I know, I am an absolutely horrible person, I'm only just updating now...eek...you can bludgeon me later after I finish this work.
Draco: OOO YAY! Bludgeoning!
Harry: Draco what have I said about playing nice...
Draco (indignantly): As if you do!
So here it is, Chapter 18, w00t, w00t, I just realized today that Light is over 50 pages, that's uber exciting! YAY!
Em/Vi: I'm glad I could lighten up that day...hope you enjoy this hon.
K McNeely: I hope in this chapter what was in the pictures is more clear. Thankies for the review, sorry it took me so long to update.
Also, Kingsley is featured again in this chapter, I don't really see him as an explosive character, but if you went through what he has in the last week, and in this chapter wouldn't you go a little crazy?
Disclaimer: What is mine is mine, what is not is not. Haven't we heard this too much lately? oiy vey...
Light
by
mingingbent
There are two kinds of light—
the glow that illuminates,
and the glare that obscures.
– James Thurber
Chapter Eighteen: Sickles for Cents(Sense)
Its three o'clock in the mornin',
runnin' on adrenalin.
What I'm tryin to say is that tomorrow's the day
And we've got to do it over again.
- Kick it in, Second Wind, Jimmy Buffett
We burn daylight
- William Shakespeare
("The Merry Wives of Windsor", Act 1 scene 4)
Remus Lupin slowly, with silent stealth, crept through Black Manor, shortly stopping in the kitchen to turn off the lights. He chuckled at the sight of Aimee and Charlie Weasley collapsed together on the small couch, near the far wall. Making sure he skipped the squeaky stair, he proceeded to make his way to bed. He was to take a muggle expression – dead tired, worn out, had the mickey taken out of him so to speak. But being at St. Mungo's had fester restlessness, and when the chance came to leave he did. Climbing upwards he searched the house for sounds with his extra-sensitive ears, it seemed everyone was sound asleep except for one. He smiled at that. A soft light, a warm yellow glow, slinking under the door way appeared in the darkness. Quickly he drifted down the hallway towards it.
Still soundless he opened the door to view the most beautiful face bent over a folder; today's baby blue eyes scanned the file, ruby red lips were pressed in a fine line. Absently she tucked a blush pink curl behind her ear. So not to wake her to his presence, he stepped lightly over to stand behind her. He took in a deep breath and sighed, she smelled of roasted chestnuts, orange spice and home, (and all that was good in his world). Threading his tired limbs around her, he kissed the top of her head lightly. She leaned into the embrace before startling herself. Rising slightly out of her chair, she twisted towards him.
"Wotcher. You're home."
He hummed in accordance.
Before he could say much more she playfully grabbed the collar of his robes and sunk them into a cavernous kiss.
Aimee woke with an aching start. Her back cringed in pain, her head felt as if Buckbeak and his friends used it as a Quaffle. The clinking sound of dishes being cleaned thundered around in her head, and she brought her hand up to the bridge of her nose, and pinched it, in hopes the massive head trauma would dissipate. It didn't; and as if to spite her only got worse. When she tried to levy herself off the couch, she came in contact with a warm body. Turning slightly to face the person, she was greeted with a mass of red and freckles. Triggered by the visage, last night came roaring back like the L Train. She inwardly groaned, damn I knew I'd hate myself in the morning. How much did I drink anyway? Ahh…bah humbug…who cares…
She must have expressed her last sentiments out loud because Charlie opened one groggy eye, and then the other.
Aimee gave him her cheeriest smile yet. "Morin' Sunshine."
Something between a groan and a grumble passed through his lips.
Slowly Aimee untangled herself and left the warmth of the couch.
"Just wait here; I'll go get us some tonic."
Cautiously Aimee climbed the stairs, her coordination left something to be desired but she made it up. She even prided herself in tripping only once of the landing.
Once she retrieved the vials, she shuffled down the stairs.
Ginny was overseeing the washing of two mugs in the kitchen, "There's some coffee on the table if you want it."
