CHAPTER 13: THE BURDEN OF LEADERSHIP

Rosa twisted in her cot, burying her head deeper into her pillow. She shut her eyes tight, hoping, praying, she would finally fall asleep.

But the images assaulted her mind's eye again. The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, bloodied, mutilated. A shiver rippled across her body. She pulled the covers tight around her, clenching them in a death grip.

Shifting in the cot again, she opened her eyes and stared across the darkened bedroom. Ginny seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Of course she is. She didn't see . . .

Rosa ground her teeth. The memory appeared clear as day. Mrs. Diggory, covered in blood, her throat ripped open, part of her shoulder missing. Eaten.

The image changed to Mr. Diggory. Her jaw quivered as she recalled the man's guts spilling out of him.

She thought of some of the Muggle movies she'd seen when visiting Jimmy's house, movies like A Nightmare on Elm Street and An American Werewolf in London. Those had been extremely gory. Sometimes she wondered if that might help prepare her for some of the bad stuff she would undoubtedly see as an auror.

It hadn't. How could it? What she saw on Jimmy's TV had been fake. Special effix, he called them.

There was nothing fake about what happened to the Diggory's. The blood, the entrails. They'd all been very real.

And she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Grunting, Rosa threw the covers off herself and swung her legs over the side of her cot. She put on her slippers and a bathrobe and quietly crept across the floor so as not to wake Ginny or Fleur. After gently closing the door, she trudged down the twisting staircase until she reached the living room. Her gaze shifted to the rather unique grandfather clock, one with nine hands, each bearing the name of one of the Weasleys. All of them pointed to the words "Mortal Peril." She wondered if that could apply to everyone in Wizarding Britain, or any other country in the world.

It certainly applied to the Diggorys. And look what happened to them.

Rosa fell onto one of the couches, folding her arms and staring intently at the darkened floor. Again she replayed the events of several hours ago in her head. She, George and Fred Disapparating in front of the Diggory house and rushing inside. There was Mr. Diggory, eviscerated. Mrs. Diggory, mauled.

And Jared . . .

She hugged herself, remembering how he'd been howling in pain and clutching his shoulder. She closed her eyes, trying to stem the tears she felt welling up. The dark side of her imagination rewrote the scene in her head. It wasn't the Diggorys lying dead and mutilated. It was her cousin. And next to him lay Jimmy and Artimus, all three ripped apart, drenched in blood.

Stop it. It didn't happen.

But what if . . .

Rosa rocked back and forth, tears stinging her eyes. What would she do if any of them, or all of them, had died? Jared almost did. If he had struck the pantry door a different way, he might have broken his neck instead of his shoulder.

Icy needles spread across her body. She wanted to push the thought out of her head. No! She wanted to stomp it into the ground and blow it up with a Reductor Curse. That couldn't happen. Jared couldn't die. They'd been together their entire lives. Sure he could be annoying, sure she enjoyed "taking the mickey out of him" as George would say. But without question she loved him. He was more of a brother to her than a cousin.

To not have him in her life was unfathomable.

Her eyelashes grew wet as another feeling slithered through her. A dark, heavy mass that had been with her since she left the Diggory house. At times she feared she'd drown in this feeling. More than once, she wished she would.

She deserved to.

"Rosa?"

Her head snapped around. A tall figure stood near the entrance to the kitchen. It held a dark bottle in its right hand.

She screwed up her eyes, a bit blurry from the moisture swirling within them. "George?"

"Guilty as charged." He slowly made his way over to her. "Trouble sleeping?"

Rosa nodded as he sat next to her. She sighed and chewed on her lip as she stared at George. Had this happened at any other time she would have already leapt on him and begun kissing and caressing him. But after the events of this night, romance was the last thing on her mind.

"Thinking about the Diggorys?" he asked in an unusually flat voice.

"Yeah," she muttered, fearing her voice might crack if she spoke longer.

George took a swig from his bottle. Butterbeer, it appeared. "They were pretty good folk, the Diggorys. Better off than us, but Mr. Diggory always treated Dad well, unlike most of the gits who work in the Ministry."

