A tear rested in the crevice of her collarbone as she fastened the back of the dress. She fumbled with the zipper a few moments, her arm growing weary from reaching behind her for so long. A half-grunt, half-whimper escaped her from the exertion and she finally released the thing, collapsing onto her bathroom stool in defeat.

Carrie stared at herself in the mirror. This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but tears rolled down her pale face. Three days ago she had been expecting this day as if it were the beginning of her new existence; that is, because it was. A girl’s wedding day was supposed to transform everything. She had the perfect dress, perfect fiancée, perfect church . . . and while she would meet all three of those things today, they wouldn’t be what she sought or expected them to be. She wore the dress now, but she didn’t feel beautiful. She was going to the church in a few minutes, but she wasn’t excited. Her groom hadn’t caught sight of her, so bad luck wasn’t the reason for the concern. Her hair should have been in deep curls, twisted by hairpins behind her head delightfully and cooed over. Her mother and best friends should have been there to help her get ready, constantly and continuously telling her how lovely she looked, how excited her husband was going to be when he saw her, the works. She should have been happy.

Instead she bathed in a burdensome trench of depression. She wished her mother could have been there, but she had given up her family for this one thing, the person that she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Nearly a year had passed since she had left the Muggle way of life she had adapted to after Hogwarts and stepped into the Wizarding World once more to be with Christian. But that had brought uproar from her family, and they had renounced her because of that decision. Her family knew not of the magical world, so their views of it were not expressed lightly; their hate became more apparent as their daughter transformed more into one of them each time she visited home. She was no longer welcome in her own family.

Smoothing the dress along her legs and over her ankles, she told herself that this was what Christian would have wanted. She quickly drew her limp, straight hair back into a white barrette to complement the dress. No curls were in the forecast today. She didn’t even feel like stepping out of bed and putting on clothes, no less dressing up to go to a funeral for the man she loved. Still loved.

A plummeting sensation in her abdomen erupted again, and she dashed out of her seat to hurriedly lift up the porcelain toilet cover, vomiting into it for the third time that morning. She leaned over the foul water, spittle rolling pitifully down her chin. Carrie bit her lip to stop the flow of tears. Her nostrils were burning from the acidic smell. She didn’t even care that her mouth now caressed a toilet seat, a place where germs roamed mercilessly. She sobbed piteously, her thoughts roaming and remembering that she needed to arrive at the cathedral in less than thirty minutes. But she had the finest excuse -- one that even the most practiced swindler of a secondary school would be unable come up with: My husband-to-be died the day before our wedding. It was true as well, and the body now being prepared for viewing inside the church could confirm it. She was allowed to be thirty minutes late. Hell, she was allowed to be thirty hours late, they wouldn’t start without her.

She finally found the strength to stand. Her legs wobbling, she pushed herself with a mumble from the toilet bowl and poised her heels to balance. She could hardly walk in heels period, not having to wear them on occasion, and she especially had no business doing it now. She didn’t need to be concerned about falling on her face with all of the other things she had to worry about. Screw it, she thought, sitting down on the counter and unclasping the buckles near her ankles. She threw the shoes across the room, and with a thunderous CLOP! they landed forcefully against the ceramic washtub. She wouldn’t be surprised if her bath started leaking when she turned on the water later that day she had hit it with so much force. There could very well be a crack hidden on its side.

Baths and sleeping were her only solace. The scalding water slipped her mind into simplicity, not depositing him away completely, but at least easing the pain to some extent for that moment. The peaceful slumber helped her to escape her feelings, but she soon had discovered that her dreams, rather nightmares, always found her no matter what time it was. Disfigured bodies, representations of Christian visited her while she slept, always telling her that he had never loved her and it had all been a pretense. Those wide, unseeing eyes, that horrifying mouth that dared reveal themselves to her never failed to turn up while she was sleeping. Images of his lifeless body formed in her mind once again and she shivered, shaking her head furiously to purge her mind of that awful picture.

After gathering up her purse and finding a pair of flats, she sat down on the couch to gather her thoughts. She put a thumb to her lip and pressed it to her teeth and bit down several times. Shredding the skin on her lips, a metallic taste crept along them and she knew she had drawn blood. Carrie always chewed on her lips when she was deep in thought or upset, which showed. When she was distressed she always displayed swollen and chapped lips unlike any others.

Her eyes strayed to the candle across the counter upon returning to the bathroom for the third time to confirm her appearance. Vanilla in scent, the wrappings had stated that the vapors released from its flame produced a calming effect within the body. She found a match and lit it immediately before her departure for that one final moment of tranquility to envelop her.

Carrie watched the dancing flame as it swayed and fluttered mercilessly on the wick. On impulse, she placed her right hand directly into the fire. After only a few seconds she pulled her fingers to her breast protectively, her fingers throbbing with fresh pain. Her mind compulsively concluded that she had wanted to ensure that her heart’s cruel emotional pain hadn’t numbed the physical as well. She inspected her hand with great caution and worry, careful not to injure it any further. It wasn’t a nasty burn. Besides her hand being lightly dusted in black soot and inflamed, no serious harm had been done. Too bad. Perhaps she would have received a note to excuse her from the funeral. That would have been a great reason not to go. She blew out the flame after only a minute, finding that not even her favorite scent of candle could pacify the tingling nerves she felt all over her body.

She rolled her eyes and sighed at her pathetic attempts to skip her fiancée’s memorial service. She could definitely kill herself: that’d ease the pain and fulfill her plea. But Carrie felt better about herself than to just end everything. There were too many family members, friends she had to worry about yearning for her presence as well. Besides, she had yet to make things right with her parents, if that were to ever even be possible. She couldn’t give everyone she knew two losses in such a short period of time. It wouldn’t be right.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t believe herself. Of course she was going. To the service, to see the long list of people who never knew him but continued to offer words of comfort, to the long drive to the graveyard, where she would plan on pulling over at a gas station at least once every thirty minutes to lock herself in its dank, dirty bathroom to weep, and then, ultimately, to the cemetery, where she would have to watch Christian be lowered into the filthy dirt of the very earth she stepped on. She would never see him again after this. How on earth could she even think about not attending it? She knew within that she couldn’t imagine confronting such an atrocious thing as seeing Christian’s dead body, but she had to. She had to say farewell to her lover, once and for all. Tears once again came to her cerulean eyes at the thought of how he would be put into the cold, hard soil that would shortly freeze over with winter’s oncoming chill. She began to consider what he would look like after a day below the ground she walked on. A week after. A month. Ten years. Would he still be her beloved, handsome Christian, or would the worms and maggots devour him as if he were just a peace offering from the heavens? Would the coffin have been sealed correctly? Carrie couldn’t bear to think on this subject. She preferred cremation, to spread his ashes in places he had loved to overlook the worms, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of burning him up into chunks of dust and cinder either. There wasn’t much she could think on. Only that Christian was dead and she would never be with him again.

