The Carrows' Calling
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. Enough said.
Chapter Eighteen
Luna felt the excruciating pain run through her trembling body, like lethal lightning. Her arms were on the verge of falling off, and she could barely even feel her aching legs.
The curse had hit her square in the chest; blood-red sparks were flying off the aimed point. Her back was arched in pain, and her long, blonde hair was flying out behind her, in every direction. Her mouth was open in mid-scream, but was then clenched tightly shut, refusing to say anything, to show any sign of pain.
Luna could see the man in those dark blue robes holding the curse upon her, blurred through her tear-filled eyes. He had a vile smile upon his loathed, pale, thin face and Luna could see a silver ring glinting in the light of the curse, a exquisite, unrecognisable design etched onto it. The man gave a barking laugh as and threw back his head, enjoying Luna's agony.
"Hurt enough, Lovegood?" Luna didn't reply, her mouth was clamped in pain; trying her utter best not to show any of her torment. A metallic taste filled her mouth, only adding to the curse's torture.
"Well?" he asked, noticing, a smirk on his face. "Ready to talk?"
Not speaking a word, Luna glared at the wand holder, swallowing the blood in her mouth. Her entire body shook, even when she was trying to hide it. I don't even know what the bloody hell you want from me! She screamed internally. No matter, Luna could feel the darkness slowly take over. Almost yearning for it, she didn't try to resist, as her vision fogged up, and—
The man noticed her near-fainting, and immediately stopped the curse.
Collapsed to the ground, Luna heaved out broken breaths as she composed herself. This was almost worse than passing out. At least that would've relieved her from the cruel reality of what she actually felt.
She tried not to make any further indication of her wounds, and pulled herself into a sitting position, hiding a wince (she was smart enough to know not to stand).
Luna felt a pang of guilt run through her aching chest; she had not cared nearly enough when Ginny went through all this pain.
Ginny. And Neville. Luna felt the bleak, depressing comprehension of the real world collapse on her. She hadn't realised just how much she had depended on her friends to get her through troubles. And now…
"Hey! Don't zone out!" The man's voice snapped, annoyed, like the past events hadn't happened. He's not the only one, Luna thought bitterly. "What I just inflicted on you is just a sliver of how much I can really do. Would you like to find out?" He twirled his wand, a twisted smile on his face.
A shiver slithered down Luna's spine. Somehow, she knew he wasn't bluffing. And as much as she hated to admit it, Luna didn't think she could take any more of the pain she had just induced. She crossed her arms, pressed her lips together, and stared blankly into the man's dark, menacing eyes.
Seemingly satisfied, the man folded his hands together. "Smart enough not to mess around now, aren't you? Good girl!" he said, so saccharine, Luna almost faked a gag. "And I think you already know what you're here for." And as he spoke these words, Luna began to figure it out.
The thin man slowly paced around Luna, making her feel more like a stalked animal than ever. "You should've known better than to bring attention to The Quibbler," he explained. "Hmm… yes, I'm sure your father loves you very dearly. It would be such a shame if anything were to… happen." Luna's eyes widened, despite the early realisation. "I wonder how much he'd bargain?"
Luna clenched her jaw, ignoring the flare of pain from her bloody mouth.
"Don't you dare bring my father into this!" she spoke through gritted teeth. She could feel the sore in her mouth, barely healed, start bleeding again, but she barely felt it through her anger.
The Death Eater's eyes glinted with content, having finally provoked her. In a flash, he bent down, going eye-to-eye with Luna. She drew back and shuddered. His breath stank; like the Carrows'.
"Oh, that's too bad," he purred, malevolent. "I already have."
Thump. Luna was thrown back into the cell that she originally shared with Ollivander earlier, before she was taken out. He hurried over to her.
"I'm so sorry!" he gasped as he tore another strip from his shirt hurriedly, "I wish I could do more than just this."
Luna comforted Ollivander, as he tried his best to help her. It wasn't much; the Death Eaters had stripped them of whatever magical items they had with them, so the best Ollivander could do was wipe off Luna's face with the torn-off strip of clothing and some water.
