Til The End

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`Til The End

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It had been a month of gray. Gray for the cheerless December skies. Gray for the glutinous potions from Professor Snape for dreamless sleep. Gray for the feathers on the Great Horned Owl that had arrived with the news. Gray for father´s spit darkening the white surface of an ostentatious marble goddess headstone that didn´t suit at all. Gray for the nearly healed bruises from Marius Nott of his year, who believed that he would be treacherous like `Risse had been... whose brother had been one of the ones... whose brother had defiled `Risse while father had watched on coldly. Gray for the crosses made on the Quidditch schedules by Madam Hooch, putting the Slytherin games off `til the end of the year, because the team was nothing without a focused captain.

Gray was uncertain and nebulous. Gray was numb and deadened.

Anthony Weston was drowning in gray.

He hated Herbology. Professor Sprout was so unkempt and ridiculously sickly sweet, and he had that class with a bunch of stupid Gryffindorks. But... when he had gotten the news, he had swallowed all his distaste, and asked Professor Sprout for a bunch of white damask roses, because `Risse had loved them. He´d had to tell her why he wanted them, then put up with her infernal gushing about the "unlucky dear soul" and "you poor boy".

Father had narrowed his eyes when he´d brought them to the funeral. He´d kept quiet about it, though, until after everyone had left. Then, he´d obliterated them with an Incendio and told Anthony in no uncertain terms that that... perfidious WHORE... did not deserve flowers or mourning. And that if he, Anthony, were ever to mention her again, there would be hell to pay.

Thankfully for him, or perhaps not really... his housemates, most of them, had not given him too much trouble over it. Besides a few like Marius Nott, most of them assumed that his anger and gloom was due to shock and humiliation at the fact that his sister had been a traitor to the Inner Circle. Some approached him with the intention to comfort and told him that at least she had been exterminated before it went any further. Those few foolish, brave souls had left covered with hex marks, and then, they all assumed that he didn´t want to hear her name at all.

It was his fourth year. He had had hopes... expectations, indeed, to make Prefect next year. He would do a much better job than `Risse, too. He would not become a disgrace to his family.

He should not be here, alone, in his dormitory right now. It was time for Astronomy class, and he´d skived that off twice already. But something about that class just bugged him. Looking unceasingly up at the heavens. The heavens were constant. Oblivious. No matter what happened in his, or anyone else´s life, Polaris would always point north.

And moreover... the heavens. `Risse had told him once, when he was a little boy, that their mother, whom he had never met, was watching over the two of them, `Risse had told him, and she would make sure that the two of them would be all right.

A pack of lies, all. `Risse had been a bloody, damned liar. Their mother had not been nearly as virtuous as she would have him believe, and he knew it. There was a picture of her, a masterfully drawn, almost photographic oil on canvas hanging over the fireplace in the main hall of the manor. She was tall and honey-blonde and blue-eyed, dressed in black silk edged with silver, her wavy hair bound in black pearls. `Risse looked like her, especially when she wore fancy robes given to her by father, before... But Augusta Weston had been more beautiful than her daughter. But... the thin brows over the cold ice-blue eyes were low and drawn together in a disapproving look. And when she moved her arm (only when certain people were around), there was a skull and snake marring the skin. No indeed. Augusta Weston was not anywhere close to heaven.

Was `Risse in heaven? Even though she was a liar and a traitor and a hypocrite, he had an awful feeling that she was, indeed, up there. He didn´t want to see or think about that.

He would never be in heaven. Because... no matter what, he had to survive. And... surviving meant living the life that he was meant to live, dying at a ripe old age with lots and lots of money and power, and going to hell with the rest of the demons, where he belonged.

And as a disgruntled Professor Sinistra shook her head and marked another absence in her book, Una Markham, biting her lip slightly, frowned at the empty seat of the boy who had done nothing but made her life miserable.

* * *

Jing-Li was now quite certain that if she did not die during any battle or skirmish, she would perish in Azkaban for legally unjustifiable murder. Of course, said murder would be justified. But... it would be rather difficult to explain to the authorities that Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater fugitive that she was sheltering, had knowingly pissed her off, and therefore, she felt it necessary to hex him from head to foot, then hang him by his toes.

It had now been two months that he had been here. Although he no longer complained about the lack of silk sheets and other luxuries (most likely due to the fact that she had threatened to pull his hair out strand by silvery blond strand if he did), he still did everything in his power to annoy her. Jing-Li was starting to think that the young man was something of a masochist.

She was quite frequently making use of all the English profanity that Cho had taught her last year.

