The Years of Terror

The Years of Terror

Chapter 1 -- 1971

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," a woman muttered as her blue feathered quill scratched across the crisp white parchment, "by Dorcas Meadowes." She ran her fingers through her thin brown hair, and chewed on the tip of her quill with small white teeth. For a few minutes she sat there, ink dripping from the quill, splattering the parchment, as she pushed up the large, pewter rimmed glasses that had the annoying habit of sliding up and down her nose. Occasionally her round, watery greenish-blue eyes would roll upwards in thought, or drift lazily about the room, as if looking for a source of inspiration.

It was difficult to begin a book, especially on a subject so vast as the Dark Arts. She would have to stop by Aurors Headquarters at the Ministry tomorrow and ask one of the Aurors -- probably Alastor Moody (he being the only Auror she was nominally acquainted with) -- and see where he would recommend the starting place.

However, that would be tackled tomorrow. Tonight, the Unforgivable Curses would occupy her full attention. Glancing down, she noticed the mess her quill had dropped. Pulling her wand from her robe, she whispered, "Scourgify!" Smiling, she dipped her quill into the ink well, and wrote,

There are three curses that are considered Unforgivable by the Ministry of Magic. They are the Avada Kedavra Curse, otherwise known as the killing curse; the second is the Imperious Curse where the caster is able to have complete and total control of his victim, unless said victim is able to fight it off with great mental power. Even then, depending upon the will of the caster, it is most difficult to fight off. The third is the Cruciatus Curse, the Pain Curse. It was a torture device used by Dark Arts leaders in the early Middle Ages.

Some scholars may ask why these curses are considered unforgivable. Stinging Hexes cause pain, yet they are allowed; many wizards and witches kill in self defense yet the spells they use are not deemed unforgivable. Could not the Imperious Curse be used for good? I do not know why the Ministry deem these curses unforgivable. I believe it is based upon the motive of the caster. Unfortunately, the motive of these particular curses, I believe, is hate. The Imperious Curse is based upon the Hate of Freedom (a delight in Tyranny, if you will); the Cruciatus Curse upon the Hate of Man; the Avada Kedavra upon the Hate of the Living. In a word, it is the motive behind the power. If the desire to kill in self defense, I do not believe that the Avada Kedavra curse will work. Why? Because your desire is to protect yourself or another -- not a desire to kill out of hatred. The Cruciatus Curse will only be effective when you hate someone so much you just want to cause them as much pain as you possibly can. As for the Imperious Curse it is an arrogant hate, a delight in tyranny, where you hold that person in the palm of your hand.

When I write hate, I do not mean the casual hate of rival against rival, etc. I am talking of a hate that acts as your own personal little Dementor, a hate that consumes your entire soul. A hatred so alive that it dominates your waking thoughts and haunts your dreams.

She reached the end of her parchment, peeled it from the stack in front of her and blew softly on it. The black ink glistened in the flickering candle light and she read it over again. Nodding, she stowed it in a green felt folder and leaned in her cushioned rocking chair, closing her eyes, fingering her ebony wood wand.

Rain lashed against the windows, thunder rumbled on the horizon. Outside she could hear a Muggle mother shouting for her child to "Come out of that downpour right now! You shall not catch your death of cold before your sister's graduation!" The voice was snapped off by the slam of a front door.

Dorcas chuckled softy. Those Muggles...if only they knew that there was a charm that would dry the child instantly -- well not the dictionary definition of instantly but bloody well close to instantly. Magic was not the ultimate problem-solver of the world after all.

Chapter Two

Dorcas scanned the map of the Underground above her head as the bus lurched to a stop because a funky, red circle told it to. She had only been to the Ministry once before when she had to take her Apparation test. She had passed with flying colours, but Apparating was just a bit too risky for her liking so she usually went by broom or the Underground. One of these days though, she said to herself as the bus became lodged in some sort of...traphic jam (someone called Arthur Weasley had told her that's what happened when a load of cars became stuck together but why it was called jam was beyond her), she would have to get one of those Muggle contrivances called a bicycle.

After a short delay the bus continued and she got off at the bus station nearest the telephone booth. Slipping inside the glass doors, she dialed, 62442.

A cool, crisp female voice said, "Please state your name and reason for visiting the Ministry."

"Dorcas Meadowes. I wish to visit the Auror Headquarters." A silver badge chinged from the phone, and Dorcas pinned it to her blouse.

As the booth shot downwards, the crisp cool voice said, "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

Dorcas stepped onto the shiny wooden floor of the Atrium and strode toward the Security checkpoint, flicking a golden galleon into the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

She handed her wand to the security officer and watched him measure it on the scale. He expertly caught the parchment that the scale spat out and read lazily, "Twelve inches, phoenix feather, been in use ten years?"

She nodded, smiled at him, wished him a good day, and stepped onto a lift, getting off at the second level. She opened the wooden doors and found herself in a maze of cubicles, the nearest of which was Moody's, who absorbed in the latest edition of The Daily Prophet.

Knocking softly on the side of Moody's cubicle, she heard him growl, "What is it?" He put the paper aside as she entered.

His wall was covered with newspaper clippings of unusual disappearances, mangled bodies, and other things of an unsavory sort. She wrinkled her nose and peered into a foe glass that hung upon the wall behind him. Murky shadows flitted across the smooth glass but she could see no eyes. "Quite a few enemies you've got there," she said pleasantly, flashing a smile at him as she eased herself into an old armchair.

