' bloodshot eyes snapped up from his paperwork. He didn't like Goyle's shifty gaze and hesitant tone.
"Theirs, or ours?"
Goyle was never a strong man in willpower or character. All of his bulk did nothing to make him feel safe before this crumbling, yet still powerful, madman. "Ou-ours, sir," he stammered, a thin sheen of sweat already decorating his brow.
"Who did it? Dumbledore's lackeys?" Lucius's voice was bored, drawling, and Goyle quavered. This was his deceptive tone, like a cat with a toy, feigning disinterest till the other slipped-so he could deliver the deathblow. "That old fool's not going to attack a city we hold so tightly. Who was it, eh? A rash and angry young wizard, using the Killing Curse for the first time?" Curled fingers drummed idly on the rich mahogany desk.
"It wasn't… Avada Kedavra… sir," came the faltering response. The lackey wrung his hands before him, unsure of whether to continue.
Lucius's expression focused, a hint of an impatient snarl around his lips. "Spit it out, you incompetent moron, before I curse you to the seventh circle of hell!" His winter eyes glimmered with the crazily bloodthirsty light Goyle knew too well.
"They were, uh, burned, sir," Goyle offered.
"Burned?" Lucius repeated, raising a brow. His spoke softly, like the breath of the wind brushing against rushes. "Burned? A wizard-a Death Eater, no less?" Skepticism dissolved into viciousness. "Do you take me for an idiot, Goyle? A wizard does not burn to death." Even the half-wit Crabbe could perform the Flame-Freezing charm.
"Please, sir, I'm telling the truth! Do you want to see the bodies?" Anything to prevent him from cursing me… who did I get stuck working for such a savage…?
Lucius looked as though he were going to reply with a scathing insult coupled with a painful "crucio," but instead the rage on his face dissolved into curiosity. He threw back his head all of a sudden and started to laugh maniacally. Wave after wave of insane chuckles sent the hairs prickling up on the back of Goyle's neck.
"Uh… sir?"
His eyes were clearer than they had been for months as he said, "Take me to them."
Goyle and his master left the office and took the elevator down to the first floor. As the doors opened with a satisfying "ding," Lucius could smell something burning. The odor was disgusting and Lucius's nose wrinkled at it, for a moment resembling the late Mrs. Malfoy. The source of the pungent smell was not hard to find. It lay in a disgusting heap of still-smoldering limbs and rolling white eyes when he got there.
"Sir," one of the younger recruits acknowledged. He was bent over the corpses, inspecting one misshapen head clinically.
"What happened here?" the blond demanded, eyeing what had once been two Dark wizards. They were so disfigured it was difficult to tell their gender, much less their identity.
"They were at our front door," the young Death Eater explained, staring dispassionately over the tops of his glasses at his superior. "Whoever killed them conveniently dropped them off, sir. Burned to a crisp, as you can see-one was still screaming as we dragged them inside."
Lucius frowned. One could not doubt the truth when it collapsed in a mess of charred cadavers in front of them. But the fact remained that no Muggle nor magical fire should be able to take out two Death Eaters. It made the situation even more unnerving. Perhaps they had been stripped of their wands, doused with lighter fluid, then torched? A sick way of doing things-messy, too. Lucius didn't relish being held responsible for this.
"I want the person who did this tracked down and caught," the blond stated quietly. "Do your best not to kill him; I would like to use him as an example."
"But sir," Goyle protested, "the wizard could have already App-" he was stopped by a ferocious backhand to his face. Lucius turned on him, eyes ablaze with fresh, irrational fury.
"When I give an order, Goyle," he spat, "I expect it to be followed, understood?"
Goyle cowered, his gaze lowered to the floor.
"Yes, sir."
#
The youngest Weasley trembled behind an overturned table, her blue eyes wide with horror. She remained riveted to the scene before her despite her best attempts to tear her gaze away. Death has its own morbid sort of attraction. At least death came on swift wings for them. It was better than most of the others, anyway. These Death Eaters were merciful, in a blackened sense of the word.
Ginny had been separated from her parents and brothers a while back, during the first of the Hogwarts raids. She had been shoved forcefully into a fireplace by her brother Ron and flooed back to the Burrow. There, she waited for a day and a night, neither sleeping or eating, feeding the green flames and staring in a stupor at the unusual clock on the wall; all of the eight other hands remained fixed at "mortal peril."
And there they had stayed, while Ginny sobbed, safe at home.
This killing was more than methodical; it was machine-like. Bodies were riddled all over the floor, providing some grotesque decoration. She had no idea how she'd gotten here. It had been a night and day of continual crying, continual grief, until she had slumped, exhausted, into bed. The next morning, her house was gone, and she found herself in a shack crowded with at least twenty others.
She recognized some of them as from the Ministry. Families her father had introduced her to during the few staff dinner parties they had. Faces that were no longer there, most of them in pieces by now, or expressions contorted into screams of rage or fear.
The youngest Weasley was, for once, grateful for being the smallest. Perhaps, if she huddled quietly enough, they would miss her. With this… no wonder the Dark Lord's name instilled such terror.
Why they had kept her alive, only to kill later-
Her eyes showed only hard bitterness.
Sport. Nothing else.
Ginny's gaze flickered up in a lull from the screams. Most of the bodies were clear now, and the two Death Eaters were visible. One, brandishing his wand, had freckles and a smoky, delighted gaze. The other was a woman with chestnut hair, wearing a satisfied smirk. Both were stained with slaughter.
How can people do this? Ginny demanded of the corpses. How can they butcher them like cattle? She bit down hard on her lip, shaking and tear-stained. She could not cry, or they would hear.
There was a sudden scream, and when Ginny peeked from behind the table, she realized it had been ripped from the throat of the female Death Eater. And she was in flames, roiling and thrashing on the ground, her partner bewildered and shouting, trying to put her out with his wand. Water failed to douse the fire, as did a variety of charms and spells. By then it was too late; she gave one more bloodcurdling yell and stayed still for good.
Ginny thought fervently, What the hell?
"Come out!" The man was screeching at the blood-stained walls. "Come out, you murdering bastard!" Murdering bastard yourself! Ginny thought contemptuously. "Come out and fight me!"
What the hell, Ginny realized, surprising herself with her own bitterness. This is like some stupid superhero show.
Except I'm not a fucking hero.
Ginny's breath froze.
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5.29.03:: i'm alive! and this entire chapter is here thanks to tristhe, who has also kindly agreed to beta for me. and does an amazing job. and gives me the hairy eyeball to keep going. (i wish i were that talented and i was capable of giving someone the hairy eyeball over an email!)