As he cleaned Luna's face with trembling hands, glaring at nothing in particular, she tried to lighten the mood a bit, deciding it could help both of them. "So, how's the wand business going?" Luna blurted, faking nonchalance; it was the only phrase that came to mind.
"Not very good, considering the circumstances," Ollivander glared, and Luna gasped, too late realising what she had just said.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ollivander! I didn't mean it like that, I…" she stammered, trailing off with a guilty look cast at the floor.
Seeing Luna's expression, Ollivander quickly added,
"No, no, don't look like that. None of this is your fault, obviously! It's just, I've been on the edge for a while," he said in a rushed tone, then zoned out, having finished wiping off Luna's face. Ollivander then slide over to one of the corners of the room and produced a bag. From inside it, he pulled out a small piece of bread and a jug of water. He crawled back to the Luna and handed her the bread.
"Is this all you have?" Luna asked in shock, surprised that he would give her the entire piece. "Here, take the rest. Or we can save it, I'm not that hungry." That, of course was a blatant lie. Luna was starving, but thought it better to save the little bits of food they had. Ollivander back away from her in protest.
"No, no, it's fine. Besides, we will get food supply every few days." Luna ignored this and forcefully placed the bread back into Ollivander's hand, only keeping a quarter for herself. He reluctantly took it and though he had said it was fine, he began to eat.
Luna nibbled away at her portion of bread, savoring every little bit, as though she wouldn't have anything else to eat on this planet. It could be true though. She could die tomorrow, but at least in heaven you had food.
The next hours were spent in thick, palpable silence, and Luna didn't make any move to break it, for she had tried already, and it definitely did not end well. So instead, she let herself think, while she worked away at her bread.
Where are Ginny and Neville, now? Are they safe? Are they worried? Luna felt a stab of guilt; for she had felt a twinge of envy, and for a moment, she had actually wanted her friends to be worried about her. Urgently, Luna pushed the thought away, forcing it to dissipate, along with any other worries she had. No. I want them to be happy. I'll find a way out of this myself.
Slightly more determined now, Luna drifted off to a anxious, dreamless slumber, right after finishing her bread, a little more content with food in her stomach.
A sudden, loud, thump echoed through the air, and Luna's eyes snapped open almost immediately. Her mind frantically spinned as she gradually regained her senses of where she was—a jail cell, with Ollivander. But not only him now.
A boy was sprawled across the floor, only a couple feet away from Luna and Ollivander. He appeared to be unconscious, and was wearing a dirt ridden, tarnished Gryffindor red shirt that looked as if it had been dragged across the earth. His jeans had more than just a few holes in them; they seemed to be ripped to pieces. He had raven-black hair, and his dark skin seemed to glow in the pathetic stream of moonlight that shot through the tiny square window.
The more Luna looked at the boy, the more she thought, until it clicked. She had seen him walking around the halls with his friend, Seamus Finnigan, tall and lanky, towering over him. Dean Thomas.
Despite her utter exhaustion, Luna dragged herself off the floor and groggily walked over to the unconscious boy. Her complaints, however, dissolved quickly, as she got a better look at the fainted wizard. There was a large gash on his forehead that was fresh; still bleeding. Luna's hands curled into fists as she realised what it meant—the cut was jagged and askew; it was a crude, twisted replica of Harry's scar.
His hands rested on his lap, chained together by a large lock. With his unconsciousness, ragged clothing, and deep wounds, it looked like he was dead.
Swallowing her fear and letting her instinct take over, Luna sat down beside him and grabbed the discarded strip of cloth that Ollivander had torn off earlier. She found the only side that could be described as "clean", and cautiously wiped it across his face, imitating Ollivander's motions to her, careful not to wake him.
After what could only have been minutes (though it seemed like an eternity), the bleeding seemed to have ended, and the wound was beginning to clot. Relieved and glad, Luna placed the now-completely-bloodied cloth down beside her, and began to look for something to pick the large lock binding his hands together with.
She stood up and squinted around the small room, looking for a nail or something of that matter. She had experience picking a lock before; her father had taught it to her a couple years ago.
