Chapter Eleven : Strawberry Hopes



Adrian Pucey groans, rolling over in the warm bed he's not supposed to be in, but doesn't want to get out of. "Bloody hell." His blue eyes browse over the chamber before they decide to go out of focus again, and all he sees is a blurry mixture of the silver and black canopy bed, and green and black masks that hang upon the plain walls. Sighing deeply, the aroma of strawberry incense fills his lungs, and Adrian shields his eyes against the light from the candles that sit about the room. "Rae?" Raising his hand, he massages his temples in hopes of warding off his headache, before stifling a yawn. No answer comes from Rae, and Adrian sits up farther to glance around. Still no answer; the only thing that flows into his ears is a steady scratching noise coming from somewhere he cannot see, followed by a few curses. The voice unmistakably belongs to Rae.

"Damn fucking spots!"

Adrian groans again, and forcing himself from the comfortable bed, he grabs for his robes, which are still his Quidditch set from the night before. He never returned to his own chambers; instead, he waited for Rae in hers. And he was thankful when she did return.

The cement floor is cold underneath his bare feet, and slightly wet. "Bloody hell?" Adrian shakes his head, dismissing the dampness as a cause of the late May rainfall. With his headache forgotten, but still pressing between his temples, another set of curses passes his ears. He decides to set off in the general direction from which they are coming, which just happens to be the bathroom.

"Rae?" He enters the elegant room, only to find Rae scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. Then he realises that this is why the floor in the main room was damp. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Damn fucking spot!" is Rae's only reply. Her chocolate tresses are pulled back loosely into a ponytail, though a few strands fall before her empty blue eyes. She wears washed-out brown robes, which are wet at the knees, and too baggy for her thin frame.

"Why are you doing servant's work?" Adrian drawls, his headache now worse than ever. He glances around, noticing that the marble seashell sink and the clawfoot soaking tub are also spotlessly clean.

Rae doesn't reply, she merely begins to scrub faster.

"Get up, Rae."

"I thought you liked me on my knees."

Adrian rolls his eyes. "No. You have me confused with your boyfriend." His tone is extremely bitter, but in the end the words hurt him more than he expected, and don't jade Rae. When she ignores him again, he changes the subject to the help that every witch and wizard owns. "Where's that house-elf of yours?"

"I dismissed Kydal a few months ago. Blaise needed him more than I did, with the new born baby and all. A lovely girl; Seamus should be proud. I think they named her Lillian. Lillian Zabini-Finnigan." Rae continues to wash the floors; she doesn't notice that she has rendered Adrian speechless from her words. "Oh," she begins to clean one cement tile intensely with both hands, "damn bloody spots!"

Adrian drags his gaze downwards but sees not the obsessed-over spot. "Rae?" Concern rides over his voice; he's never seen Rae behave like this before.

"Did you know he told me it was my fault?" Her voice cracks as she speaks, and she unenthusiastically chuckles afterwards to cover her depression.

Adrian furrows his eyebrows, and he takes a seat before Rae on the step leading up to the bathtub. "Who told you what?" He places his hand over hers, and she looks up at him. For the first time, he notices a light indigo bruise under her right eye, and a crack in her lower lip, unmistakably caused by Marcus' fist. He doesn't need to hear the words now to know what she's talking about. The anger begins to boil inside of him, but he is only a bystander, and Marcus would never listen to Adrian lecturing him on how to treat a lady.

"Marcus wanted to see me earlier, before dawn broke. And being the scared prat that I am, I went to his chambers." She shakes slightly, abruptly pulling away from Adrian's touch, as though he is Marcus and could strike her at any time.

"Rae, listen to me. Leland's death wasn't your fault. It was either him or Marcus."

"I made the wrong choice. I should have saved Leland and let the Bludger smack into Marcus. Should have let Marcus's blood stain the earth instead of Leland's." She drops her cloth into the water bucket; it lands with a splash of dirty water. "Marcus should have been the one to die, not Leland. Never Leland."

Adrian nods an agreement, and Rae, disgustedly, jumps to her feet, tipping the water bucket over. Used water flows over their feet, but they neither notice nor care.

