Chapter 127: Year Six - Prologue
Diagon Alley welcomed an interesting group to buy their supplies for the upcoming term. Needless to say the attack on Harry Potter and myself had gone public, and because it had gone public, we had an escort. I knew none of them by face, but probably would recognize their names. Well, one of them I reckoned could just as well be Nymphadora Tonks, if nothing else because the man turned into a witch, then into an ugly pig-nosed witch, and then back into a bubblegum-pink-haired woman. Yeah, clearly, I'd be able to recognize the Metamorphmagus anywhere.
Buying the books and the school supplies for the upcoming year didn't prove to be much of a hassle.
What did prove to be a hassle was having to deal with Hermione's judgmental gaze in my direction.
Well, it actually wasn't judgmental as much as it was worried. "I heard from Harry," she said, trying to breach the argument. "You were attacked during the summer-"
I helplessly shrugged. "That we were," I answered in turn. Just to keep up the appearances of being utterly nonplussed by the entire ordeal, I even had an ice-cream in my hands. The fact my clothes were taking on the most shimmering tint I could manage to give them was, again, part of the great dastardly plan I had been thinking about. "We fought them off."
"Bloody hell mate, you turned one of them into food for worms," Ron said instead, "Wonder if we'll ever be that good after Auror-training, Harry?"
"I hope we've got the OWLs for it," Harry said instead, grimacing.
"This isn't what I meant!" Hermione yelled instead with a huff, "I mean, you've killed him, didn't you?" she asked that in a hushed whisper. "He's dead and...how are you holding up? Did you write to Megan about it?"
I blinked. "What does Megan have to do with the fact I killed a Dark Wizard?"
"Then, did you tell Amanda?" Hermione asked instead.
I furrowed my brows. "Hermione, why should I tell any of my friends something that has no inherent value in being told? It would just worry them needlessly, like it did with you two and Harry."
Hermione's lips thinned, clearly hinting at her displeasure. "You can't think they won't know what happened, do you? There's the Daily Prophet who ran an article about it! And Owls couldn't reach you-we were lucky Ron's parents knew Dumbledore and he notified them, or we'd never have known. They must be worried sick!"
I awkwardly looked away. "I'm sure they'll be fine."
Hermione's lips thinned further. She didn't look happy about my answer. "Fine, it's none of my business anyway," she huffed. "But Shade, you killed a man, is everything all right?"
I stared, wordlessly, at the girl. Then, I sighed. "Hermione," I said gently. "I will never lose sleep over the murder of a murderer so sick and twisted, they willfully followed the Dark Lord in its rise. Evil is like a twisted sapling, it can be snipped with care, and brought to become good, or it can grow old and dangerous like the whomping willow. When that happens, it must be uprooted, and burned from the very roots up to the last of its branches," I clenched my left hand as I spoke, the ice-cream dripping ever the faster in my other hand.
"Them the fighting words," Ron said with a grin. "Lots of people think some Death Eaters got off lightly in the last war."
"I'll have you know that because of words like that Sirius ended in Azkaban without a trial," Hermione said instead, flatly, sounding quite annoyed too. Harry had been about to agree, but those words took the wind off his sails.
"That's because Crouch cut the corners of the law," I retorted. "Had he given a proper trial, nothing would have happened. Yet he wasn't wrong in answering fire with fire. If the opponent is playing to kill, you should at the very least return the favor."
"One should take care, in facing one's enemies, not to become like them," Hermione answered, sounding pleased.
"The horror, Hermione," I retorted. "The horror." She furrowed her brows. "Heart of Darkness, when the final moment arrives and death is at the doors of Kurtz, he utters the sentence that marks his realization of just what atrocities he, and those like him, committed."
"So...you agree?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Both Harry and Ron were looking at us with puzzled expressions. Neither had enough of a culture to have read the good old Traumatic Classics *TM* which nine schools out of ten forced down the throats of their students just so they could have pleasant dreams.
"I believe that you need to learn what Azkaban is, before thinking Death such a horrible alternative to a lifetime imprisonment in it," I chuckled, "Unless you are actually quite the bloodthirsty woman with a penchant for torture and sadism?" I shook my head. "However no, Hermione. I agree to disagree. The guilty must pay, Hermione. Those who have been given a chance at redemption, and refused to take it, have no justification. For some sins, for some crimes, there is only death as an answer. You may not agree, you may be against it, but that's all right."
I quietly twirled my finger, and the melted ice-cream began to reform itself from the droplets, my hand returning squeaky clean as I gave a bite into its side. "At the end of the day, become Minister of Magic and change the laws however you see fit. Or don't, but remember my words, Hermione..."
I stared past her, at the bustling Diagon Alley street and the wizards and witches going about their own business. The ignorant fools who squandered their potential, who lived happy, relaxed lives unaware of the dangers that lurked just around the corner. Fortescue would have died, if not for me. Nymphadora Tonk's father would have died too. A lot of people would already be dead, if not for my interventions.
Yet they lived, in the ignorance of just how close they had come to their death, they lived.
"Without making enemies, you have not truly lived, or stood up for something. Yet, if you allow your enemies to win over you, they will rarely let you live to learn from your mistakes. So return them the favor, strike them with the same amount of force they have struck you, and if their heart is wicked, crush it. If their will is twisted, destroy it. Yet, if they are misguided, guide them."
I hummed. "The problem is not the act of using violence to solve problems. It's knowing where and when to apply it, and where and when to leave it behind."
For with a kind word and a gun...
...you can achieve much, much more than with a kind word alone.
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