"Thanks, hon how's Harry?"
The redhead turned and leaned back against the counter.
"Better, sleeping."
Aimee nodded and joined Charlie, who was now sitting up, with very cute bed-head, on the couch.
Passing him a vial, she sighed.
"Cheers Red."
Remus Lupin relaxed into his chair at the breakfast table, alone with his thoughts, it was still early for the household and Tonks was taking a shower. Sipping his tea lazily, his mind struck purposefully into what he had been trying to ignore since his hospitalization- the attack. How could I be so foolish? – To let someone in, to be taken off guard like that? He reasoned they used a mild form of Oblivate on him because of the memory lapse he was now subjugated to. I remember everything until giving Nymph her tea, and then- then there was an unanswered void until his awakenings in St. Mungo's.
"Good morning." Aimee mumbled conversationally, cutting through his doubt.
He looked up and quirked a smile at her dishevelled state. "Morning Aims, I discerned that you and Charlie had a night of drunken debauchery." He fought a brief tug of war game over his functions as to keep from laughing.
She gave him her patented evil-death glare, which most attributed to her brother, but Remus calculated was all her own. Where as Severus Snape could make you shudder in fear with a livid stare, there was a sparkle of glee in Aimee's as if your pain was her pleasure, and you knew without out a doubt she do it.
"Don't use that tone of voice with me mister, and find yourself a new verb to use, discern is so last century."
"Not up for verbal linguistic hurdles this morning?" He quipped.
Once on finding Aimee Carlisle again they had fallen back into their ritual baiting that had in roots in the Great Hall, hallways and classrooms at Hogwarts.
Aimee shot him a sobering look, "Not after yesterday, I'm not."
She frowned then, and flexed her back muscles, contorting in her chair.
"Yesterday, what happened yesterday?" He was most intrigued, Tonks had yet to saying anything to him on the subject.
After getting to her feet and pouring a large mug of tea, Aimee slumped back into her chair.
"Oh gods, what didn't happen? You'll be glad you were not at the meeting yesterday, Remus, Kingsley had pictures."
You could kill a whole room of kittens with the curiosity Remus now banked. Still in the dark, he pressed on.
"Still not comprehending Aims?"
She looked up from her tea, that she had become most interested in.
"Oh sorry," seeming to remember that he was there, she spoke again.
"There was an attack in Wales; Muggles, whole family dead. The poor souls torn apart limb from limb, blood, entrails, everywhere- you get the picture; and as well as being the messy scene since Janet Leigh met Psycho, there was written in blood, 'Miss Me Potter', most likely a scare tactic knowing some of these foul creatures that call themselves human."
Remus leaned back, taking it all in. His first concern was for Harry, how had the young man taken things.
"How is Harry?"
Aimee knitted her brows in visible frustration, "How should anyone take it? No, he's, I wouldn't say back to normal, but he hasn't thrown a tantrum yet or tried to commit suicide, or jumped out any windows lately. Don't forget he has Ginny's keen eyes on him and shoulder if need be."
Remus was touched by a parallel between his friend James Potter and his son, "Much like Lilly, when James' parents died."
Aimee was back to eyeballing the dregs floating in her cup. "I suppose so."
Now that he was content Harry was safe, he moved to a testier ground.
"What is the Ministry saying?" If he was correct, Remus knew the Ministry would have taken a stance on this immediately.
He glimpsed Aimee grind her teeth, clench her jaw, and then her fists. The mug looked haggard by her iron grip.
"Bastards, they are calling it a dark attack."
But by the malice in her voice, he knew exactly what kind of dark attack they were calling it.
"Figures," he muttered under his breath, feeling immediately tired and run over.
"But I've told Kingsley with my knowledge it could not have be Weres. Most likely that scum Dorian Rosier. Greyback was probably there but I highly doubt he orchestrated such a thing."
"So," Remus took another sip of his tea, "What else did I miss?"