"How can you agree with that? He's your best mate!" Hypocrisy means nothing to her; she has a reason to detest Marcus, but she doesn't believe that Adrian does.

"Best mate or not, the bloke's a bloody cunt. You think that friendship matters to him? I'm only his best mate because I haven't done anything to piss him off--well, nothing he knows about. He'd kill me at first chance if he knew about us, and you think it's nauseating that I'd prefer him dead? I'm a bloody sitting duck when I'm with you! I'm the one putting everything on the line." Adrian stands as well, but doesn't take the offensive. His tone remains understanding and calm. He has always been level-headed; it's something his mother taught him.

"What the fuck do you want me to do about it? You knew that when you became involved with me again that I was with Marcus!" Rae exhales sharply, throwing her arms into the air exasperatedly before turning to storm from the bathroom.

Adrian follows closely behind. "I want you to break up with him!"

Rae stops short, sniggering lowly. "Don't you think that if I could, I would have already? But Marcus would kill me before he let me leave him. I'm sorry, Adrian, but I don't really want to die. I'm selfish that way." She sighs and slumps her shoulders before Adrian takes her tightly in his arms. "I'm too young to die. Too bloody young."

"I should have never brought it up, just forget about it. About him." He leans forward, raising Rae's chin with his hand to kiss her deeply. Rae's hand clasps with his, and she pulls him closer while their lips remained locked. When Adrian does pull away, several minutes have already passed. He smiles, changing the subject to a--hopefully--lighter tone. "How about you tell me why that Hufflepuff Seeker was chasing you?" He's been meaning to ask her for a bit now, but the opportunity never arose.

"I think he wanted another shag."

"Another?" Adrian places his hands on Rae's shoulders, and pushes her away slightly. "When was the first shag? And do you know that he's eight years your junior?"

"Of course I know that. But . . . I was lonely. You and Marcus both were at Alpha, so I went to Terence Higgs and asked if he could bring someone up from a camp for a bit of consolation. He brought up a fifteen-year-old Hufflepuff." Rae runs her slender fingers up and down Adrian's arm, sending chills down his spine, and she begins to slowly remove his green robes. "It meant nothing; I gave Corner a Polyjuice Potion to turn him into you . . ."

"I never knew you were good at Potions."

"I'm not. I paid Pansy Parkinson five galleons to brew one."

"Pansy?" Adrian swallows hard, licking his lips and stopping Rae from doing what she has planned. "Pansy knows about us?" Everyone knows that Pansy is the biggest gossip in the castle. Nothing's a secret with her.

Upon noticing that she has Adrian squirming for all the wrong reasons, Rae eases his fears. "Don't worry about it. Pansy won't be telling Marcus anything. Matter of fact, I think she was ecstatic to hear that I was cheating on him. Apparently, he killed her best friend in 1996, Millicent Bulstrode, and she has never forgiven him for it."

Adrian slowly nods. "But, how did Marcus not find out? He should have been able to smell your scent all over Corner." Suddenly, Adrian wonders how Marcus doesn't smell Rae on him. Maybe the troll genes Marcus possesses aren't as they seem, but that wouldn't be something he terribly minds.

Rae grins. "Strawberries are the one thing that can cover any scent with so Marcus won't pick up on it. Call it a loophole if you wish, but I lucked out when I discovered that." And for the first time, Adrian understands why Rae's chamber is filled with strawberry scented candles and incense. He grins, too, and kisses Rae once more, but she immediately pulls away.

"I have spots on my spotless floor that must be removed."

* * *

The usually peaceful conference room of the International House of Ministers on this cool October morning bustles with nearly one hundred and fifty delegates, and the six members of the Last Alliance. Tensions hang thick in the air, and the atmosphere is cold and uncompassionate. Flags of over two hundred nations hang diagonally from the walls, and the room is filled with three semi-circular oak tables, and one round table of matching wood where the Last Alliance resides sits in the centre.

"We've come here today . . ." one wizard, obviously the head of the alliance, starts.