The very last time she would ever glimpse Christian, he would be dead. She wanted to keep his healthy, breathing image inside of her and embrace it, to hold on to it forever and never let it go. But she had already seen him dead. No, she hadn’t gone to the church beforehand, nor had she seen him at any other time. Carrie had been the one to find him.

Christian had appeared to be fighting, a wand only a foot away from his outstretched hand. He had been murdered in his own home and no one could even begin to guess why, especially Carrie. He had always been such a thoughtful, caring individual that prided himself on supporting others and living life to the fullest. His good looks and charm had succeeded in helping him get far in life. Why anyone would even want to kill him was a secrecy. After he had been murdered he had been placed on his bed in his own home and abandoned there. To any person just passing by the room he would have appeared to be in an intense state of slumber, but if one would have ventured nearer they would have discovered his eyes to be open and mouth twisted in a startling scream that hadn’t gained the chance to surface. On a visit to his house for dinner that very night, Carrie had unlocked the door with her own key when there had been no response with several knocks and ringings of the doorbell. After finding his car in the garage she had shouted for him, hoping he would reveal himself from another room just not having heard the door, but it had not been so. Finally, upon venturing to his bedroom to see if he was in the shower, she had discovered him on the bed, unmoving and silent. After moving closer, with each passing step and shout revealing to her that something was indeed wrong, she had reached him. His face had been contorted into a terrified expression, his mouth twisted in a ghastly shout. And worse, those eyes. The same eyes that she had spent countless hours staring into, speaking to, loving, were now just vacant and unresponsive. Frightened, Carrie had shaken him with her hands quite forcefully, rocking him starkly back and forth trying to ease him out of his sleep, begging with her screams for him to wake. But he had shown no response and only stared at a wall across the room with eyes that no longer understood. His bare back had still been warm, sweaty, actually, from the stress. If he were still warm, then there could have been a chance to catch his murderer. But it was to no avail. After fleeing from the scene and down the stairs she had only found the door wide open. The attacker had obviously just departed, leaving the chances of catching him or her next to nothing now. Her screams had alerted the neighbors and the Ministry had been called. She was found in the corner of the room where his body had been discovered, crying piteously for him to return to her with her knees hugged to her chest.

As of yet, the Aurors had recovered nothing. The last spell that had been emitted from Christian’s wand had been a heating spell, typically used to assist in the progression of cooking food, which explained the covered dinner on the dining room table. No clues had surfaced; no person had come forward to confess. But Carrie still held on to the optimism that the team of Aurors on the case would capture Christian’s executioner. That was about the only thing that kept her going now. That and her bubble baths.

If she had any wish to see his real body for one last time, she would have to pick herself off the ground once more and walk out that door. She had to say goodbye. After this day there would be no more of his visits, no kisses or embraces that would make Carrie’s legs weak and her long for his presence before he even left her. No longer would any of his sweet words or compliments reach her ears, helping her through the day. Never again would she feel the warmth of his hand slipping into hers. While she was awake and rational, by no means would she hear his voice, see his lively face. Only the face that she had seen at the morgue came to mind, the ashen and pale Christian she longed to remove from her memory. There would be nothing. She wouldn’t even have a husband to hold on to. Now she only possessed pictures and their engagement ring as a reminder of the life she could have had.

She crossed from the bathroom to her own bedroom. Christian’s mother had brought over a few of his possessions the day before: it had only been a few t-shirts she had given him, photographs, ticket stubs of their nights out on the town. While it had been a nice gesture, Carrie had been horrified, finding the things repulsive, impossible to gaze at. How could she have brought over things that reminded her so much of her love? Rage boiled inside of her at the memory and she immediately had had the mind to call Christian and pout, but cold reality had soon washed over her when she remembered that he would no longer be able to pick up the phone.

Upon shuffling through a few boxes, Carrie finally came across the correct container she was searching for. One of Christian’s shirts, the one she had bought him for his birthday only a few weeks ago, was folded and stacked neatly under the others. She quickly lifted it from the pile and brought it to her chest, embracing the fabric as if she had had her love back and returned safely to her from the heavens. She brought it to her face, taking in a slow, deep breath, filling her lungs and senses with the sweet scent of him. His aroma still clung to the cloth, along with a dash of his signature cologne, but it was quickly fading. Imagining that he were standing in front of her, Carrie pictured him in those washed out blue jeans he loved, a smile to accompany them. That picture allowed her to be strong. She let it embody her, fill up every inch of herself, especially her heart. A piece of happiness unfolded inside of her for the first time in a while, and she felt her responsibilities take effect. This protection would do for now. She had to be at the church in a few minutes or she would be late.

The crisp fall air caressed her nostrils and she closed her eyes, absorbing the fresh scent of rain in the atmosphere before walking into the humid and brightly lit cathedral. The sun was not shining and the clouds roamed endlessly across the horizon, promising a shower. Without warning, a grumble of thunder resounded overhead for what felt like minutes and she deemed it the time to shuffle quickly inside with the others. Appropriate weather for the event she was attending, she thought. Carrie received many pitiful stares, shakes of the head, and apologies from those she knew as she entered, but she only nodded and gave a weak smile to be well mannered. She could tell that they had only halted their conversation while she was in their presence for respective reasons. Afterward they continued as if they weren’t even at a funeral, speaking of their husbands and trying for children, shopping for a certain pair of shoes, how their hair didn’t turn out quite so right that particular day. Carrie was disgusted.

She’d been counting on spending the rest of her life with Christian, but now she would never know how their relationship might have ended. Would it have ended? Could they have remained together for all of their lives, dying warm in their own bed with one another? Or would their relationship have finished just that next year, disputing over something completely worthless? She would never know. Carrie’s eyes drifted to the front of the church, taking in her surroundings. She felt as if she wasn’t meant to be there, as if God had other plans for her. Was she even Carrie? Lightheadedness took over. She was aware that she was looking from a distance at these people, feeling remorse for their loss, sorry that she had never known such an amazing person. This couldn’t be happening to her. But alas, she was the one that had perhaps the hardest bereavement of them all. Of course she was herself, how absurd to even think otherwise.