Deciding that there was going to be nothing she could spot standing and surveying, Luna started crawling on her knees, around the perimeter of the room, using her hands to search for a loose nail. It wasn't going to take long, she reasoned, as the room was rather small. She placed her hands on the walls, feeling the rough-yet-smooth surface of the stones. Her fingers dug into the crevices of the bricks, digging into the slightly squishy feeling of whatever was holding the room together. Feeling for a jagged object.
After a long moment of panic, as there seemed to be nothing, and when Dean seemed to be losing strength, in one of the darkest corners of the room, opposite to where to others were, Luna found a bent loose nail hanging off of the third brick up. A good luck omen.
She smiled proudly to herself, and placed her fingers around the nail, gently wedging it out of its home as to prevent it from bending or breaking.
At last, the nail came out. Luna held it up to the moonlight, examining it to see if it could be of use.
It was very old; and the copper rust was beginning to flake off in large sections. The nail was bent heavily in the middle, but, Luna decided, it could still be used to pick a lock.
Luna scooted back over to Dean, careful not to drop the precious key. She picked up the lock on the chains, surprised at how light it was.
Luna tilted the lock so it was illuminated in the small sliver of moonlight, so she could see it better. She inserted the nail into the rusted lock hole, and jimmied it around hopefully. To her disappointment, the lock didn't budge. She sighed, but remembering how long it took for her to pick her first lock, she took the nail out and tried again.
After what seemed like ages, Luna felt a giddy sense of accomplishment, for she had finally picked the lock. Luna drew her arm back, about to throw the nail, but after a second thought, she placed the nail in a little nook she found in the wall instead, deciding she would probably need it again.
Luna pried the lock open and quickly unwrapped the chains from around Dean's wrists, which seemed to have lost circulation, much to Luna's alarm. She saw his eyes flutter a little, but close again. Luna flung the chains in a corner, cringing regretfully at the rather loud clang, and inspected the boy's wrists a bit more. They each had a thin band of red skin, and his hands were cold. She pondered for a moment, and decided on something. She took off her sweater and draped it around the boy—he needed it more than her.
Once she was finally finished, Luna leaned against the wall, having done everything she had, and fell into a restless sleep.
Severus' eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright in his bed, gasping for air. He took several deep breaths as he stared at the large fireplace facing him, of which was dwindling into ambers, the orange flames still spraying sparks in a feeble effort to stay alive.
Above the fireplace, stood a very small muggle portrait, rimmed with gold. It was a picture of a stunning young girl, no older than seventeen, with flaming red hair that fell in heavy ringlets around her pale face. Her eyes were bright emerald green and full of life—very unlike her current state.
Severus stared into those eyes, letting them calm him down, losing himself in the burning love and hope they shone with. But the love wasn't for him. Severus had taken the photo with a muggle camera he stole from his father, without Lily's knowledge.
She had been beaming with pride for her boyfriend, who had just won a Quidditch match. Severus remembered he had to fight himself to keep his hands off James' neck.
Severus felt the stab of pain run through his chest, and averted his eyes from the portrait. He glanced around the familiar room. A closet stood to the left, right across from the bed. In it, held many, many black robes, of which were all identical.
It had once held clothes of blinding colours and crazy hats.
Right beside the slowly-but-surely dying fireplace was the door to the bathroom.
The other side of the fireplace held another door. Severus knew that if he opened it, it would lead to the office. The room was rather spacious, with much space to move, although it was a waste, anyway—he almost never anything but sleep in the room. Severus could put in an entire class, and there would still be plenty of space. But it didn't feel like that.
Severus felt as though every time he stepped inside, the room would be cramping him in, pushing him onto himself. He felt trapped, as though the room knew.
That he was the one, the killer, of the previous owner.
