Chapter 1 : The Last Word
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 11|
Background: Font color:
I wonder this as I am sitting at the kitchen table peeling yet another orange. My hands do it automatically; I’ve become rather skilled with a knife. After I finish, I set the knife down, and grin contemplatively. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve experienced success, my family supports me in everything I do, and my name will go down in history as a great hero. Though perhaps, soon, my name will be in the books for more than that one accomplishment.
The orange lays untouched on the table, and I place my long fingers on it gracefully. How would I do it? What are the consequences? Will I get caught? These are all the questions that crowd my mind so that I cannot even think anymore. They take up every second of my thought processes, so much so, that sometimes I forget to breath. There’s a name I think, for these types of thoughts. What is it? Ah yes, malice aforethought.
I don’t think I’d get caught. After all, these people deserve what I will give to them, and more than likely, if I’m discovered the authorities will turn their heads. I know the authorities after all what with Kingsley at the Ministry and Potter, Head of the Auror Department. They’d certainly understand my actions. Oh, but they’re all so noble. Ah, I think, but they’ve never been against killing guilty blood. However, I believe fame has gone to Potter’s head; he is too self-righteous for his own good now. As for the others, well, they will probably follow his example, as always.
But I would be smarter than all that. I needn’t even worry about getting caught. It’s laughable really, to think I’d get caught, because well, I know all the tricks in the book – better than anyone perhaps, although that’s an arguable fact. It is arguable only because the one person who would know better than me is dead.
The people, oh the evil people, who did that to him will pay; I’ll make sure of it. I pick up the orange and divide it evenly into the individual slices and eat each one slowly. After I am done, I pick up the remains and empty them into the garbage bin. It won’t be long now, I think. Every one of my actions echoes a bigger meaning, and I can even hear it especially now, so close to my goal.
I never thought I’d be the vengeful type. We always laughed at those people that we read about in the newspapers, but then, we also talked about how we would do it better than them. We’d pick apart their tactics, their crimes, and create our own, although obviously, we never acted them out. Until now, I think, but now it’s just me. I laugh mirthfully to the empty room because it is funny that I am here now, in this situation.
The room remains steady although it should be spinning, and I should be reeling, but I am quite calm. I walk out of the kitchen and into the bedroom of my small two person flat. It is not a mistake that there are two bedrooms, two armchairs, two toothbrushes next to the sink. Once another person lived here, and he should still, if it wasn’t for them.
That’s another reason why I should become a murderer. They took away half my soul; my reason to live, just as they did to many, many others. Who would miss them? There’s no reason why they should remain alive. I’ve asked, and I’ve wondered aloud why they haven’t been killed yet, why they did not even receive the Dementor’s Kiss. The constant answer: They’re in Azkaban. What is there worst than that? They’re receiving their punishment in full as it is!
Azkaban is nothing compared to death. I know what death feels like; I’m there halfway already. They deserve to know what it feels like in full! And I will make sure they do.
I leave the little flat and exit down the stairs and out into the street. It is evening and people are still milling about. Imagine, they’re actually laughing and enjoying themselves! With a murderer walking amongst them! But they have nothing to fear.
I will make two stops tonight. I Disapparate to the first; a place I have only heard of but never seen.
Malfoy Manor is even bigger than I imagined.
Lucius Malfoy never even saw me coming as I knew he wouldn’t. Everything had been planned for so long, and thought through so perfectly, it was simply impossible anything would go wrong. The same knife I had used to slice my orange earlier this same day was the same knife that slit his throat. I made quick work of it as well. I saw no reason in drawing it out. I was only particular that he die by use of a muggle object; an object made by the people he hated so much. I thought it was necessary and a nice touch that he should die by such a thing. I stare down at his motionless body for just a moment before using the Killing Curse on it, just to make sure. There will be no mistakes tonight.
In a few hours time, his family will find his lifeless form and cry for him, I am sure. Then they will know what it is to lose someone even half as important as what it was for me to lose him. And I will be satisfied only then.
Lucius was the only Death Eater not in Azkaban. I have no idea why he never was taken away. He was the sloppiest of all the Death Eaters in his work; I had watched him during my time at Hogwarts. Some of the Death Eaters’ crimes, I had even admired in some small way for their craftiness, but never his. Somehow, the least careful never paid for his crimes. Perhaps it paid for him to be lazy, but it won’t for me.
I leave one small token…more of a signature, really, and leave. I exit as swiftly as I came, and Disapparate quickly to my next and final stop. I Apparate to a tall cliff overlooking what looks like nothing but water. However, I know better, and I am prepared. My broom appears at my side due to my Summoning Charm, and I leap on to it at once with ease that can only come with experience. The flight is short, and I know exactly where I am heading.
It’s almost too easy. I fly into each remaining and alive Death Eaters’ cell and make short work of them all. They’re all so weak that all they can do is peer up at me with empty eyes before casting them downward again. Some of them even ask for death and that makes me hesitate before I think, what do they know of death? They ask for something they know nothing of. And so they receive it.
Once again I leave my signature in each cell. It’s simple really. In the planning stages, I thought almost too simple. Such a small piece of parchment…but no matter, it will do the job.
After I am finished, I fly back to the cliff and back to my flat where I sit at my kitchen table. I peel another orange with the knife and wait for sunrise.
And when sunrise comes, my work is everywhere. It’s in the news most definitely but my trickery and cunning passes easily from one mouth to another. The listener pretends shock and the teller relishes in relaying the story. They care nothing for the victims so what does it matter? It’s only entertainment to them, but to me, it’s much more.
A knock at the door, and I rise to my feet. I’d been expecting this of course. When I open the door my brother enters looking faint and half-awake. Of course he’s seen the bodies by now then. He always did have a weak stomach and his face is pale as he hands me the parchment that I recognize so well. He asks me if I know anything about it, and I reply simply, no, of course not, but isn’t it simply awful what went on last night? He looks at me skeptically, and I think for a second he knows, but there, he smiles weakly, and I am saved.
He leaves soon after, and I am left with my handiwork from yesterday. It’s a simple piece of paper with a large scripted ‘W’ written across it. I thought it was right that the same letter we left in the sky upon leaving Hogwarts fighting and winning against people we hated should be left with the same kind of people I had won against now.
Because I had won. I defeated the people who had killed Fred, making sure he didn’t die without a last word, a last say in things. I am his twin after all, and I am his last word.
I am George Weasley; a murderer. Easily the best there ever was.
And who will ever know?
I smile at the emptiness that surrounds me, divide my orange into slices, and eat each one, licking the juice off my fingers when I finish.
Other Similar Stories
Fall of the ...
Memoir Of A ...
Where the Sh...