Chapter 1 : Prologue
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Disclaimer: I own nothing.
As a child, I was a magnet for disaster. I would fall off the jungle gym, twist my ankle climbing a tree, slice my hand open with a cooking knife... In fact, I once threw myself down a flight of stairs to see if I could fly or if it would hurt (I couldn't, and it did. A lot—for the next three days I was stuck at St. Mungo’s with a broken arm and five stitches).
People quickly learned to keep me away from knives, wands, heavy objects, high surfaces, electrical outlets...anything that could possibly be considered a hazard. I wasn’t allowed outside unless there was someone else with me, a pair of careful eyes to watch my every move. I was always getting reprimanded for my reckless stunts and endeavors.
But when you’re surname’s Weasley, you quickly learn that getting hurt is just a part of the game. Impromptu Quidditch matches, dangerous dares, stupid experiments... My cousins and I got into quite a bit of trouble when we were younger. Still do, in fact.
Anyways, by the time I graduated Hogwarts, I had 14 broken bones, 26 stitches, and 17 scars. And it’s safe to say that those numbers aren’t final. I was a human pincushion as a kid, and I’m a human pincushion as an adult. What can I say? Bad habits die hard.
My name is Lucy Weasley, and I am either a masochist or an idiot. Maybe both. I’m also a Hit Wizard, which is basically a nice way of saying that I catch criminals for a living but I’m not smart enough to be an Auror. Impressed yet? Yeah, me neither.
Here's how it goes: every week or so, the Ministry hands me a file with a bad guys name in it, and it’s my duty to find that person and put them where they belong: Azkaban. I mostly deal with low profile stuff: attempted robberies, drug trafficking, public indecency... But still. I own a pair of MagiCuffs, and I have to say, whenever I whip ‘em out, I feel pretty darn cool.
To be honest, the Hit Wizard thing was kind of a last resort. You see, my father, Percy Weasley, is some high-flying Ministry dude, and my mother, Audrey Weasley, is your typical-not-so-typical housewife. My sister Molly was their prized trophy child: graceful, intelligent, and succesful. Together, our family lived in a more-than-average home with more-than-average luxuries. Due to my father’s career, we had almost everything served to us on a silver platter.
And I hated it.
Call it a mistake, call it the result of some deep-set psychological need to prove myself, but the minute after I graduated Hogwarts, I moved out of the house and—with my own money—bought the cheapest apartment that I could find. It wasn’t ideal, but hey, the toilet flushed and there was a bed. It would have to do. And for the next few months, I refused any and all help from my parents, saying that I could “do it on my own”.
My father promised me money, jobs, anything that could be used as a bribe...He promised it all as long as I came back home.
But I said no. I felt independent and smart being by myself, and for once I was free from the over-protective clutches of my family. I could do whatever I wanted. Ice cream and crisps for dinner? Sure, why not! Go showerless for three days? Sounds good to me! Sit around all day, watching marathon episodes of Xena the Warrior Princess? Don't mind if I do! I was living the dream life.
And... Wouldn't you know it, she was right. It didn’t last. Money started getting tight, the company shut down my electricity and water, and I had no choice but to start looking for a job. So I searched the Daily Prophet, found an ad for an opening in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement (I believe the exact words used were ‘High-Risk, Low-Pay’) and as they say, the rest... is history.
When I tell people what I do, they cringe, because being a Hit Wizard is also known as being suicidal. It's really annoying, especially since whenever someone announces they're an Auror, they practically get a badge of honor, but you even mention you're a Hit Wizard and all of a sudden everyone automatically takes a step backwards. Arseholes.
Yeah, you can tell I'm not really a fan of Aurors. As far as I'm concerned, they're all a bunch of stuck up prats who are too busy staring at their own reflections to give a rat's arse about anyone else. They're conceited. And obnoxious. The fact that they're department just got a major renovation while our office is still using filing cabinets from the 18th century doesn't help either. But whatever. I'm over it. Sort of.
Anyways, as I was saying, a lot of people look at me like I have a death wish whenever I talk about my job. At parties, my Mum likes to lie to people about what I do for a living. She once told someone that I was a PR assistant to famous Quidditch players, which, through a series of rather unfortunate happenstance, led to me forging fifty-six signed autographs from "Viktor Krum". Yeah, not a very fun way to spend your Saturday nights.
But, to be honest, I can't really blame my mother, or anyone else for that matter. People consider my occupation to be "foolishly reckless" and "horrendously dangerous". And they're right. When you're a Hit Wizard, you get tossed around a lot. My job is painful.
I’ve been in a lot of accidents. Apparently, the guys I chase have a thing for violence... and weapons. Explosives, especially. I’ve dodged (and received) all kinds of hexes and jinxes. My muggle car has been defaced, stolen, and blown up countless of times. I receive death threats almost daily, and I’m on a first name basis with half the Healers at St. Mungos. It’s painful, it’s dangerous, and to be frank, the pay sucks.
But hey, like I said.... Getting hurt is just a part of the game... And you know what?