Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Rebirth

Chapter 5

"Whatever they want must still be here." Vincent spoke over his shoulder.

He entered the storage room and uttered a Lumos, lighting the small space with a flood of light completely uncalled for in such a small space. Arthur watched as Vincent nervously shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the ground. He could tell the young wizard was uncomfortable and would run in a moment if things did not go well.

"You don't know that. We may have removed it to the Ministry." Arthur walked slowly through the room, looking at the remaining items. Seeing broken pieces of pottery, he walked over to squat down and examine what it had been.

"I am sorry Vincent, they are usually much more careful when taking things out." Arthur stood up and looked around the room oddly. "It really doesn't look like much was moved."

"Only what you took with you, maybe a few pensives, and a clock of some sort." Vincent frowned. "Knowing Dad I can only imagine what it would be marking time for."

"We need to start on the pensives. This may be the hardest part. May as well get it over with."

"I can shrink them down for you." Vincent pulled out his wand.

"No, Vincent." Arthur looked uncomfortable. "I need to catalogue, and label them before they are moved, and I need you to vouch for what I am taking."

"Okay, well…" Vincent started to count the odd shaped bowls.

"Vincent, you need to visit them." Arthur pulled out a quill and notepad. "Just enough to see who is in it. No details, just the name and … well a basic sentence… or even a word. I'm sorry lad, if there was a different way I would use it."

"I need to…" Vincent swallowed as he looked around the room. "Sure."

"Just try," Arthur said, as he laid his notebook on the table. "I know it will be hard."

"Mr Weasley, were you there? At the end I mean? At the last battle?"

"Yes, Vincent."

Vincent shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the chore at hand

He pulled out his wand and transfigured the broken shards into a table and then levitated several pensives and placed them in a row on the wooded surface. Looking at Arthur, who smiled at him encouragingly, he leaned over, putting his face in the first bowl and immediately felt the spiralling down.

He felt disorientated, and fell hard on the ground. He was outside, in a large meadow. In the middle of the meadow was a small fire, not the large bonfires he had seen at meetings with his father. Only three wizards sat by the fire, one stool stood empty. It was cold; one sat holding his hands out for warmth. Vincent walked up and closer, knowing he could not be seen, he was still hesitant and afraid. These four Death Eaters were not in a formal meeting yet wore their robes, their masks sitting on the ground. He saw a movement coming from beyond the ring of light cast by the fire, and walked closer to see the fourth.

She was under him, screaming and begging. Vincent saw her eyes turn as if looking straight at him and saw her lips form his name. He was slammed into the wall of the storage room, as her voice seemed to hang in the air, and reach for his ears.

"Vincent," Arthur called him. "Vincent, you were fighting, I had to pull you out."

Vincent brought up both hands and pushed him away, scrambling to his feet he began pacing. Running both hands through his hair, he kept glancing back at the bowl.

"Did you see who is in it?" Arthur asked from his position still on the floor.

"Yes, Lydia. Her name was Lydia. I don't think I ever heard her last." He shot Arthur a sneer and paced the room again. "I met her, I think summer before last."

"I am sorry son," Arthur said, slowly standing up and rubbing his left shoulder. "I need more than that."

"Fine, four Death Eaters. I didn't their faces, only hers." He turned and glared at the older wizard. "Put down rape. Only I know she is dead. I didn't see it, but… there was a lot of blood."

"That's good Vincent. I just need the basics for the report. Someone else can take it from here."

Vincent walked to the next and pushed in his head to see an unknown man manacled to a wall. He fell down to the stone floor, not as hard has he had earlier, this time he landed on his feet. Again, he immediately looked for who held this memory. The sound of a whip and the unknown man's screams brought his head back to look at the horror.

Vincent frowned and looked more closely at the man's clothing, and turning back, he saw his father holding the whip. Vincent stood firm in front of the wizard that he felt nothing for, not love, hate, fear, only a complete separation. His name fell on his ears as the Muggles screams reached him. He turned in horror to look at the Muggle and locked eyes with him. Vincent pulled his head out of the pensive before Arthur could reach him.

"A Muggle with my father. I think in this very room." Vincent licked his lips nervously and watched as Arthur made his notes. "He was whipping him. Arthur?"

"Vincent." Arthur looked up from the notepad.

"They both saw me." All colour had drained from his face as he turned in a circle looking at the sheer number of pensives yet to go into. "They looked right at me and … she begged me to help her."

"It just seemed that way."

"No. She looked right at me. He called me." Vincent locked his eyes on Arthur. "A pensive can't do that. Can it? I mean, it's just a memory right?"