Yesterday should have been her wedding day--- in this very room. How difficult it was to be here the very next day, mourning the loss of whom she was to wed. She nearly tripped over her wedding dress as she took another step, unthinking, achingly reminded her of what Christian could have thought if he had glimpsed just one glimpse of her in it. Would he have thought her beautiful? A smile nearly twitched at the corners of her lips at the thought, thinking on that signature grin she could have seen as she walked down the aisle toward him, but an onslaught of tears prevented it from taking full effect upon her pale face. The penny in her left shoe was misplaced, and her big toe throbbed with the foreign object lodged beside it. The blue garter was concealed under her dress, comfortable but descending down her thigh as she walked. Something borrowed, something blue. Of course some may have thought her attire inappropriate for a funeral, but something inside of Carrie just made her feel nothing for those that would condemn her. She had bought this gown to wear it, and wear it she would, even if it wasn’t at the time she wanted it to be. She placed the veil gently over her face, trying to conceal the tears that now promised to stain her fair cheeks.

“Who was that?” she heard a woman murmur inquisitively as she passed. “Dressed oddly, she is. Maybe she’s got the wrong church.” Carrie pretended to toss a stray hair behind her ear with the turning of her head, capturing the illustration of two women, both similarly dressed in black and bright green slacks, a hood over their eyes, hair in their faces. They appeared very inapt at a funeral as well, Carrie would have liked to add. They shook their heads and pretended to glance another way as Carrie caught their eye, but they resumed their whisperings and stares as soon as she was only a foot more away, still in earshot.

“Oh, probably was his sister, poor thing,” she heard one of them whisper. Carrie rolled her eyes and a dismal grimace played at her quivering lips as she walked closer to the front of the church. Those women didn’t know Christian at all. Anyone who knew Christian well knew of Carrie, had met Carrie. They shouldn’t have even been there if they had never been acquainted with him. Anger bubbled inside of her like boiling water. Did they make it a social event, going to funerals? Carrie hoped they wouldn’t bother or attempt to speak with her; she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Upon reaching her seat on the pew in the front of the church, she began to shake hands and whisper condolences with Christian’s father, Mr. Lowe. Carrie awkwardly felt an intense stare upon her after she had leaned back into her seat. Turning to the woman beside her she saw her give a nod, making Carrie believe that she approved of the attire her son’s fiancée was now wearing. Immediately after this moment, the deacon bowed his head and began to pray, signaling the start of the service. The entire room became silent and they clasped their hands together.

“ . . . Lord, please lift this soul into your hands. Heal this family’s hurt . . .”

When he was finished he made his way to the podium, wet his lips, and sighed, opening his Bible. A solemn look crossed his face and his eyes swept the entire room, resting on the front pew where Carrie sat. “Christian would have wanted you all to be here today.”

His gaze did not falter from that pew, even as some in the room shuffled in their seats, sniffling. Carrie clasped Mrs. Lowe’s hand and stifled a sob. She closed her eyes to plead for comfort, to remain strong for the others around her. Feeling a hand tighten and squeeze around her own for a moment, a weak smile came to her face and her eyes strayed back to the deacon. She had missed a few sentences of what the man had said while lost in her thoughts, and she stressed to herself that she needed to pay attention now.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.

“One of his favorite songs should show you how much Christian valued others, especially his parents and his fiancée, Carrie.”

Carrie’s eyes went to their corners, imploring to perceive if anyone was or had been staring at her. No one in the front row dared to even look up as the song started, so she didn’t have the courage to turn around.

Something crackled in the speakers above their heads and then began playing a song that Carrie had heard countless times over the past months. It had been a great part of her life just as much as his. Tears came to her eyes as the tender memories began to pour into her mind, their engaging films playing behind her eyelids. It was as if someone wished to see her weep for him, playing that music. It drifted into her ears, tears still approaching her bloodshot, tired eyes, but she did not seek to block out the song’s sound.

I’m hanging onto my peace of mind
I just don’t know
I’m hanging on to those good times, baby
Just want to let them roll

The images continued flashing. Christian and Carrie purchasing the CD at a local store together one night, Christian and Carrie dancing ridiculously to the song in his kitchen before dinner with friends, laughing heartily, Christian and Carrie hearing it blasted from the car speakers on the way home from a date . . . Christian and Carrie, Christian and Carrie. It was all she could think of, the two of them together. Carrie alone sounded bland and unattractive. She remembered the very night it formally had become Christian and Carrie:

The full moon revealed itself brazenly that night, not a cloud in view as the couple stared into the night sky in sweet silence. A picnic blanket was ruffled underneath them, a basket filled with food at their feet. Their toes were uncovered as a result of a recent swim in the lake in front of them. The moon reflected brightly off its still body, casting an eerie shadow as the water lapped against the shore. Only the soft wind gently progressing the crystal water, creating small ripples, was audible. Their skin was still wet, and despite the warmth of the summer night, Carrie shivered. Stray blonde ringlets were plastered to her cheeks and forehead and she used her fingers to gently push them into place behind her ears. Christian began stroking her damp hair softly, lovingly, and she closed her eyes, dozing off.

“You going to sleep on me?”

A contented smile crossed her lips and held its place as she opened her eyes and turned to face him. “No,” she answered kindly. She stared into his eyes with great intensity, as if somehow confirming that he was really hers. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Good,” he said thoughtfully, placing a hand to her cheek. He caressed her skin softly, whispering in her ear how much he loved her. She only smiled and placed her head in his lap. “I have to ask you something.” He looked down at her with an inquisitive look in his eyes, his eyebrow raised.

Carrie rolled over on his lap to another position and sighed. “Ask away,” she said blankly, her eyes staring at the moon.

Christian’s heart began to beat erratically. This was it. Do it right or she’ll never agree, he had told Carrie he had told himself over and over again after they had recounted the event, and that same command replayed in his mind countless more times as he brought up the courage to ask her. He knew that she would say yes, he just knew it. But she didn’t even seem to realize that he had even spoken to her; her eyes remained held to the moon’s beauty and glow.

“Carrie?” His voice had come out as a squeak, she saw it, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She had heard it and would soon poke fun at him.

She giggled, indicating his suspicions accurate. “Yeah?” she asked, sitting up and pulling her hair into a limp ponytail with a band around her wrist. Her eyes strayed to the grass beneath them, still unobserving as to what was about to happen.

He shifted from where he sat, jutting one leg out and placing his foot to the ground, forcing the other behind him. She turned and gazed at him with a confused expression on her face. He now kneeled before her. “What are you---” she started, but his actions cut her off. He reached into his back pocket, a smile alighting his face as he took a deep breath for humor. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I just can’t.”

Her imploring eyes strained in their sockets, impatiently waiting for him to reveal what he was withholding. Her heart was beating erratically beneath her chest in excitement. She placed her hands together in her lap and parted her lips to question what he was talking about, but the small black box soon came into focus and her eyes enlarged as wide as they could go.

“Will you marry me?”

The band fell from her hair, unclasped, as Carrie didn’t even try to impede her tears of joy. She choked on her own words, eventually nodding as he scooped her into his arms, kissing her long and passionately as only the moon glowed down on them.

