After the Kill - 1979

There was blood on Evan Rosier's hands, but he didn't seem to notice it.

"Imagine. We could be in Egypt right now, watching the Egypt-England match," he was babbling. "And instead we're here, sitting about, waiting for who-knows-what..."

"Cut it out, Evan," said Alison Lestrange warningly. "I want to think."

"Don't think," said Severus sharply. "Talk about Quidditch."

"I didn't think it would be like that," said Alison softly.

They could hear muffled sobs coming from the next room.

"I'd best go and check on Kenneth," said Rolly Wilkes.

"Tell him to stop it," said Severus harshly. "If he thinks that will get him anywhere..."

"I don't feel a thing," said Alison.

"Well, you wouldn't. You've killed often enough," said Evan.

"For a reason, yes, but that was irrational," she said. "There was no reason to kill that man."

"Well, there was," began Severus. "Fear is a useful weapon..." his voice trailed off.

"You didn't have to do it that messily," said Florence suddenly. She was fixated on Evan's hands. "A quick Avada Kedavra would have done the trick."

"I doubt it really matters," said Severus "whether it's done bloodily or cleanly. Crouch and the aurors don't think it does."

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Alison. "I'm not discussing relative morality of killing methods. I'm discussing remorse. I don't feel it. Neither does Severus. Mordred obviously does, because he hasn't said a word for the past two hours."

Mordred Lestrange looked up from the corner at his wife, said nothing, and looked down again.

"Kenneth is a wreck, Evan is coping by avoiding the subject, and Roland is off in his dream world again," said Alison. "And I have no idea what is going through Florence's mind."

"Thoughts about the relative morality of killing methods," said Florence sarcastically.

"Well, it's a little too late to think about that," said Evan. "Look, I didn't go in there thinking, "Let's make this nice and bloody." It just happened."

"So?" asked Severus dangerously. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means..."

"It doesn't mean anything," said Alison cooly.

"Alison, Severus," said Mordred Lestrange suddenly. "I suggest you cease and desist. You aren't particularly disturbed by seeing blood everywhere, by hearing a man plead for his life. Most people are, so I'd beg that you let us not think about it."

"He was an auror, the one who pleaded for his life," said Evan.

"You know his name, Evan," said Alison. "Robert McKinnon."

"And he was a threat," said Evan.

"Unlike that Muggle you butchered," said Florence spitefully.

"McKinnon was much more of a loss to this world than any Muggle," said Severus.

Rolly Wilkes came out of the bedroom.

"Kenneth all right?" asked Mordred.

Rolly shook his head. "Severus, do you have a sleeping draught?"

Severus got up and went into the bedroom. Kenneth Avery was lying on the bed, still wrapped in his cloak, his head buried in the pillows.

"I can't take it anymore," he moaned. "You can let Him kill me or leave me to the aurors, but I can't take it anymore."

"Don't be an idiot, Kenneth," said Severus. "You are going to take this draught, and tomorrow, you are going to get up and do exactly what needs to be done, even if we have to put the Imperius curse on you. We are not going to let you go. We're your friends. Do you understand?"

"Let me have the draught."

Severus held the flask to Kenneth's lips. His hands were shaking too hard to hold it himself. In a minute, he was lying there quietly on the bed, no dreams, no guilt, a look on his face that Severus remembered from seeing him sleep at Hogwarts a long time ago... no, only a year ago. For a brief period, one of them, at least, was at peace.