"Yes, Vincent? What's wrong?"

"If they can see me, it makes it look like I am there. As if, I am in the pensive instead of just looking in one. Mr Weasley, I am part of the memory."

.

.

.

.

.

Vincent had sent an Owl to the Daily Prophet and placed his ad that same afternoon. Arthur had assured him that he would ask around about the possibility that the pensives were charmed and had encouraged him to keep busy, keep his mind off them, and to follow through with his plan to get educated and pass his exams. He had taken only the two bowls back with him, and cautioned Vincent not to view them by himself.

The missive he sent to the classified section had been short and to the point, asking the interested parties send an owl to the Prophet with a resume, who would then forward it on to him. He could choose who to meet, and where it would be. He had already decided to use the Leaky Cauldron as it may give the impression that he lived in London instead of Scotland, further playing into the ruse.

He was surprised to get a response later that same week. Ripping open the letter he scanned it quickly and studied the name not recognizing it. He rifled through the desk drawers looking for his fathers address books, or the Society Page that his mother used for invitations. When he found the drawers almost empty, he correctly assumed the Ministry had taken them for evidence or to aid in their search of Death Eaters.

He read the letter again wondering who Mrs Eaton could be. He shrugged and picked up a piece of parchment to set up an appointment. He tied it to the owl's leg and sent it off hoping that a meeting tomorrow was not too soon.

.

.

.Later that evening he sat in front of the fire listening to the house moan and settle around him. He found he could recognize the sound of the upstairs shutter as it beat in time with the wind, and know it was the one with the broken slat, and not the other with a loose hinge. He could hear the flapping of the patio awning, which seemed to fight for dominance of the wind over the shutter.

He leaned his head back against the chair and thought the loneliest sound in the world was the sound of a burning ember as it snapped, splitting in half, growing smaller, until it no longer had the strength to live. He closed his eyes and thought of the Hogwarts fire, and wondered why he had lived.

"Master?" Elsie softly laid her clawed hand on his right arm.

"Elsie? What is it?" He struggled to wake and sit up at the same time. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I fix dinner?" Elsie looked up at him with her hands pressed together.

"No, I think I need to get out of here. I will pick up something in Hogsmeade, or maybe I'll go to Diagon Alley. I will need quills, and a couple of notebooks." He scrubbed his eyes with his hands and then stood up and stretched.

"Elsie?" He looked down the elf he had known all his life. "What do you do all day? I mean, I know you take care of the house. But it is just me, and I was wondering."

"I go to Hogwarts. I see the others and we visit." She tilted her head and looked at him.

"Do you, I mean do elves have, you know … families?"

"Yes Master."

"Do you?"

"I still single." She actually blushed and looked at the floor. "Brother works at Hogwarts."

Vincent looked down at her frowning. He doubted his parents had known of her brother in Hogwarts, or the fact that she snuck off to meet with him and her friends.

"Master?"

"Yes Elsie?"

"Do you have friends to visit?"

Vincent looked at her and thought before shaking his head. He picked up his cloak from the back of his chair and headed outside.

He found himself in Hogsmeade too late to get supplies, and to tired to go to Diagon Alley. He walked to the Hogs Head knowing the pub was open late; sometimes the sun was coming up when the last wizard would stagger out. Aberforth would stay open as long as there was a galleon in a pocket, or a story to hear. Vincent pulled his hood up and walked in.

Only a few wizards sat at the tables, hunched over their drinks and whispering to each other. He noticed one table that held four, a fist was pounding the table, and the wizards face red. He smirked thinking it would be great fun to lower the silence spell and take them unaware. Sliding into a chair with its back to the wall, he turned to keep his left side to the room. One advantage of heavy scars was that no one wanted to get too close.

He held up two fingers to Aberforth and saw the barkeep nod before lowering his arm. The witch that had watched him come in slid off the bar stool and walked to his table. She was about his age, maybe a little older, but looked hard, and bored. She sat down opposite him and smiled.

"Want company?" She licked her lips and leaned back in the chair, tracing the neckline of her low cut blouse with a finger.

Vincent plucked his drink out of the air as Aberforth magically sent it over to the table. He put his drink down, used both hands to push down his hood, and looked at her stonily.

"I've seen worse." She shrugged, looking at the scars. "How far down does it go?"

"Not as far as you're worried about." He tossed the double shot down in one gulp. "How much?"

"Depends what you want, and for how long."

"The night, and does it matter what I want?"

"Nothing rough, I don't do that."

"Done."

"All night? That could cost me ya know. I can usually get in three. 100 Galleons for the night."

"Done." He smirked and threw the payment down on the table in front of her.