Rosa just nodded, clenching her teeth.

"Cedric was a good bloke, too. I remember my Fifth Year, we beat Hufflepuff at Quidditch. Hell of a battle that was. And later on at supper, Cedric stopped me and Fred before we went into the Great Hall and congratulated us on a well played match." He emitted a long sigh before continuing. "And all we did the year after that was ridicule him because he was Harry's rival in the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Rosa swallowed hard against the sob building in her throat.

"Really tight-knit family, Diggorys. And now . . ."

Rosa shut her eyes and leaned forward. She wanted to yell at George to shut up. She didn't want to hear what wonderful people the Diggorys were. She didn't want to think of how nice and loving they were when the only images of them in her mind had them covered in blood.

Mostly, she just didn't want to break down in front of George. Her strength had been one of the things that had attracted him to her. What would he think if she turned into some weepy, helpless little girl?

A hand gently grasped her shoulder. She quivered. The tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to pull away from George's touch, dart upstairs and lock herself in the bathroom where she could cry alone, the way she preferred those very few times in her life when it had been necessary.

George's hand slid across her back. His arm now wrapped around her shoulders. Her jaw trembled.

No. Please, George. Don't.

He slowly pulled her toward him.

"It's my fault." The words tumbled from her mouth.

"What?"

She lifted her head, looking him in the eyes, those warm, caring, sympathetic eyes.

All her resistance crumbled. "It's my fault. I should have taken this mission seriously from the beginning."

George canted his head. "What are you going on about?"

"When my Aunt Liana told me about our mission here, I was pissed. I wanted to do something more important than hunt down some damn Chupacabra. I mean, they're pests. How could I take them seriously? But if I had, if I'd searched harder, if I'd thought up some better tactics, we could have found this thing sooner. The Diggorys . . ." She felt tears slide down her cheeks. "The Diggorys would still be alive."

"Rosa, you can't blame yourself for what happened to them."

"I'm training to be an auror, George." Her throat tightened as more tears flowed from her eyes. "My job is to protect people. I failed to do that, and the Diggorys are dead because of it."

"Rosa . . ."

She turned away, her jawquivering as she bit down a sob.

Fingers lightly touched her chin. She stiffened at George's touch. Gently but firmly, he rotated her head back toward him.

"Rosa, I've been down this road before, with Harry. When Cedric was murdered, Harry blamed himself for his death. He beat himself up for insisting they both grab the Tri-Wizard Cup so they could both win the Tournament. But how could he have known the cup was really a port key that would take him to this cemetery where You-Know-Who was waiting for him? He couldn't have. It was the same when his godfather, Sirius, was killed during the big fight at the Ministry of Magic. Harry thought if he hadn't been fooled by You-Know-Who into coming to the Ministry, Sirius wouldn't have had to go there to rescue him and the others, and he would still be alive."

George took a breath before continuing. "Do you want to know whose fault it really was? Cedric's death? Sirius' death? It was You-Know-Who's. And after seeing how big and vicious that Chupacabra was, I'd bet our shop's profits for the next ten years You-Know-Who was behind that, too."

He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned closer. "From what I've seen of you, you have been taking this seriously. You've been doing your absolute best out there."

Her cheeks twitched. Anger and sorrow collided within. "You did your best." Yeah right. That's what people told you when you screwed up. If she had done her best, the Diggorys would be alive.

George's arms slid around her back. She felt herself being pulled toward him.

Oh Merlin. No, no, no.

Darkness fell over her eyes as her face nestled against his chest. His embrace tightened.

Hold it in. Her neck muscles clenched. Hold it in.

George gently kissed the top of her head.

A sob wracked her body. Another followed. Oh Merlin, she couldn't be doing this. Not in front of George.

He ran a comforting hand up and down her back and gave her another kiss on the head. "It's okay, Rosa. I'm here for as long as you need me."

She let go and cried into his shoulder.