Luna Lovegood brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and beamed at herself. She had just managed to navigate her way through Grimmauld Place's front hall with out startling Mrs. Black into another rant about impotent sons and mudblood filth. That in itself was an accomplishment but she had just come from a meeting with her father about the Quibbler, and piled precariously in her arms were current as well as back issues of the Quibbler, and the Daily Prophet.
Just as she rounded the corner into the sitting room, she collided with a much taller Harry, who immediately scrambled to help.
"I'm sorry Luna, didn't see you there."
"No, that's okay."
Harry flashed her a wide smile, and bent down to pick up the last of the papers, and Luna immediately felt her stomach lurch and twinge, Harry's green eye growing wide in disbelief.
Attack in Wales, Six dead…
Six Muggles in Wales were brutally murdered in a small town in the Welsh countryside, the night before last. A poor helpless family was torn to shreds in the dark of the night, for no other reason except that they were of the non-magical persuasion and there location, so in other words, they died for naught. While the Ministry in maintaining that it was an attack by dark half-breeds, an anonymous tip has led us to believe differently. A strange message appeared above the mangled bodies, as there was no Dark Mark floating ominously above. Just this message, words in the blood of innocents, 'Miss Me Potter'. Is the Wizarding World's Golden Boy, Harry Potter to blame for this senseless act? –and furthermore who will be next? Will next time feature not just those of Muggles but of Wizards and Witches, your friends and family...?
"Harry…I…" Luna tried to snatch the offending piece from his curling hands, and failed.
She only could observe helplessly, as he read, his face shimmering from disbelief, to anger, to remorse, and finally resting on guilt.
"Words are just words, Harry."
"If I find out who wrote this rubbish I'll…" Kinsley Shaklebolt was livid, and rightfully so, his face had skewed in so many directions over the past minutes as if it could decide which kind and what level of mad he was.
After reading the appalling article that passed for news in the Prophet, he had summoned for the Editor, next he had sent one of his underlings off to the Minister about the leakage of information. It was still ripe within him, no-one but the Order, the Minister, Kingsley, his fellow top Aurors (of which there was only three, excluding the ones in the Order), and his own secretary new of the message. Well that and the muggle police but a nice Oblivate had helped them there. By the gods, he would find and mutilate the rat who leaked that, if he got his hands on him first; position and reputation, be damned. He knew one should press forward with decorum, but by gods he didn't have to be quiet about it.
His secretary took the brunt of most of his antics, before Mr. Hardpoole, the Chief Editor of the Prophet showed his ratfink face.
"Mr. Shaklebolt?" Mr. Hardpoole was clearly confused.
"What in the name of Merlin's beard is this?" Kingsley kept his voice to a dull roar, slamming down the culpable piece.
Mr. Hardpoole was a sallow man, with deep-set eyes who Kingsley wouldn't trust as far as he could throw him, but he only flinched slightly at the outburst, giving the appearance of being either dumb, or stupid. He fished out his reading specs, rubbed them unhurriedly on one robe cuff, before slipping them on the squat bridge of his broken, blotchy nose.
His eyes lit up gregariously upon recognition, "Oh, I see. This was quite the talk at the office."
Kingsley fought the urge to strangle and silence the man with a good hex, and he hadn't spent even seven minutes with him.
Again restricting the volume of his voice Kingsley spoke again, "Who wrote it?"
Mr. Hardpoole looked up from the piece, and appeared to be remembering.
"One of our seasoned writers, a fellow by the name of Lenar Kvestock, Russian born and raised, young man, 30 or so, charismatic…" Hardpoole trailed off for a moment before snapping back. "Why?"
"I want to see this Kvestock about the information he received; and as from now I forbid as Head Auror any more of rubbish or rubbish of similar tastes to be printed, unless you bring the copies to me before the printers."