Carrie placed her head in her hands as the song continued.

I’m gonna make it to the light and joy
I’ll tell you why
I got a woman who can take me there
The apple of my eye

Carrie concentrated with all her might onto her lap, her hair, the sequins on her dress, the flecks of dust on the floor in front of her, anything that would keep her mind off him. She couldn’t bear this burden. Nearly compulsively standing from her seat to flee from the place and acquire some fresh air, she remembered the long path between the many pews of people that she would have to pass, every eye burning directly through her, their frowns filling their faces with pity. She would lament missing what she had of the funeral, and she had fought an arduous battle within to even come. Not desiring that kind of attention, she reluctantly stayed put, but her mind digressed. Once more she prayed for strength and for her tears to staunch their flow, and the song ended.

The preacher’s voice echoed across the large room, many jumping as they tried to hide their grief. “I have no doubt in my mind that Christian is in Heaven. The many people here would also agree.” He shifted his feet and heaved a sigh. “Christian Lowe was one of the most compassionate people numerous knew. His efforts to build another wing for St. Mungo’s children’s hospital for the sole purpose of amusement for the kids--- rooms filled with stuffed animals, musical instruments, and board games for them to play---” he offered a smile, “---are just one of the many reasons he came off as a wonderful person after just a few moments in his acquaintance. His ability to make friends with the children was amazing. His doctoring abilities were obviously a God-given gift. The way he came into contact with anyone he met, so graciously, so considerate, appealed greatly. Many loved him . . .”

Carrie’s eyes finally glimpsed what was behind the deacon’s lofty body. Christian lay in a sleek, crimson coffin, its lid shining. The shock of this froze her mind and the very blood coursing through her veins seemed to turn to ice. The preacher’s words entered her ears but were not heard. She couldn’t believe this, that his remains were directly in front of her, but him so far from reach. Carrie found that she couldn’t derive her eyes from the scene, even for the hour the vicar spoke. His eyes were closed, his lips somewhat parted, as if he were only sleeping. The Killing Curse used upon him had left no mark or blemish on his body. Though he was not in the same stance Carrie had discovered him, she remained apprehensive it would replay in her mind; this image, too, did not comfort her. He was still dead, peaceful as he may seem or not. The black suit he was wearing meshed well with his rather long, auburn hair, though inside Carrie knew he was probably suffocating. How oxymoronic, considering he was, in fact, dead. Christian never had approved of suits, thinking they were always too itchy or pompous in appearance. Carrie imagined that Christian would have fancied for his body to be dressed in clothing he approved of, especially if he was going to be remaining in it evermore as his only companion within a badly lit coffin beneath the soil. A pain clasped at Carrie’s heart at the remembrance of this. It was funny how she forgot in a matter of seconds, even at his funeral, that Christian was dead and would never again return to her. The bitter veracity confronted her and her lips began to quiver with fear. Who was she now going to turn to when she needed a friend? A lover? There was no way Carrie could disregard his death any time soon, so any slight thought of companionship with a man besides Christian did not divulge itself inside her mind.

“His fiancée, Carrie, would like to say a few words.”

Carrie snapped sharply out of her reverie and her eyes widened. Every curse word in the dictionary formed in her brain, though luckily she did not voice them aloud. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to speak. Many thoughts of what she would pronounce littered her mind as she ascended the steps alongside the man, reaching the podium far too quickly as she thought fruitlessly for something to say.

“Hello, everyone,” she said modestly, her eyes dropping to the podium’s scratched wood after she had scanned the audience. Every bench had been filled, every pair of eyes staring at her as she still struggled for words. What was she supposed to say? They already knew that she was the deceased’s fiancée; the preacher had spoken it aloud at least twice. Was she intended to recount of Christian’s life from a personal account? She couldn’t fit that speech into a few minutes; she’d have them bored in seconds.

“I loved Christian. Just as many of you do here.” She scraped the floor underneath her with her foot, and as she looked down she glimpsed the coffin, resting postured and formally up on its position. What was in that coffin made Carrie’s heart rapidly stop its beating. She began to shiver as goose bumps crawled up and down her skin, making her teeth chatter with chill. Her heart then began to thump inside her chest unsteadily and she felt herself gasping for breath. She saw, beyond the bright lights that now shined upon her, a silhouette of a man walking away from the scene, then turning to stand at the great double doors at the back of the church. “Christian was . . . Christian is . . .” The many people in front of her still continued to stare at her as if she were something entertaining, their heads tilting to the side and whispers emerging from their lips behind hands. “. . . I’m sorry . . .” Carrie’s eyes rolled far back into her head as she turned around one more time, seeing his body up close for the first time. The fact that she would no longer receive anymore tender kisses or sweet words from him was unbearable. Her knees buckled behind the podium and the last thing she saw before her head hit the ground with a great smack! was Mr. Lowe racing up to catch her before she fell and a broad figure exiting the cathedral.

~ * ~

Seconds later she awoke.

“Carrie, dear,” she heard a motherly voice saying soothingly. Her dress was smoothed near her knees and a shoe returned to her bare foot. Hair was swept away from her face and a small hand was running down her arm, easing her into the living. She didn’t want to return without Christian by her side, but a finger forcing her eyelid open left her sputtering for breath. She wasn’t dead yet.

“Come on, dear, let’s get you to your seat. Do you think you need to get some fresh air for a minute---”

“No, no, Mrs. Lowe, I’m all right. So clumsy,” she added as she was lifted to her feet.

“You’re not clumsy, Carrie, just hurting. Everyone here understands.”

But that had been the wrong thing to say. Carrie’s stomach plummeted as she realized that hundreds of people had just watched her collapse. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks to crimson and she returned to her seat with surprisingly hasty steps, the mutters of the onlookers still perceptible. Mr. Lowe grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze, giving her a kindhearted smile and comforting words to assure her that no one condemned her for what had just happened. He made sure she was properly in the seat before releasing her fingers. “It wasn’t a good idea anyhow, it’s just too soon. For all of us, I think.”

The preacher spoke for a few more minutes and Carrie’s mind focused on what the two people had said. They truly did care for her, comforting her in this horrible time, even when their sorrow was as weighty as hers. Everyone began to shift in his or her seats, preparing to stand. Carrie gasped inwardly, almost silently, as the choir in front of them unexpectedly rose from their chairs to sing. She had not even paid attention to the entire funeral.

