Vi: so many question...hehheh...I can't tell you who the boy is yet just know that he is very important. And about the shaggy companion, stuffed Welsh Green for you! Dingdingding correct – Fenrir. About who attacked Remy you'll have to wait I'm afraid. Cheers hon.
A/N: Welcome to Chapter Seventeen! W00t! This was much fun to write, inspired actually by Vi's latest chapter of EC, kudos for Kingsley. Also for TIG (mythtig) because she fancies Kingsley.
TIG: Do not!
Me: Do too!
TIG: Do not!
ME: Do too!
TIG: ugg I hate you.
ME: I know:)
There is a DeathEater I make mention of Dorian Rosier, he is not either of the Rosier mention in the list of DeathEaters, I made him up, so hah! Also the song at the end of this chapter is Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival, god I love them. Great song, check it out. Enjoy. MB
Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim ownership of any of Jo's wonderful characters or of CCR's song...
Light
by
mingingbent
There are two kinds of light—
the glow that illuminates,
and the glare that obscures.
– James Thurber
Chapter Seventeen: Miss Me Much
"I tears my heart open
I sew myself shut
and my weakness is
that I care too much..."
-Scars, Papa Roach
-
"Bein' rich and famous seems to have its ups and downs
That's the price you pay for being troubadours and clowns
Godzilla's halitosis it be vaporizing cars
Elvis up in Michigan or maybe out on Mars
Dance out dance out dance out to the stars
But livin' in the briar patch ain't what it appears
Sooner or later you gotta face your fears"
- Off To See the Lizard, Jimmy Buffet
"Meeting now!" Kingsley Shaklebolt barked as he stepped through the grate at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. His grim features fortold little of the large, bald Auror's plight. When he was satisfied everyone had recieved word he sagged his burly frame against the mantle and sighed. Bringing up a hand he massaged his throbbing right temple slightly. It had been a exceptionally quiet week, he had the happy notion that maybe they had gotten somewhere. That they actually made some tracks on the DeathEaters. Well that had shattered spectaculary this morning. He had the intense feeling to go drown himself in a vat of firewhiskey. The flashes of the dead muggles dancing through his head. Putting that to the back of his mind, he straightened himself making his way to the kitchen.
Kingsley took his seat and fished out the folder from his robes, placing his knarled, dark hands on top in the semblance of complacency and order. He took a pass at the others seated at the table, faces all staring avidly back at him. The last of the Order. Never in all of his years had he ever felt so old looking on those faces. There was the rigid Minerva McGonagall, her hazel bun in disaray, still HeadMistress of Hogwarts though the attendence had dwindle since Dumbledore's death. Then young, doe eyed, blonde Treiss and sharp-tongued Pierce; both exAuror's previously under him at the Ministry. Then there was the redheaded Weasley clan short George though, even youg Fred, black-circles under his eyes looking like he'd just got out of bed. Then next to Bill was his very statuesque, platinum blonde wife, Fleur. His ex-partner at the Ministry Nymphadora Tonks, pink hair sticking out in every direction sat next to Aimee Carlisle, who sat lazily betraying nothing of the feelings she felt inside. Then there was the young crowd that had followed Harry when he had joined. Kingsley had a sinking feeling with his stomach churning acidly at the thought of Harry having to see the photos.
"Kingsley!" Aimee shot him an impatient glance, Damn that woman's keen sense of detection.
"Oh yes," He fiddled with the edge of the folder.
"We've been put on Red Alert at the Ministry again. DeathEater attack in Wales." He fiddled again with the folder that contained such awful pictures, "Six dead, all muggles, the Ministry picked it up after this was seen by the Muggle Police," he passed Harry the folder and as an afterthought said, "I'm sorry Harry, they didn't have a chance."
Confused, Harry opened the folder; imediately his face went white and he froze. When he had regained the ability to move, he shakily reached for the first and then the second.
Kingsley closed his eyes, knowing what exactly was in those pictures. Shortly after Harry finished, with a severly dazed look on his face, looking through the last of the crime scene pictures, he abruptly stood, shakily on his feet, the rest of the Order looking on.
Molly Weasley spoke first, "Harry, dear..."
"I have to go." He said in a muddled voice before disapearing.
Ginny Weasley quickly followed, hazel eyes full of concern. Hermione looked as if she would have followed too but Ron stopped her putting his hand over hers'.
It seemed to Kingsley that the world had finally stopped. The entire room was frozen. Aimee Carlisle was the first to break the spell, taking the folder from it's forgotten place on the table. As if she was looking through a photo album she went through the pictures. Her face not betraying any emotion but slight interest. She finished looking through and passed it back to Kingsley. He really hoped someone would say something. The folder was a leaden weight in his hands.
Finally Aimee spoke, "That smacks of Dorian Rosier," her voice was sharp against the silence and no one rebuked her, "even the Lestrange Brothers, though Rabastian from my knowledge doesn't care to get his hands dirty and Rodolphus doesn't do this kind of work," Kingsley grimaced at her euphamism – kind of work – killing Muggles is what she really meant. "And I highly doubt if it was Rosier that he would do this on his own. He would have had some kind of help."
Kingsley finally got his mouth to work, it was dry and he had to clear his throat to speak. "You sure, Aimee, this is more like a, like a-"
"Kile a werewolf attack, that's what you were going to say, isn't it?" She spoke harshly and continued before he could say anything, "Is that what the Ministry is calling it?" He could feel the heat of the disgust in her voice.