It was as though the room was still loyal to its previous owner, like it had a life of its own—it was a distinct possibility. You almost never knew about a magic castle. Severus felt as though he didn't belong, as though he wasn't worthy of the room, as though he wasn't worthy to take Albus Dumbledore's place. The feeling he got in the office was just a further confirmation of it. But even so, he could still feel the magic of the school wards rush through him, giving him warmth and comfort. But somehow, he hated this feeling, feeling of being comforted, of being warm. It made him rely on it, to survive everyday in the dreaded castle. He hated it, having to rely on something, and he knew that if it was taken away, he didn't know what he was going to do. Severus wondered if this was how Minerva had once felt, before she had transferred the wards over to him. He had been shocked somewhat, for he thought the wards wouldn't come to him. Hogwarts had powerful, old magic. It only accepted the true, good wizards.
Dumbledore had once described the feeling to him, about the castle and having to keep the wards intact so he could feel intact. Dumbledore had once loved it, then once hated it, then once accepted it. As he thought more and more about the old headmaster, his mind slipped back to that night.
Severus could remember the night as if it happened yesterday. It haunted him every night, every moment. And words couldn't describe how much he hated himself for it.
Severus stood at the staircase leading to the tower, hearing and ignoring, the loud shrieks of Bellatrix and the low growls of Greyback, the werewolf. Then he broke through the barrier, his Dark Mark allowing him to do so. Bellatrix appeared in front of him, screeching,
"Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us—" Her eyes shifted over to him, and Severus caught the way her mouth snapped shut. Ignoring Bellatrix, he swept his eyes over the scene; Dumbledore slumped against the wall across him, so deathly pale Severus' heart dropped, surrounded by the four other Death Eaters, including Malfoy and Greyback.
He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, this was it. This was the moment, he knew it. He could feel his hand shaking slightly as he gripped his wand, but repressed in, to show that he was, at least on the outside, confident.
He knew Potter was around here somewhere, for Dumbledore had told him he had taken the boy on a mission. But where?
Amycus spoke first. "We've got a problem, Snape. The boy doesn't seem able—" But Severus's attention wasn't on Amycus anymore. It was on Dumbledore. He was slowly weakening, his knees giving in beneath him, the frail man sliding down to the floor. Then Dumbledore spoke, so quietly Severus almost couldn't hear him.
"Severus…" Dumbledore was pleading, and Severus bit down on the inside of his mouth to prevent from showing emotion. Dumbledore, Albus, the bravest man he ever knew, was begging. He gripped his wand so hard he feared it would break, and for one bizarre moment, he wished it would. Perhaps if it did, he wouldn't have to do what he was going to do then. Severus knew, deep down, that it was all for the greater good, but he could feel the fear building up inside him, about to burst out. He said nothing, instead, his thoughts raced across his mind, no one hearing them but himself. Severus did his best to keep his face emotionless, and prayed that it would be enough.
He walked forwards, barely keeping from stumbling, and shoved Draco roughly out of harm's way, right behind him. Severus could see the true fear etched upon his pale, colourless face. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus could see the other three Death Eaters fall back obediently. He sensed that Bellatrix knew what he was doing, for the look on her face was pure glee, the happiness that another would fall among the many dead bodies she had seen.
Severus gazed at Dumbledore for a last moment, his black, unforgiving eyes meeting those dulled, lifeless blue ones. Severus, throughout all the years he had known Dumbledore, had always associated him with bright blue, twinkling eyes. All of that was gone now, replaced with pale, glassy blue orbs. Severus gave a slight plead with his eyes, though he knew it would be futile. Dumbledore's eyes gave a strong, important message to Severus.
It's time. Kill me. End it.
Severus looked at the dying man in front of him with forced repulsion and disgust, as though Dumbledore was a bloodied, dead animal. He glared at the now-shivering man, remembering the times he had shaken his head at him angrily, the times when he had pushed him to his limit, the times he had used him, as a measley pawn on the chessboard, as nothing more, despite how much he had done.
A chess game he was about to play alone. He felt the lines of hatred etched upon his face, becoming genuine.
Then he met his eyes once more. Those pale, blue, lifeless eyes. Severus almost lost control of himself, his eyes burning. Dumbledore, suddenly, spoke again, his words even softer than before.
"Severus… Please…"
It was his last wish, and he had to fulfill it.
He pointed his wand and aimed it at Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!" He spoke of anger, but for which man, Severus could not tell.