XXXXX

Breakfast was a much more subdued affair this morning, O'Bannon noticed. None of the usual boisterous conversations filled the air. Ron and Harry didn't discuss Quidditch. Mr. Weasley didn't ask him endless questions about the Muggle world. Even Fleur Delacour had the sense to refrain from her usual bitching.

Instead, the people around the table quietly ate their food. Or in the cases of Harry, Rosa, George and Artimus, they just picked at it. Even Mrs. Weasley was less vibrant than usual. She had not hovered over a single person insisting they take second or third helpings.

O'Bannon stroked his soft-boiled egg with the bottom of his spoon. How the hell could anyone blather on about Quidditch or fellytones or anything else after what happened last night? Two people dead. Jared lucky to get out of that fight with just a separated shoulder an Order healer easily mended.

He pictured the mutilated bodies of the Diggorys. His appetite vanished.

I still can't believe they're dead. Just a few days ago he'd been talking with Mr. Diggory about his son. Now . . .

And that creature! Could it really be a Chupacabra? How the hell could it get that big?

Like you really need to be Sherlock Friggin' Holmes to figure that one out?

Voldemort. It had to be. Who else in Britain possessed the sort of magic needed to mutate a Chupacabra like that?

After Mrs. Weasley cleared away the plates, many of which contained half-eaten food, Lupin gave out today's assignments. Even though the Aurors Office was fully into the search for any more of these "Super Chupacabra," the Order of the Phoenix had no plans to sit on the sidelines. Mr. Weasley, in fact, would be acting as liaison between the Ministry and the Order in the search. O'Bannon, Bill and Jared would take part in the search efforts around Ottery St. Catchpole, while Rosa, the twins and Artimus would check out Glastonbury again. Lupin himself would be with Hagrid at the Hurst Green safe house to examine the dead Chupacabra.

As everyone got up from the table, Lupin called out, "Jimmy, can I see you for a moment?"

"Um, okay." He wondered what this could be about.

He followed Lupin out the back door. They kept walking until they reached one of the chicken coops.

"How are you holding up?" Lupin asked.

O'Bannon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "All right." Even he could tell the response was not convincing.

Lupin sighed. "There's no reason to put on a brave front here, Jimmy."

He looked away from the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, eyeing a chicken nearby pecking at the ground. "I've just never seen . . . God, I was talking with them just a few days ago. How can they be dead?"

Lupin walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's a hard thing to accept, Jimmy, especially when they died in such a horrible way."

O'Bannon's face tightened. "I just . . . I just can't get it out of my head."

"I know what you're going through. Honestly, I do. During the last war I saw terrible things. So many times I told myself it couldn't be real, because human beings simply couldn't do such things to other human beings. And you can't help but dwell on what you've seen."

"Does it . . . does it ever go away?"

Lupin frowned. "I still have nightmares about some of the things I saw during the last war. Those events will always stay with you. The key is, you can't let them control your life."

"How do you do that?"

"Usually it just takes time. Talking about it with friends also helps. Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of doing that. We have to put the Diggorys deaths off to the side and concentrate on the task at hand. Finding any more of these altered Chupacabra."

O'Bannon's eyes widened. "How the hell can anyone do that?"

"You just have to. You just have to realize there is nothing you can do to help the Diggorys. We have to focus on the people who are still in danger from these creatures, who can still be saved. I know it's a difficult thing I'm asking, but if we can't stop thinking of the Diggorys, if we let this tragedy consume us, we won't be able to do our job. And more people will die."

O'Bannon stared at Lupin. He couldn't argue with the logic of his words. But to actually do it? Just forget about the Diggorys deaths? How could any person with any sort of feelings do that?

"And I'm sorry to put this added burden on you," Lupin continued. "But you also need to tell your friends this as well."

He took a step back, blinking at Lupin. "M-Me? Why can't you tell them?"

"You're much closer to them than I am. It will mean more coming from you. Besides, Tonks has talked about you quite a bit. She said you are the leader of your group. This is something a leader has to do."