Amazing Grace,
How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me,
I once was lost but now I’m found,
Was blind but now I see

Their beautiful voices echoed off the walls, reverberating and ricocheting inside Carrie’s ears and back again. No one in the room clapped along or made noise. Every person stood from their pews as well, dropping their pamphlets into their seats. Some parted their lips to sing, some mouthed the melodious words with the swaying choir. Most of the congregation rocked with their eyes closed, as if sensing the grief the family and friends of this man held deep within their hearts. Many began to weep again, Carrie included, and she placed a hand over her face to suppress her anguish. Her head boiled inside from trying to repress her sobs and she felt her cheeks flush with great warmth. A pitiful sound escaped her lips. It wasn’t as if anyone would be able to hear her over the singing anyhow. It was the most depressing song she had ever heard, and the one before rivaled it greatly because of the memories it brought back into remembrance. As they went into the second verse the preacher motioned for the crowd to take their seats. When the song was finished he spoke again.

“Christian Lowe will always be remembered.” He closed his Bible.

“The burial will be held at Brothers Memorial Cemetery in London. The funeral will be at three-thirty, so if everyone who wishes to take part of this and console the family would please be on time, I’m sure that they would appreciate it. We’ll see you there.”

Murmurs of approval and muffled chatter began to take place as the man stepped down from the podium, some Muggles leaving immediately to get through the door and to their cars, others walking in the opposite direction to console those in their most dreadful state. The Wizards that left went to a corner restaurant to eat with friends before they would Apparate to the burial location. Carrie could hear the rain pattering against the building and the wind pick up as the funeral ended. The doors rushed open and a harsh, freezing blast of wind struck her cheeks and hair, swirling the strands about and knocking her off balance. She lost the shoe with the penny and impulsively bent down to retrieve it and place it back on her foot. A bell chimed somewhere in the distance three times, signaling three o’clock, thirty minutes before they were to bury Christian. The time couldn’t pass slowly enough.

------------

*Bible verse is II Corinthians verses four and five
*Songs quoted are Amazing Grace and Nightingale by The Eagles
*Chapter loosely based on the song Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood

Carrie walked across the green grass with weary steps, glad of her decision to wear flats. The rain that had poured on her way to the cemetery had caused the ground to become soft and soggy, and heels certainly would have created holes wherever she stepped and caused her to trip. Her clumsiness was in its top form ever since Christian’s death. Taking a place in one of the front seats, covered in a thick, woolly blue material, she smoothed her dress, allowing her mind to wander. Her eyes strayed to the outfit she had on and its many sequins, to her hands, pale and ghostly looking against the beautiful material. They lay in her lap. She folded her hands together and she heard a soft crack, the sound her knuckles made as they popped. The wrinkles her fingers made as she bunched them together, and moved them apart, occupied her until the other guests began to arrive. The attractive ring on her third finger caught her eye and she immediately looked away.

The stress and worry of the funeral, of finally burying Christian, losing him, once and for all, had caused her to become extremely tired. Even as she sat there, watching the preacher’s lips move, Christian’s body being brought out and propped smoothly against the machine that would lower him into the earth, people shaking their heads sympathetically toward her, her eyelids drooped and she felt her body giving in. Slowly, ensuring she didn’t press a creak from the chair, she sat up, forcing her eyelids open with the quick rubbing of her eyes and focusing on the vicar in front of her. Another reference to her and Christian’s parents was made, and Carrie gave a forced smile to the ground, to no one, in case they glanced her way. The people standing in the back hovered over the ground like zombies, listening to the procession of words, the funeral, go by in a blur. There was only a fraction of what remained from the church present, standing nearby. All were weeping, all having known Christian closely, but a stray man stood behind a tree adjacent to the crowd, his mind ready to speak what was on his mind, his legs strong enough to carry him across that grass whenever the funeral was over.

“Mrs. Lowe, you may come and tuck in your son one last time.”

Mrs. Lowe stood, her legs wobbling and shaking, and began to go toward the open casket. Her son, her only son, lay inside that casket. She soon felt a hand touch her back and lead her toward it. Realizing it was her husband, her spirit softened, allowing her to force her legs to walk, not just drag. When she had made it to the casket, she tucked the pillows neatly beneath his head, smoothed his hair, and kissed his pale cheek without a word. They continued to stand there for a brief moment, husband and wife staring at son. Finally turning on their heel to take their seats, the preacher closed the casket, shaking his head at the life that had been stolen.

After the coffer had been closed, sealed accordingly, and it had been confirmed that no stray object was hanging out of it, the preacher turned back to the group of about sixty and held an item up in his hand. Its slender, light wood stuck out sorely from the congregations’ many black suits and shirts, just like Carrie in her wedding dress. The preacher then said a prayer, an enchantment, and the wand broke itself in two. He handed the pieces, solemnly, to Mr. And Mrs. Lowe, who strained to hold within the tears that threatened to come forth. Mrs. Lowe’s face was almost crimson from the effort. She slipped the ruined portions of the wand into her cloak pocket and stared off into the dark sky above them. Carrie wondered if she was hoping Christian was up there, really in Heaven like the preacher had said. Maybe she was just whispering a few loving words to her son. Carrie didn’t know, but she put a comforting hand to her shoulder anyhow, caressing the skin in a reassuring way.

The preacher bowed his head and began to close the funeral in prayer. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”

The people stirred in their seats, and the group stood. But Carrie remained seated, watching the body of her love being lowered into the ground by a machine that was worked by the hand of a person Carrie had never seen before. The tomb inched its way into the dark soil as the wind began to blow with great intensity, stirring the strands of hair that had been freed from her ponytail. A nearby man, one unrecognizable to her that had apparently appeared out of nowhere, walked over and was now speaking quietly with the preacher. The preacher then reached out an arm and a finger, pointing right toward Carrie. The man glanced her way, displaying a knowing look, and turned back to the man to thank him. The preacher excused himself and walked away to speak with members of the family, leaving the two strangers alone to dwell. Carrie almost made a break for it, uncrossing her legs to walk away before this man could speak to her, but he was already by her side. It would have been rude and unnecessary for her to depart then.

“Carrie? Carrie West?”

Carrie showed obviously her confusion through her facial features and nodded.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I just needed to meet you. I needed to meet anyone who knew him. He talked of you all the time. You’re just as beautiful as he said you were.” His words flew out of his mouth so fast that Carrie could hardly understand him. His nervousness had certainly showed when speaking, something he had been afraid of. It dawned quickly upon Carrie that he was speaking of Christian. Her cheeks blushed scarlet as she realized that while he knew her name, she did not know his.

“I’m sorry--- who are you?” she asked, staring at him oddly.

“Oh, gosh--- I don’t think that would be the best idea. But you could call me Samuel.”

“Samuel,” she voiced, allowing the word to run off her tongue pleasantly. “May I ask why you didn’t come and sit with the rest of the group? You seem to have known him so well.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that completely either. I shouldn’t be here.” He peered over his shoulder knowingly, expecting someone to be there. His cheeks were pale, nervous, as if he knew very well that he wasn’t supposed to, as if he were going to be in great danger from someone if he were caught. “I need to go.”