"I am regrettably sorry you brought me here for this," Hardpoole's voice became insipid and squeaky, "the Minister of Magic is the only one who has the authority over printing and as a journalist Kvestock is under pact to never reveal sources."
Hardpoole flashed what he thought was a smile, "Otherwise how would we get any first hand accounts, eh?"
Kingsley fought the urge to be finished with the rodent, his dark fists shaking with anger, hidden behind the desk. Kingsley had already planned a slow, painful death for Hardpoole, Kvestock and all parties involved.
Today, he reasoned, showing Hardpoole out of his office, surprised that he hadn't jumped the man with something short of the Cruciatus, was going to be another long day.
When Tonks arrived for work, Kingsley had been staring at the Immigration and Citizen file on Lenar Kvestock for the past twenty minutes. He hadn't opened it, but had left it on his desk with the rest of the horrid Ministry paperwork, to mull while he cooled down.
When Tonks came through the floo, he explained as calmly as possible about the morning's follies. He observed as she took in his meeting with Hardpoole, and worried her bottom lip.
"Wotcher, Kingsley, we go after this one, no?"
His face broadened with most satisfyingly evil grin.
Kingsley was almost ready to Apparate to the Ministry, he and Tonks had arrived at Kvestock's address only to find it was a cleverly hidden (double-mirror wards, and disillusionment charms) abandoned building. Disgusted that he had to waste more time on this, Kingsley rounded on Tonks, who didn't deserve it, but was better equipped than most to take on his ravings, having been his partner since her inception, suggested that they take a look into this Lenar Kvestock.
Returning to Auror Headquarters they found that sort of questioning his co-workers, Lenar Kvestock did exist, but only on paper. They could find no one who had even met him, the only thing they could tell him was, 'Oh the man who writes for the Prophet'. Kingsley had even contacted the Russian Ministry, but when nothing turned up there he was spurred into action. Hell, action was more his style to begin with. So, with Tonks in tow, they headed for the Downtown Offices of the Daily Prophet. They had a bone to pick with a certain chief editor.
Aimee had finally given in, and broke under the pressure. She had finally agreed to play a game of chess with Ron Weasley. Not that she particularly want to, but it was either her or Remus, and the werewolf had this miraculous way of disappearing of the face of the earth when he wanted to. Everyone else had either declined with good reason or had already played him once. So that meant she was entrenched in a mini-skirmish with Hogwarts supposed Chess King. Although it was vastly quieter and the pieces were kindlier than last time she had sat at a board of Wizard's chess. But then she wasn't fourteen and he father had charmed the pieces to bleed or eat their opponents.
"Knight to E6." She watched mildly as her knight smashed into one of Ron's pawns, the redhead didn't even bat an eyelash. She was never much good at chess anyways, she'd much rather wing it.
As Ron heavily contemplated his next move, Aimee was distracted by the flip of brittle pages. Charlie Weasley was stretched languidly on the couch near the large far windows, hair still wet from a shower, reading what looked like to be a very medieval text. He scratched his nose with a finger and sighed softly, and Aimee felt the start of butterflies tremble in her stomach. She knew the feeling, hadn't felt it in years, and in effort to squash the very nice tingling in her body she got when thinking on a certain redheaded dragon man, she thought of Severus in a two piece. Yep, that did it every time. Now she just had to wipe that very disgusting metal image from her head.
Ron was winning, Aimee wasn't putting up much of a fight, but she tried to look as if she was half interested.
She heard a rustle from the other side of the room.
"Tea, anyone?" Charlie announced after getting to his feet.
"Yeah," both Ron and Aimee muttered almost simultaneously.
He was back, right before Ron called check on Aimee's King, three steaming mugs in hand. He placed two on the runner board next to them, and proceeded to go back to his couch.
Aimee flashed him a bright smile, but he just gave her a withered look.
"I am still not talking to you, as you are the cause to my head feeling like it's just been through the cycle of a muggle washing machine."
Aimee picked up her mug and laughed, as Charlie hid himself behind his book.
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MB