Hope

~The Wolf's Howl~

The piercing sound of a wolf's howl split the cool night air, breaking the sense of peace and tranquility that had lingered there. A sound horrifying, blood-chilling in fact, to many. But she knew no fear. At least, not of anything as simple as a wolf.

The young woman glanced through the brush, staring at her target and carefully setting her wand in perfect alignment with the victim. It was only a matter of minutes before the job would be complete, and she could return to civilization. Days, she had been tracking this one figure, although she'd been known to take months. She was careful not to leave any trace of her passage through the forest, or to let anyone know where she was going.

Not that anyone cared anyways. Most people were blissfully unaware of her existence. The only people who weren't, really, were those few she worked for in the Ministry of Magic. And even those rarely spoke of her, and some didn't know what exactly she did.

The figure moved slightly, as though becoming aware of her presence. She eyed it and moved in closer, ignoring the branches scratching her face, the leaves embedding themselves in her hair. Suddenly, the figure moved again, and her voice rang out with the familiar words of the curses that would cause instant death. They weren't the Unforgivable, she couldn't use those, not working for the Ministry, but those she used were just as bad, when combined. He dropped to the ground, and she muttered another spell. Best to make sure there wasn't -any- evidence.

Kicking the prone form she quickly made sure that all other signs of its existence were burned to ashes, and then did the same with the body. After finishing her task, she contacted the Ministry using the same fire that had been burning the body.

"I've done it," she said, her voice as cold as ice.

"What next?"

There was a slight pause before anyone responded, and then the familiar face of her superior appeared in front of her, one of the few people who knew anything about her and her work. He beamed sunnily at her, although she could see the nervousness in his eyes. That was always there, of course. They all feared her slightly, and she knew why.

"Why don't you take a break, Meg?" he asked, "Just for a day or two. We'll find you a new one later."

"If there are more out there, they need to be handled immediately. What is next?" she responded automatically, remotely.

He sighed,

"You need to take a break. I'm not going to allow you to work any more today. Go -home-." And with that, he disappeared.

Meg's low growl couldn't be heard by anyone, of course, but if it had, they probably would have been frightened away immediately. She didn't like being told not to work. Her work was the only thing left to her. She'd finally gathered up and left her Uncle's place several years ago, and now she was on her own, completely alone, and working for the Ministry of Magic in such a way that no one would want to, or did, know what she was doing. Still, with them unwilling to give her another task, that left her no choice, and she headed towards the nearby town.

She knew they'd find a place for her to stay there. They thought she was just a normal Auror - They didn't know she was authorized to kill. They didn't know the sort of monsters she tracked down. Not just followers of Voldemort, for they were small prey compared to most of the rest of her quarry, but monsters that would destroy this little town without a second thought. Monsters like the creature she had just killed.

The town didn't have any suspected Voldemort followers, but that didn't mean Meg relaxed. Indeed, she never truly relaxed. Some people thought she was getting a bit paranoid, the way Moody was, but most knew better. Cautious, not paranoid.

Entering the nearest inn, her black robes swirled about her, making her look ominous, if not quite as dangerous as she was.

"I'd like a room," her gruff voice instructed the woman at the desk. She'd never turn her down. Not with the obvious aura around her. Anyone could tell what line of work she was in, although none knew the specifics.

Murderer She could hear the word lingering in the back of her mind. Often she talked to herself like this, her own conscience in direct conflict with what she knew she had to do.

You kill for a living. You're nothing more than a petty murderer. Not any better than the creatures you destroy. She ignored it. She had learned long ago that listening to that voice would only lead to unnecessary, and unwanted, mental turmoil.

The woman smiled, though fear was in her eyes,

"Just a few moments, if you would. The maid's cleaning it out right now. If you'd like to sit in the common room for a bit, we'll come get you when she's finished."

Meg nodded shortly, then headed for the main room. She hated places like this, where all the people gathered around, chattering happily, discussing their wives and children; husbands and jobs; Quidditch and magic and the fall of Voldemort.

That struck a bitter note. She still had yet to meet another person as negatively effected by Voldemort's death as herself. It seemed that she was the only person who had ever noticed that James and Lily had been sacrificed in order to bring about Voldemort's death. They just saw the end, not the means.

Remus the voice was back, but this time she did listen to it. True enough She responded to herself Remus left.

"MEG?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, blinking vapidly. That was another thing. Over the past few years she'd almost grown into her eyes. They no longer seemed huge and bulging, although she still could never be called pretty. She had too many scars from her battles, and still that constantly sour look. She turned, her soft brown hair flipping across her shoulders, and nearly fainted on the spot at what she saw,

"Remus?" Her voice was barely even a whisper, and had the same sort of tone as when referring to a holy object.

The man looked worse for the wear. Since she'd last seen him he'd grown his hair long, just past his shoulders, in fact, and already it was slightly streaked with gray. His eyes had a deadened, almost haunted look she knew was mirrored in her own, and his robes were just as tattered, although in a much more noticeable way. She couldn't help but wonder what he had been through, considering the circumstances that had led her to a similar appearance.

He smiled weakly.

"That's my name," he said, a little bit of the old sparkle coming back to his eyes.

"And you're Meg. Blimey, but I never expected to see -you- again."

She stood there with her mouth hanging open for a minute, then regained her composure. She'd faced Banshees and Boggarts and other creatures she didn't even want to think about, without hardly blinking. Why had seeing him startled her so?

"I...I never expected to see you again either," she managed to say, although her voice sounded scratchy, and gruffer even than usual. His smile gained a bit of sincerity, and he motioned to the chair next to him.

"Have a seat?" he asked, his voice tentative.

She'd never expected, not in a million years, to ever see him again, but she had to admit that even so it was nice. Very nice. A link to her past, before she was a murderer. Before she was reduced to being the Ministry's private assassin of sorts. Before she had realized she could never hope to prove herself. Sure, this sort of work proved she wasn't a Dark Wizard, but it didn't prove she could be anything more than any of the other Slytherins. They were all doomed to a fate of ultimate anonymity. Not one was famous for anything positive, not one. And somehow she knew that even she would not be the exception to that, no matter how badly she wanted to be.