O'Bannon stared at Lupin in silence. Was he serious? Him? This was the sort of thing an adult had to say. Not a wizard who hadn't even turned eighteen yet.

"Just remember. If you and your friends can't put the Diggorys deaths behind you, you risk becoming a liability to this mission, and more people are likely to die. I seriously doubt you want that."

With a parting nod, Lupin headed back to the Burrow.

O'Bannon watched him go, chewing on his lower lip. Lupin's words circled around the images of the Diggorys' blood-soaked bodies. He closed his eyes. The lifeless faces of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory changed. In their place he pictured Luna Lovegood and her father, Lee Jordan, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger.

Tonks.

The Weasleys.

Rosa.

Jared.

Artimus.

He shivered. How could he live with himself if he had a hand in any of their deaths?

O'Bannon drew several long, deep breaths of cold morning air until it burned his lungs. Face tightened, he marched back to the Burrow. By now everyone had assembled in the living room.

"Before we go," he announced. "Rosa, Jared, Art, Fred, George. I need to talk to you guys."

He walked past them and started up the stairs without waiting for a response. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they followed him. They did. He also spotted Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanging bewildered looks. Lupin stepped over to them and started speaking as O'Bannon and the rest continued up the stairs.

He led them into the twins' room and closed the door when everyone was inside.

"What's up, man?" asked Jared.

He turned to the group. His mind replayed Lupin's words, trying to remember verbatim what he had said. Another realization struck him. It would take more than just words to get his point across to his friends.

Shortly after the Longathian Tunnel affair, when Tonks and Rosa and Jared and Artimus affirmed his status as leader of the quartet, he'd gotten hold of every book he could regarding leadership and war. He'd picked up biographies on magical heroes like Kensington Kadermass, who led American wizarding forces against the Adirondack giants, and Soaring Hawk, the Navajo wizard who battled Death Eaters in the American Southwest during the last war. Unfortunately, those books dealt more with descriptions of battles than actual lessons of leadership. He actually had more success with Muggle books. Sun Tzu's The Art of War was a great resource. He also found good pointers in Colonel Larry Donnithorne's The West Point Way of Leadership, Dandridge M. Malone's Small Unit Leadership: A Common Sense Approach, E.K.G Sixsmith's Eisenhower, His Life and Campaigns and Rejai and Phillips' World Military Leaders: A Collective and Comparative Analysis. He tried his hand at von Clausewitz's On War, but found it way too heady. Some of the common themes of all the leadership books he'd read were: Leaders had to appear in control at all times. Leaders had to be supremely confident. Leaders could never show their true emotions. Showing worry or fear or sorrow in front of the people you led would kill their moral and confidence.

He sucked down a deep breath and squared his shoulders. His face tightened into an emotionless mask.

"The Diggorys are dead. There's nothing we can do to change that. We can mourn them, we can feel sorry for them, feel sorry for ourselves, but that won't accomplish anything. According to the Guild of the Light, You-Know-Who's bunch transported several Chupacabra from the U.S. to Britain. And if they mutated the one that attacked the Diggorys, you can bet there's more of them out there."

He paused, noticing he had everyone's undivided attention. "If you want to mourn the Diggorys more, you're going to do it another time. Because right now I need you one hundred percent focused on finding these Chupacabra. If you can't put your grief aside, if you can't put all your energy into finding and killing these bastards, then more people are going to wind up like the Diggorys. Do you want that?"

The group responded with some half-hearted "nos" and shakes of the head.

"I said do you want that!" He asked more forcefully.

"No!" They all shouted in unison.

"Then let's get out there. And the only thing I want on all your minds on, every minute you're out there, is finding these Chupacabra. Got it?"

"Yeah!"

"Good. Now let's go do what we came here to do."

He stepped aside and watched his friends exit the room. An air of resolve surrounded them. Inwardly he smiled. It appeared they had all bought into his words.

O'Bannon only hoped he could live up to them himself.

TO BE CONTINUED

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All the Muggle books mentioned here are actual titles.