“No, please, stay. We can go somewhere if you need to. A café? I’m starving. If that’s all right, I mean---” Carrie was vulnerable. She felt that this man hadn’t come all this way just to introduce himself, that he must be there for a superior reason. Samuel stared at her for a moment, running the arrangement through his mind. “Please?” she added. The side of his mouth twitched as his eyes strayed behind him again.

“All right,” he told her, “I guess that I owe you that much.”

Carrie shifted her gaze to her right, furrowing her brow, wondering what he had meant by that last sentence, but decided to keep her questions at bay until they were inside a safe place. He really seemed to be worried, panicky about something. Peering over his shoulder was a normal a thing as blinking for him. She decided she could at least reach the restaurant before they would speak.

“Just a moment, please.” She walked over to where Christian now was, six feet under, and grasped a handful of fresh, cool dirt in her fingers. She closed her eyes, trying to feel him beside her, to see if he was still with her, and spread the dirt over his coffin.

“Goodbye, Christian. I’ll always love you,” she whispered.

~ * ~

The waitress walked away with two menus under her arm, their orders inside her head. After she had completely departed, walking into the back kitchen, Carrie folded her hands in front of her and found that she had so many questions to ask this man in front of her. Samuel had kept on his coat even despite the stuffy atmosphere of the restaurant, pushing up the collar so it sat upright against his neck, as if hiding behind the fabric so whomever it was he was covering himself from would not see him.

“So, please, Samuel.” Carrie reached a comforting hand across the table to him and grasped it with her own. She knew, deep within, that he had something deeply imposing to inform her about. About Christian. “Please tell me what you’re doing here.” He peered over his shoulder again.

“Samuel. No one is coming for you. If they are, I’ll tell you before they can reach you and allow you to Apparate.” She was facing the door. It was a ridiculous excuse to get him to settle down, but it worked.

Finally relaxing, allowing his shoulders to loosen and lean against the booth, he took off his coat and placed it beside him, giving the entrance one last look for quick measure. Samuel was now gathering his thoughts. His fingers now tensed with each other under the table and he took a sip of his coffee. Carrie, too, took a long, drawling sip of the hot tea that had been placed in front of her. Carrie looked down onto the table, its many scratches. Staring at the flawless, porcelain teacup, she found no chips or flakes in the glass. She became annoyed at how much detail she was noticing lately of the most ordinary things. Her hands. Her dress. The table. It was ridiculous.

“My little girl---“ He dug inside his bulky coat pocket and retrieved a wallet-size photo of a beautiful eight-year-old girl. His voice had startled Carrie and she smoothed her dress so that the flinch she had given would go unnoticed. The girl’s blonde hair was as long as her waist, shining brighter than her teeth, white as milk, and eyes, green as a ripe olive. “Alice, her name is. This was taken about a week ago. She was a very sick child when we brought her into St. Mungo’s; she looked nothing like this then. We thought she only had some kind of a cold. A disease of the blood cells, they said, when she was diagnosed. Cancer. Her doctor was your---” He seemed to think better of finishing the sentence with ‘husband’, but instead just nodded, confirming that her doctor had been Christian. “Muggle hospitals did next to nothing. Only made her sicker, her spirit weaker. The Magical side of the family comes from me, so I thought it would be all right to bring her to St. Mungo’s. About two weeks after her treatments started, she began to show signs of recovery --- the medicines there worked wonders for her, much better than what the Muggle doctors gave her. A month after that, they said she was ready to go home. My family celebrated, her friends at her daycare all came to visit and threw her a party. The kind spirit she possessed allowed her to create many friendships with the younger, sicker children there and she received many sweets as goodbye presents.”

“Christian talked of an Alice often. Your daughter has to be her, then. I never met her, but he thought greatly of her.” Carrie gave him a warm smile and nodded, urging him to go on.

“We brought her home and sent her back to daycare soon after that. But we noticed that something was different about Alice. She wasn’t the same girl she had once been. Yes, I know, there shouldn’t be much cause for alarm: she had obviously gone through a life-changing event, coming so close to death, but she wasn’t in the right state of mind. She didn’t speak. Not one word came from her mouth, her teacher said, her first three weeks back at school. When she was called on, she just shrugged. She didn’t play with the other children and she sat alone at lunch. The teacher said that my little girl always seemed to have something on her mind, but never could find the words to express it. I noticed it as well, at home, but thought it was only because we were so busy --- someone had to work to pay off the medical bills, the housing, the daycare. I thought she just didn’t have anyone to talk to. Instead of talking, she had reduced herself to a shell, a person that none of us recognized. One day, my wife and I sat her down, demanding that she come out with whatever it was she was hiding. She forced us to lock all the doors and windows, check under the beds, inside the closets, until she could speak to us. We were shocked, confused, to say the least, but we did as she told us to. When we returned to the room, she told us that a man, a doctor, had killed one of the little kids in the room with her.”

Carrie’s eyes widened in their sockets. “You’re not telling me that Christian was the one to . . .“

“No! No, Merlin, I’m so sorry. Not Christian, no.” Carrie slackened from the rigid posture she had just gained and he went on. “Another one of the doctors. A man by the name of Avery. It could have been his name, could not have been. We didn’t know at the time. Alice told us that the little boy had said that name before he had been murdered. She said that he, Avery, wasn’t a real doctor, and that was the only time she had ever seen him. She figured he had stolen the white coat and proper uniform from one of the other doctors that was on break. Alice told us that the man had muttered the forbidden curse --- Avada Kedavra --- to the child, and she had seen a flash of bright green light from behind the curtain. She had pretended to be asleep. The next day the nurses had come in and the boy was still, dead. Nowhere else has my daughter seen or heard of this curse. She knows that it is called the forbidden curse, but she did not know the color or the words. How else could she have known the details of the spell unless she had seen it herself? We believed her, not only because she was our child, but also because of these facts. And because she was so terrified. She had forced us to lock those doors before telling us a thing for a reason: she thought that, if he knew she had told someone, that he would come after her next. We went to the Ministry of Magic and spoke to them, but they didn’t believe us. That, or they found it unworthy of being investigated. So we then we set up an appointment with the board of doctors at St. Mungo’s. We felt that the boy’s parents were owed the right to know how their son had died. They listened and told us that they would do everything in their power to find out who had done it, and they would explore as to how this person had slipped past the many securities they had placed on the hospital.