She had been occupied in trying to teach the child that had been saved the same night that Draco Malfoy had how to dress himself. She´d cast shrinking spells on several spare tunics donated by the Mages, and made them to fit the child. They were making progress, until Draco Malfoy had once again popped his unwelcome face in, and proceeded to say that the poor boy had no decent clothing, and naturally, this had caused the child to cry and become unruly. It was not until she had charmed the tunics to blaze with bright colors and patterns that the boy would listen once again to her instructions. The handsome face of her harbored fugitive had taken on a most infuriatingly triumphant smile, and she was quite hard-pressed not to slap him.

Right now, her irritating fugitive was lounging lazily against a tree, watching her spar with another Mage. Jing-Li forced herself to ignore the obnoxious, smirking young man and concentrate instead on blocks, strikes and kicks. The other Mage jabbed two fingers forward and nearly caught her in the neck, and she put all thoughts of aggravating fugitives out of her mind except to pretend that her opponent was one. Narrowing her eyes, she leapt nimbly into the air and within minutes, had the other Mage flat on his back on the ground, her wand pointed at his head.

"Rawr!" The man by the tree uttered, "Fierce little one, aren´t you?"

Jing-Li balled her fist and shot him a positively lethal look. "I am not little. And you annoy me again, I break your arm."

He put up one hand in defense, "Simmer down, xiao ye mao." Little wildcat.

Jing-Li´s eyes blazed. "Who taught you? How DARE you refer to me in such disrespectful and familiar way? Ta ma de..."

At that moment, before she could make good her threat, a popping sound signaled the arrival of someone at the Apparition point at the front of the camp. Jing-Li´s eyes widened, and she swore under her breath for a moment before hissing to Draco, "What are you standing there for? Get in tent right now! People do not know you are here!"

Draco gave her one last lingering look as he tucked himself out of sight in a tent. "The nickname suits," he said softly, out of her earshot as she went to meet whoever it was who had just Apparated into the Mage camp.

Jing-Li´s mind was still full of wrathful thoughts when she had made her way to the front of the Mage camp. Muttering choice things about what she would do to Draco Malfoy when she had finished talking to whoever it was that had just arrived, she was quite startled when a male voice, with no trace of a Chinese accent of any sort, addressed her somewhat amusedly, "Is this a bad time?"

She looked up to see a dark-haired young man, perhaps a few years older than herself, in Auror´s robes, smiling down at her in amusement. "You must be the Mage leader of this camp. I am Roger Davies, it is an honor to meet you, Miss...?"

"Zhao, but call me Jing-Li," she replied crisply, greeting the Auror in the traditional way, palm down and flat over closed fist, inclining her head in a half-bow. "What brings you here today?"

Davies grew serious, and asked if there was any place where they could talk in private. She considered for a moment, then led him further into camp. "We should be all right here. Now, please tell me what you wanted to let me know."

"You know, of course, of the Unspeakable spy in the Inner Circle who had been discovered?" Roger asked in a low voice. Jing-Li nodded soberly.

"I have heard that she was killed by the Dark Lord," she replied. "Beyond that, I do not know much about her."

"She went to Hogwarts. A year under me, same house." Roger sighed, "She was killed very brutally, and raped by a Death Eater named Hector Nott while being tortured by the Cruciatus curse."

Jing-Li´s eyes widened, then narrowed. "Hector Nott...... Wait, he has thin face, dark hair, rather sharp nose, friends with Falmouth Falcons chaser who was Head Boy Cho´s 6^th year?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Roger looked at her with not a little surprise on his face.

She nodded grimly, "I met those two once. The chaser was very... what is the word... impudent... but Nott was quite worse. I had to cast flea hex on him. He is the rapist, no?"

Roger nodded, and Jing-Li abruptly turned her face away, hissing some very profane and gruesome words in Chinese to herself. Composing herself, she turned back to him and gave him a curt nod. "I accept. I will gather ten of my top Mages, and you may meet us here on the appointed day."

"All right. Thank you for your help, Jing-Li." Roger said, "I will see you in two weeks. Until then, good luck."

"Farewell," Jing-Li replied, and walked the Auror back to the Apparition point. After he Disapparated, she went back to her tent, to find Draco Malfoy sitting on her cot as if it were a throne, and... her eyes narrowed into slits.

"Malfoy, are you eating my lunch?"

He nodded, not ceasing to chew and swallow the dumpling in his mouth. "It was the closest one around."

She glared, "Look, I have been training all morning, taking care of a little child, and planning possibly life-threatening missions with an Auror, and you have been idle. And yet, you will eat my lunch! Ma la zhen!"

She waved her wand at the plateful of dumplings in Draco´s lap, and Draco, not seeing the spell, placed one in his mouth, only to spit it out a moment later, eyes watering, fanning his mouth frantically.

"What the DEVIL is that?! Woman, did you just POISON the dumplings?!"