"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but you have no place here," interrupts a female voice from the lead table. Her hair is crow-black, very fine and straight, falling to the middle of her back. Her eyes are deep-set chestnut, and they flash with power, violence, and a prejudice towards those who are below her. She wears ancient silver jewelry of old and forgotten gods and goddesses of Egypt, and her skin is a golden brown tone. Brushing her hair away from her face, she reveals a scar along her left wrist in the shape of an X.

"We have every place here, Miss . . ."

"Tahirah Nefertari," the thin woman replies with a harsh tone. Crossing her arms, she sighs heavily and continues, "And if you do not know who I am, then I suggest you leave. We don't have to answer to fallen heroes whose powers are weaker than our own." She considers these wizards to be a waste of time and oxygen, and it's noticed for the first time that two guards stand close behind her. She appears to be an important woman in the congress; all of the Ministers remain silent as she speaks, but this is their first time meeting her.

"Miss Nefertari, we only wish to help," another of the alliance explains.

"I understand that, but we are not prepared for a full-frontal assault."

The chamber falls under a hush as most become more uncomfortable in their surroundings. There are some who believe that Tahirah speaks reasonably, while a small fraction of the Ministers would side with the Last Alliance if the choice ever arose. Of course, they keep that piece of information to themselves.

"You fool! You are no better than Lucius Malfoy! You are condemning those people to death--why can't you see that?" Severus Snape growls, pounding his pale hands on the firm arms of his elm wood chair. He leans forward to stand, but grudgingly stops when someone's hand lands on his shoulder to calm him. Severus glances over to be met with eyes as black as his own. Growling, he pulls his naturally greasy hair back and mumbles select words to the wizard beside him that no one else picks up.

Tahirah Nefertari stands slowly in one cat-like movement. Her black silk robes fit tightly, flaring out past her large hips, and across the left lapel is the insignia of the International House of Ministers. All other delegates hang on her every word, as she starts to lecture the Last Alliance with a bored and lazy tone. She's had enough of these . . . people. "If we act now, those prisoners will die. It's best we bide our time, for there is nothing we can do at the moment. When an opportunity arises, I ensure you we will act, but not until then. We don't have enough manpower to take on those thousands of Death Eaters; it would be foolish to charge into battle. We have to build our numbers." She takes her seat as most of the countries' Ministers nod in agreement. A few pound their fists on their tables, and when Tahirah sternly raises her hand to hush them, they instantaneously listen.

"Fine. You build your bloody numbers. We will draw up a plan and act." The leader of the alliance stands as he speaks, and the other five members follow his example. "We bid you a good day, and let me just say that we believe you are making a huge mistake. Where are the wizards who were anxious for our help? You'd best listen to those under you, Miss Nefertari. It just might do some . . ."

"Guards, escort these men out." Tahirah smirks and crosses her arms.

Seven guards emerge from the sides, and the alliance steps back cautiously.

"We can show ourselves out."

But the imperial guards don't listen, and the Ministers only watch as the Last Alliance is consecutively thrown out of the conference room onto their ears. The door slams shut on Snape's robes, and they sit there for more than a few seconds, reflecting on the meeting that didn't go as planned.

When one does crawl to his feet, the others do as well.

Five wizards and a witch march down the barren corridors, heads high although they believe that they have failed. But hopefully it's just a minor set-back.

Does every Ministry have the privilege of ignoring important issues? If the Ministry of Britain never ignored Harry Potter in 1995, maybe things would have turned out for the better. But maybe not.

Because of the Ministry of Magic, they'll never know.

Once they have stepped from the House of Representatives and onto the dismal streets of Paris, Igor Karkaroff clears his throat, and all eyes are drawn to him in hopes of better news, but that's not usually what Karkaroff brings. "Do you realise who has taken over as International Minister?"

All shake their heads, but are wary about his answer.

"A Death Eater's widow."

"Fuck, Jerrell Amitri's wife. I thought she looked familiar. Bloody hell, has she ever changed, though?" Severus replies, shaking his head with disgust. "It seems as though the Death Eaters have infiltrated the Ministries more than we expected." What they don't know is that her connections to the Death Eaters run deeper than a deceased husband.

The head of the group sighs and curses under his breath.

He Apparates away without a word, and the others follow gravely in suit.