A jet of bright green light left the end of Severus's wand and hit Dumbledore straight in the chest. Severus watched in a daze as the greatest wizard of all time was lifted into the air: for a second he seemed as if he was hung suspended, like a great rag doll.
Severus watched as then, slowly, Dumbledore fell backwards, almost in slow motion, leaving the chessboard forever, leaving the game to him, and him alone.
Severus hoped that the night was dark enough for the others to not notice the silent tear slip down his cheek and his lips silently move.
"I'm sorry, Albus." For the first time, Severus addressed Dumbledore the way he wanted him to.
Ginny scanned the staff table. She had nothing better to do, Neville was busy studying for his N.E.W.T's and Luna… well, Luna was gone.
Ginny couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her friend. Were they hurting her? Who's they? Is she OK? What do they want from her? Ginny sighed, and placed her chin on her hand, leaning against the Gryffindor house table moodily.
The large, golden seat that was reserved for the Headmaster, was empty. Snape was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he's at another Death Eater meeting, deciding how to torture more innocent students. Ginny could feel the anger boil up in her.
Professor McGonagall sat to the left of the chair, sitting tall and regal as always. She thankfully looked fine, much better than she had the previous term. Professor Sprout sat to her right, and she seemed to be arguing with Professor Flitwick. Their heads were leaned in together and Professor Flitwick was making rapid hand gestures. Ginny was too tired to think about what they were doing.
Professor Carrow sat to the left of the empty Headmaster chair, in the seat of Deputy Headmaster. Where Professor McGonagall should be. His sister sat right beside him, staring down at the students with a malicious grin on her face, as though she was the queen and they were her peasants. Well, that probably is how she sees it. Ginny stretched, and sighed.
Then, out of the corner of her sight, flutter of movement caught Ginny's eye.
A large tawny owl landed gracefully on the Gryffindor table, right in front of Ginny. He hooted attentively. Tied to its leg was a letter, and written with green ink in neat, meticulous handwriting, was Ginevra Weasley.
Ginny tentatively untied the letter off of the owl's leg (with a little suspicion) and gave it a bit of food to nibble on for a gift. It nuzzled Ginny affectionately, and flew away. She watched it, and frowned when it didn't appear to fly outside, but rather towards the dormitories, but didn't think of it much.
She placed the letter on the table and inspected it. The letter seemed free of any type of enchantment, but Ginny still tapped it with her wand, in case there was an invisible curse of some sort. The letter sparkled green, indicating the letter was free to open. Relaxed now, Ginny carefully peeled back the seal, breaking the red wax. A long strip of parchment fell into her lap. Inscribed upon it with the same green ink, was a letter from a good friend of Ginny's.
Hey Ginny!
In case you don't believe it's Nymphadora Tonks here, your favourite transformation from me is the duck beak with the pig ears. I hope you believe me now, 'cause I can't think of any other type of way to prove to you that I'm really Nymphadora Tonks. (God, I hate that name).
Well Ginny, I hope you like little kids, 'cause you're going to be godmother! Well, Remus and I were hoping that you would be godmother. We talked to your mother about this and she said that it would be fine. What do you say? Reply to me back with the same owl. He will fly up to your dormitory after delivering this letter. It's the sixth year girls' right? I sure hope so…
You can take as long as you want to write your letter. Please say yes!
-Tonks (and Remus)
P.S. I have some things to tell you in the next letter.
Ginny looked up from the letter, a smile beaming on her face. She had seen Tonks just this Christmas and, she knew that she was pregnant. Remus had told her that they had decided on Harry for godfather and hadn't chosen a godmother yet. And now I know it's me!
Ginny hugged the letter to her chest, beaming. She picked up the envelope of which held the letter and left the Great Hall with considerably more happiness than moments before.
Author's Note:
What do you think about Ginny being Teddy's godmother? Is it too much? I thought that since Harry's godfather, they (Remus and Tonks) wouldn't need a godmother, but I always thought that Ginny and Tonks would have a close relationship. Agree or disagree? Please let me know by reviewing, I would really appreciate it!
-Zigostia