“So that was that. We didn’t know what else to do after that. Alice became more talkative, a note from the teacher informed us, the next day, and her grades began to increase. Life soon was back to normal, but she often asked us, every day when she got home from school, actually, if the man had been caught yet. The answer was always the same, no, even with the hospital, mostly Christian, calling on us at all hours, questioning Alice of the smallest of details that no one could have remembered. But she always knew what he was asking of, and gave them an appropriate response.

“Christian and Alice were very close, Carrie. She wouldn’t allow anyone else but Christian to sit with her during her treatments. A doctor always had to be present, even when family members were, for safety reasons and he always made time for my daughter, scheduling the other things he had to at different times. He constantly showed her the love that she gave to him clearly, and that made us, her family, very much appreciate him. When we were at work or needed to go home and get rest, we always knew that Alice had someone at the hospital to keep her company. He was a very good man.”

“About a month after she had revealed the murder, Alice was kidnapped. The teacher told us through the Floo Network that she hadn’t shown up for school that day. I knew that my wife had Apparated her there herself. Skipping the details, the Death Eaters had her, knew she had told on the man that had killed the little boy. They had my little girl, and I was the one that was scared. There was no telling how frightened she was, being the one that had actually been kidnapped. They had killed that little boy easily . . .” he drifted off. Carrie allowed him to wander through his thoughts for a few minutes. While he thought, the food came. Carrie set his own dish in front of him, and he mindlessly thanked the waitress and dipped a fork into his pasta and took a bite. He chewed, still pondering, Carrie thought, on what had happened to his daughter while she had been gone.

“Again, to make a long story short, Christian, the person that had worked on the case she had presented against this man, as well as her doctor and friend, thought it his duty to help find her,” he said. “Christian then collected a group of Aurors that would work on the new case--- a kidnapping case, now. They found her shortly after and she was returned to us through some form of a compromise. I didn’t learn of the circumstances until later. The compromise was that someone had to adopt her place, if she was to be returned safely. Christian was that compromise, Carrie. He saved my little girl.”

Carrie remained silent. She dropped her fork and it clattered from her plate to the table with a loud clanging noise.

“He thought he could get out of it. He thought that he could outsmart them. The Death Eaters believed they could force him to switch sides, torture him until he decided that pain wasn’t worth being a moral, respectable person on the Light Side. But Christian, apparently,” he said, coming back to the present, “did. He never gave in.” The words were harsh, but true. “I now have my little girl, this little girl,” he continued, holding up Alice’s picture, “because of your courageous husband.”

Carrie didn’t know how to react. She knew that Christian had been murdered, but she had not known why. She wasn’t sure whether or not to blame this man or his daughter for Christian’s death, or to weep because she finally knew why he had been killed. She was going to weep either way, she knew, in the end. Deep down she was proud that Christian had thought enough of the girl to sacrifice himself for her, but she was outraged that he could have gone and done something like this, something as final as dying for someone she didn’t know, without talking it over with those who loved him. Her mind was extremely . . . baffled, bewildered, confused. As of then she had a very hazy picture as to what had happened. She knew why he had been murdered and what the circumstances were. But why had they murdered Christian? Why had they even allowed the compromise? Death Eaters were brutal beings; they wouldn’t just permit a trade to happen. They’d kill the girl, then kidnap Christian, then kill him. Death Eaters were intelligent, evil people; only few had outsmarted them. They knew how to work trades so they could always get what they wanted, causing heartbreak to those who didn’t. There had to be more to the story, but she knew that Samuel wasn’t holding anything back.

“When Alice was kidnapped and we were searching for her, we left our home and fled--- only Christian knew our whereabouts. He was the one that recommended going into hiding was the best thing for us to do, so I didn’t end up losing my wife or other child. Christian was threatened several times by the Death Eaters, but he never revealed where we were. He was too good to us. We had never done anything to deserve the kind of compassion he showed toward us.

“This is why I could not tell you my name. Though the compromise has been fulfilled, a life for another, I don’t think that the Death Eaters are completely satisfied. I’m sure that it was Avery that killed Christian. I can’t help but think that they’re still after us, living so long like this.”

Carrie smiled, attempting to uphold her emotions, to keep them in check. She was nearly shaking with the effort not to just burst out with a furious, helpless, fulfilled scream, all at the same time. They finished their food in silence, nothing left to say to the other.

*Thanks to dearest Fresca for editing
*Reviews would be lovely if you have the time :)

A lone blue jay rested on a tree limb, its feathers ruffled and broken leg hanging behind him. A solitary, crumpling leaf swayed on the edge of the branch, its rough texture satisfying when felt by a smooth hand. It broke off and descended the fifty feet to the ground, coming to a rest untouched by anything but the wind. It swirled above the land as the breeze lifted it into the air a few feet away and tossed it around. The bird chirped once, twice, calling out for a mate that no longer existed.

“You and me both,” Carrie told the bird somberly, resting her elbow on the windowsill and her chin on the heel of her hand. She watched the blue jay continue to twitter and sing his sad song. The peaceful sound the animal made calmed Carrie, and she found her eyes closing to the sweet sound.

September and October came and went, slow and dull. Carrie immersed herself in her work, always tugging a briefcase-full home of papers and un-typed documents in case she would awaken in the middle of the night crying for someone who couldn’t comfort her or come back. She sheltered her feelings instead of confronting them. The first snow had come early this year, at the end of November. December brought the chill that the month before had began. The trees were now grey and leafless, the grass dull, the land unexciting.

Today the forecast was party cloudy with a one hundred percent chance of depression and tears. Carrie had been released from work, told to go home and rest, spend time with family, for the Christmas holidays two whole weeks early, her boss compassionate and understanding as to what she was going through. He obviously didn’t grasp the situation fully enough though, because this only left Carrie with nothing to do but wallow in her feelings and long that she had someone to spend time with. She was a form of an accountant at a small firm, living concealed in the Magical world where no one could find or bother her with sympathetic apologies and gifts of flowers or casseroles. Her boss had confiscated the briefcase that she towed home every day with his best intentions and locked it inside a file cabinet in his office. Carrie could no longer disappear behind her job. No longer able to occupy herself with filing and computers to conceal her true feelings, her wishes to perish or fall off the face of the earth showed greatly. She had known that she couldn’t live without Christian the second she had found him dead. Only living, plastering on that sweet smile of hers, to satisfy Mr. and Mrs. Lowe, kept her going. The simple act of ‘just living’ shouldn’t have a ‘just’ in front of it; it wasn’t that easy. Her whole life had been Christian as soon as she had met him and they had started dating. The past year had been spent deep in wedding plans and spending time with him. Now that the wedding was off and Christian dead, the funeral had been what she was expecting. Now that it had ended, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Any normal boss would have told her to move on or be fired, but her own had sympathized, having known Christian himself, and allowed her to still work there, and was not disappointed with the amount of workload she finished in such small amounts of time.