"Yes." He looked around for some help, someone to imput something else, but not today. Today it was the Kingsley Shaklebolt and Aimee Carlisle show.
"Well, that's original." She snorted. "I know what your saying – Fenrir Greyback. But he wouldn't do this. He-" it looked like she was searching for the right words, "He might have been a spectater, but you don't know him like I do," he thought he saw her shiver, "He doesn't attack Muggles unless it's on the full moon."
"How do you explain this then?"
He took one of the photos and he heard audible gasps from the rest of the Order.
Molly Weasley got up then, "I'll go make some tea then."
Aimee sighed, "That – I don't know."
Harry clutched the toilet as another wave of bile rose in his throat, the bitter sickness left acid remnants on his tongue. The title was cold and sharp against his knees, and he shook violently as another flash of death burst behind his eyes.
The letters in red marred his vision.
'MISS ME POTTER'
Another wave of nausea flushed through him at that. He faintly heard someone call his name.
"Harry! Harry!"
He faintly felt the tears stinging his eyes and cheeks, he could taste their salty debris as it mingled with the bitterness on his lips.
That someone had kneeled next to him and was talking to him, rubbing circles in his back. Another wave spilled over him and he wretched in the toilet, gagging at the horrid taste.
The tears wet his vision, he was crying for those poor Muggle children ripped apart by a monster, and their red-headed mother who bled to death trying to save them, and the father whose heart had been ripped right out of his chest, blood splattered and dried on his fear striken face. Oh gods, there was so much blood.
'MISS ME POTTER'
The voice was back again.
"Shush Harry, its going to be alright."
He surreneder to that voice and the warm body that held him so close.
Through parted, parched lips he mummured faintly, "I'm so sorry Gin, I'm so sorry. So sorry."
Aimee brought the wet cloth to her forehead. Oh Merlin, those poor Muggles never knew what hit them.
She sighed, the metting hadn't been what she'd expected, she and Kingsley debated reasons, ways, DeathEaters for a long while – longer than she wanted to, she supposed he didn't either. After the pictures were passed around most of Order was in a sort of hazy daze. Tonks was particulary quiet and Aimee was privately glad they still had Remus waylaided at St. Mungo's.
She had finally convinced Kingsley of Rosier. She grimaced, Kingsley was the only one in the Order, well apart from Remus that knew how well she knew certain DeathEaters.
Rosier had a penchant for taking out his frustration by inflictly pain and lording over others, and he got a sick joy out of torturing Muggles, she had seen it first hand years ago and it made her sick. He was especially fond of leaving messages in blood and was fond of ancient, medieval muggle torture – long, hard, and putting the victim in lengthy agonizing pain. He liked to revel in it.
Greyback was another story, he was a sorry excuse for a creature in her opinion. He chose to attack wizards like Bill Weasley and not Muggles during the month because he got a sick satisfication out of putting them in pain, making them live with the aftermath of the attack. He attacked mostly muggles on the full moon to slake his lust and his urge for Were's to outnumber Wizard's. Poor souls like Remus Lupin were attacked for whole different reasons. Whether be they personally or relatives had soing something to make him mad or restless, he would attack usually small children as a punishment. All his moves were calculative. For all that people thought he was savage monster, he was a canny fiend. He knew exactly what he was doing when he attacked. This was not one of his schemes though she didn't doubt he was there.
Aimee's mind was whirling with ideas and reasons and the bloodied masses of torn human flesh from the pictures. And the words, 'MISS ME POTTER' were not lost on her. Surely a scare tactic.
This calls for a drink. Aimee padded into the kitchen, climbed up on the counter and reached up on top of the top cuboard for the Odgen's.
"Uh-hum!" The voice startled her and she almost dropped the bottle. Clutching it to her chest she turned.
Charlie Weasley was standing in the doorway.
She grinned sheepishly and batted her eyes, "Have a drink with me Red."
He raised an eyebrow at the nickname.
He helped her down, "Sure." With all that was going on, he could really use one.
She grabbed two glasses, put them on the counter and with a titter vanished. Charlie just shook his head and proceeded to pour.
When Aimee came back she was juggling a large box in her hands, heaving it on to the kitchen table she proceeded to fiddle with it as Charlie looked on.
"Can't get rip-roaring drunk without some music."
"Who said were were?"
She smirked back at him, pulling a dusty looking muggle record out of its' sleeve.
"Well I don't know about you Red." There was that nickname again. "But I certainly am."
Placing the record on the turntable and carefully putting the needle on, the record started to spin.
Aimee picked up her glass and clinked it with his, "Cheers."
Then she proceeded to down the entire thing. She shook her head widly, "Whoo!"
"That feels good." And proceeded to pour herself another glass.
Charlie watched in awe as she downed glass after glass without a flinch. Apparently this woman had a very high tolerance for alcohol.
The music danced through the air and Charlie felt a soft hand grab his.
"Dance with me Red." It was more of a statement than a question.
Charlie finally yielded to the warm, aged alcohol, the beat of the music, and her.
I see the bad moon rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin'.
I see bad times today.
Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
I hear hurricanes ablowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.
Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
All right!
Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we're in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.
Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
Don't go around tonight,
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
well, how did ya like that! YAY! drunkness insues...well clickie that blue button and tell me how much you liked it...cheers all. MB