Jing-Li allowed herself a sneer and laughed, "I just replaced the filling with Szechuan peppers. Very spicy, enough to numb mouth."

He glared at her, but could not make any reply, as he was too busy coughing and trying to stop his eyes from watering. She simply waved her hand as she went to fetch her own lunch, and said airily, "Your name means Dragon, and dragons breathe fire. You should thank me for help."

Draco, gulping down tea from a nearby thermos in an effort to stop his mouth from burning, watched as she flounced away, head held high, a wisp of black hair escaping from the severe-looking bun. A smile bloomed slowly at the corners of his lips.

"Xiao ye mao."

* * *

Two weeks later found Jing-Li and a group of her fellow Mages perched atop the roof of the Weston estate. Jing-Li thanked the heavens profusely that the mansion was done in a typically gaudy and ornamented Gothic style: their perfectly still, crouched forms, in the darkness of the night, were practically indistinguishable from the gargoyles adorning the building.

Jing-Li glanced down at her watch. Nine o´clock. The Notts, senior and junior, had arrived for dinner two hours earlier. Therefore, they would be coming back out soon, likely within the next hour. Most likely, they would have had some alcohol as well. She would then deal with them, and the others would disable the Apparation wards around the building. Meanwhile, the scuffle would cause the mansion´s master to come out, and at that moment, the Aurors would be able to Apparate in, and capture him.

And in the meantime, she would... deal... with Hector Nott.

Sure enough, as a clock somewhere in the building chimed the hour of ten o´clock, the gates opened, and Claudius and Hector Nott walked out. The two were both walking slowly out towards the gate, heads down, and did not notice the small, lithe figure leaping from atop a spire to the branches of a tree overhead.

Jing-Li gave a hoot uncannily like that of a screech owl, signaling to the others, and then leapt straight downward.

The moment that the two Notts realized that someone had just jumped down in front of them, the other Mages all had their wands out, and the sound of many voices speaking incantations filled the air. As Claudius looked at the shimmering, slowly-disappearing wards around the manor, Hector´s eyes widened with dawning comprehension as they met with Jing-Li´s, above the dark kerchief concealing the rest of her face.

"We meet again, Death Eater," she greeted coldly. He had his wand out in a flash, but then, so did she. "And this time, you shall not run."

"Avada -" he started to say, but before he could finish the fatal incantation, she had whipped out a steel-backed fan with her other hand and brought it down upon his wand, breaking it off at the tip. Nott cursed, and Jing-Li narrowed her eyes.

"Cruelty such as yours cannot remain unpunished," she hissed, and lunged at him with the fan with one hand, pointing her wand at his head with the other. "Nao jiang beng lie!"

As Nott doubled over from the blow that she had struck in his side with her fan, he felt the onset of a headache. A headache that grew with every second. He dropped his broken wand, and clutched at his head with both hands. And stilled, eyes bulging in horror. Was his head getting... larger?!

As if reading his thoughts, the Mage leader spoke to him in the same merciless voice as the last time they´d met, at Crabbe and Goyle´s ill-fated Initiation, "Curse translates roughly to brain fluids bursting out. Skull expanding, brain with it inside skull. Skull will soon explode, blowing your head to pieces, brains leak out. Very painful death."

And as Hector Nott fell to the ground, howling and writhing in every-increasing agony, the Mage Leader coolly cast a leg-locker curse upon him, and then turned around to hit the back of his father´s head, rendering him immediately unconscious.

Just as Mordred Weston stepped outside with wand drawn to investigate a detected breach in the wards, Roger Davies, leading a group of Aurors including Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Angela Snow, hit him with a stunning spell. A moment later, Jing-Li, levitating Claudius Nott´s unconscious form in front of her, joined him, removing her kerchief from her face. "A successful endeavor."

Roger nodded, and watched in horrified fascination as Hector Nott´s head burst open at the base of the skull before his very eyes, blood and brains leaking out and splattering the cobblestones underneath him. "Exactly... what...?"

"He was going to hit me with Killing Curse. I fight back with a most severe Mage curse." Jing-Li said matter-of-factly.

Roger nodded weakly, "You do realize that if you had performed the Killing Curse, I would have no choice but to take you to Azkaban, right?"

Jing-Li allowed herself a grim smile, "I am aware. Therefore, I did not perform Killing Curse." She glanced at the Aurors, and lowered Claudius Nott to the ground. "I believe that my work is done here. You can take these two in to question, then take them to the Dementors. I bid you good-night, and you may tell Cho that her friend has been avenged."

Saying so, she gathered the other Mages, and the group Disapparated from the grounds.

* * *

And so it was that three more Death Eaters were vanquished. And that night, a small fourth-year Ravenclaw girl made a wish on a falling star that, perhaps, just perhaps, someone with whom she shared a mutual loathing, could be saved.

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