"We all have enemies, Miss Meadowes," he said, his eyes flitting across her face as if looking for something.

Dorcas shifted uncomfortably.

"Did you come here for anything important, Miss Meadowes?" he asked brusquely, cutting an article out of the Daily Paper with his wand and then attaching it to the wall with a Sticking Charm.

"I was wondering where a good starting place would be to write a book about the Defense against the Dark Arts," she said.

Moody's head jerked up. His eyes narrowed. "You had top grades in Defense against the Dark Arts, didn't you, Miss Meadowes?"

She frowned. Why would he want to talk about that? Honestly, it wasn't important. "Yes, I did," she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I heard tell that you would have made an excellent Auror," Moody said.

"Well, yes, I would have, I suppose," said Meadowes. "I definitely had the O.W.Ls for it and I could have gotten the N.E.W.Ts too. But," she said, smiling shrewdly, "Auror business is much too dangerous. I would much prefer working at home, churning out spell books instead of prowling in dark allies, looking for Dark Wizards."

Moody's eyes glittered, a jagged frown jutted over his eyes. "Is that what you think, Miss Meadowes?"

She frowned at him. "Yes. Dark Wizards are few, and dare not practice the Art with people like you stumping about," she said, looking at him.

"It is people like you, Miss Meadows, that facilitate the rise of Dark Wizards."

Dorcas's face turned red and her fingers clutched the chair. "What do you mean?"

"People like you get lazy...complacent as it were. And then all the Dark Wizards have to do is become strong in shadows and strike because you people suffer the illusion that they are just weak little sniveling worms. Evil does not disappear, Meadowes. It is always there. Constant vigilance, Meadowes. Constant vigilance."

She stared at him. He was looking at her earnestly, yet...a glint of suspicion was in his eyes. "All right Moody. Constant vigilance...Well, I'm afraid I must go now," said Dorcas, pushing herself. "You've been very helpful." She was not being sarcastic. He was right. She glanced at the shadows lurking in the glass. It seemed that if she peered closely enough, she could make out vague shapes of men. Some were walking...one seemed to be coming towards them.

Augustus Rookwood slipped into the cubicle.

"Moody!" he yelped, looking startled. "I thought you were gone for some odd reason, Moody...forgive me, was I interrupting you?" he asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Dorcas noticed that he was tightly holding a piece of paper.

Moody glared at him and growled. "What do you want?"

"A note, sir..." said Rookwood, muttering a flying charm on it and sending it zooming towards Moody who caught it, still without letting his eyes glance away from Rookwood's face. "We didn't trust the owls, Moody," said Rookwood apologetically.

Moody didn't say anything but nodded curtly towards the great wooden oak doors that led out of the Auror Office. Dorcas flashed a small smile at him and strode out the door with Rookwood serving as her shadow.

As the door closed behind her, Rookwood said, "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Augustus Rookwood," he added, sticking out his hand.

"Dorcas Meadowes," she replied, smiling a little as she shook his hand.

"Moody seemed a bit high strung, didn't he?" he asked as they walked down the hall, avoiding the small streams of people that hurried past.

"Isn't he always high strung?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"More high strung that usual, don't you know," said Rookwood persistently. "Do you...er...happen to know why?"

Dorcas peered quizzically at him. "He's an Auror, Rookwood...he's supposed to be high strung. It's his job. We, on the other hand," she added, smilingly, "do not have the burden of looking for dangerous Dark Wizards. We get to enjoy life. Relaxing, drinking butterbeer, you know, without looking over our shoulders at our foe glass all the time."

They made way for a group of people scrambling off the lift. A skinny, red haired man spied them, and waved. "Meadowes!" he shouted, suddenly pushing forward. "I don't see you often at the Ministry, how did you get here?" he asked eagerly.

"The Underground, Weasley," she said, grinning at his excitement. "Got into a traphic jam too..."

"Did you see the light thing turn different colours?" he asked. "I wonder how they do it. Fascinating...Muggles..." he said fondly. "Well, I must be off! Bye!" He strode quickly down the hall, and Dorcas could have sworn she heard him still muttering about how Muggles managed to make the light thing work without magic.

Rookwood was frowning, his lips pursed in grimace. "Dreadful, isn't it?" he asked as they climbed onto the lift.

She blinked. "What?"

His eyes widened and he glared at her. "That Pureblood Weasley. He's infatuated with Muggles..."

"So?" she asked, glancing quickly at him. "There's nothing wrong with that. My next door neighbors are Muggles. There's nothing wrong with Muggles."

He sniffed. "That's not what everybody says."

"Well, then I suppose that those people are pretty shabby then," Dorcas said, narrowing her eyes.

"Shabby, are they?" asked Rookwood, glancing surreptitiously at her. "Don't go off insulting people, Meadowes. It's not wise."

What was he playing at? "Sometimes people need to be insulted, Rookwood," Dorcas said irritably. "Especially if it's the truth."

Rookwood shot her a filthy glance and got off at Level Three. Leaning against the corner of the lift, Dorcas frowned as it resumed its upward climb. She had only seen Rookwood once before (when she had gotten her Apparating license) but she had never thought that he could be so anti - Muggle. It was odd...very odd. She sighed. Why? Muggles were easily duped, yet...they were just like witches and wizards, except for the fact that they had no magic of course.

What did it matter? It was their problem if they had a wasp in their bonnet.