Carrie’s grieving process had remained perplexed all through the months, every second of the days she spent alone. She hadn’t seen Samuel since the day they had met and he had explained to her all that she hadn’t needed to understand. Thinking on it greatly, she knew that if she had had the choice she would have chosen not to know why Christian had been killed. Carrie had already been branded with the knowledge of how he had been killed, but why, she hadn’t. The first few days following his murder, the feeling of ambiguity had taken over her senses, numbed them. After her meeting with Samuel she had figured out why Christian had died, why he had sacrificed himself. But now Carrie had no idea as to how she should react. The fact that Christian had died to save a little girl that she didn’t know was . . . very hard to accept. Not only could she not come to terms with it, she felt anger toward Alice, Samuel, and their family for allowing Christian to do such a thing. But she knew that it wasn’t their fault. Not matter how devoted he had been to her, Christian took great pride in his patients, and once he had made up his mind, he would not change his decisions for anything. Dying for one of them should not have been so easy, she thought. But was she, Carrie, a loyal fiancée, supposed to avenge his death? That thought had crossed Carrie’s mind many times but she had never undertaken the deed, she wasn’t strong enough. Even knowing his murderer didn’t help; it just made things worse, caused her to feel more and more powerless the longer she thought on it. The friends she once had were now gone, someone to confide in vanished. A few had moved away, many had just discarded Carrie altogether, refusing to go out or continue to be friends with someone so . . . lonely and miserable. Carrie hadn’t thought of how ludicrous their reasons were, hadn’t cared, at the time, depressed as she was. Even now she couldn’t see how horrid of friends they had been. Instead of comforting her at her lowest time, they had ignored her, disappearing and leaving her alone to dwell on morbid thoughts.

Now she found herself bored, with nothing on television to watch and only visions of Christian surfacing. Thoughts of ‘what if’ entered her brain. What would they be doing right now, if he were alive? Would they be watching television together? Would they be enjoying a nice romantic dinner? Would they be exchanging early Christmas presents? Would they be making love on this very sofa?

Carrie’s heart surged with affection for him, still. She couldn’t accept the fact that he was truly gone. Her mind told her that he was dead, but her heart told her that he would return to her, that he was just away on a business trip and would come home soon. Carrie was just an empty shell that showed up for work more often than she should, one that inhabited a body that was unrecognizable from the one she had possessed when Christian was alive. When he was thriving beside her, Carrie had always felt the need, actually the desire, to be neat and proper, looking her best for him. It wasn’t something that was required for the position of wife that Christian had given her: it was something that she loved spending time doing. Now she only showered, allowing her hair to naturally wave and fall to her shoulders, grooming only enough so she wouldn’t be looked at disgustingly. She no longer spent hours on her hair, make up, getting dressed. If she couldn’t look her best for Christian, she wouldn’t for anyone. A thin line divided her life, one side labeled pure happiness and the other utter devastation.That was how her life was sorted as now. Before Christian and After Christian.

Ever since she had seen Christian’s wand destroyed into two, her desire for using magic had slackened as well. Tempted as Carrie would have been before Christian’s death to use her wand instead of a pencil to fill out reports on things she found worthless, she now noticed her wand as more of an actual weapon than assistant. It also would have allowed her to finish her tasks quicker, something she didn’t need. Every thought, every task she did, reminded her of Christian in some way. His smile, his face would float into her mind’s eye and she’d run from the room or collapse on the floor into tears. It had been months and still, her grieving had yet to end. She didn’t know how much longer she could live like this. A life of sadness, of yearning for someone who was dead, wasn’t healthful. But she didn’t know how to impede the tears or the crushing, plummeting sensation in her heart and stomach when she awoke in the morning and found no Christian lying next to her.

A stirring noise erupted from her glowing fireplace and she nearly leapt from the couch from being so frightened. A face that she recognized, but only from searching his eyes with great effort, emerged from the ashes and soot, sputtering.

“Carrie?” he asked timidly. His voice was surging with excitement, she identified that immediately. The fear that had been in his voice so long ago still had not faltered. The surety that someone was behind him at every corner was still there. “Carrie, is it you?” he whispered. He glimpsed her across the room with a slender cup of tea in one hand and a scrapbook in the other and seemed to relax somewhat.

“Sorry to disturb you, dear,” he told her compassionately, seeing the pictures she held in her hands, discerning the tears that ran down her cheeks. Carrie realized this and wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and turned back to him, sniffling once.

“Yes, Samuel?” she asked, bewildered, once again, at his presence.

He stared at her for a moment, pursing his lips, sucking his teeth while he thought for the correct words.

“What is it, Samuel? What’s happened? Is Alice all right?”

He nodded and finally opened his mouth to speak.

“They’ve caught him. They’ve caught Avery.” He sighed, waiting for her reaction. “He’s at the Ministry of Magic now.”

Carrie seized her cloak and fled the room, forgetting to lock the door behind her as she Apparated with a loud crack on her front steps to the Ministry.

~ * ~

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t tell you anything at this time.”

“That man in there killed my husband. I think that I have every right---”

“Even more of a reason not to allow you to go in there. We can’t have a victim’s family member avenging their death,” she added sarcastically, her mocking tone causing Carrie to be outraged. But she somehow held it within her and stared at the woman, searching for answers. “I can tell you that a small group of three, including him, was captured. That’s all even I know.”

“What do I do now? I can’t just sit here.”

“Then go back home. It’s the only thing I can say to you right now. They’ll have everything tomorrow in the Prophet.”

“That piece of garbage? I won’t get any truth from that. I want the facts, what he’s told the Aurors.”

The associate breathed a sigh, praying mentally within for strength, and turned back to the woman in front of her. “They’re not disclosing that right now. If you are a friend of one of the victims, then they may call you in for questioning. I’m sorry.” She turned on her heel, shuffling a stack of papers in her hands and walking into the very room Carrie wished to be in. Questioning was taking place there; the Aurors and officials would be inside. Avery would be there. Her heart told her to sneak into the room, attempt to go undetected, but if caught, she would never learn anything.

She’d rather hear something now than later, her heart told her. It wasn’t just a wish to know, it was a need. Mentally she pleaded for the bravery she knew she would require by walking into the next room. Thinking about it for only a split second, she picked up her feet and entered the room before she could change her mind. That or her brain kicked into gear and she realized how horridly erroneous her plan was. She had no plan, that was the problem. Carrie just had to know.

Pulling her cloak tighter around her body, twisting the thick material in her fingers she stepped forward, swinging open the thick double doors a crack before stepping inside. Only two or three members of the Wizengamot looked up, but they turned back to the accused when he began to speak once again.

“I was not the one who carried out those acts.”

“So you’re saying to me, to the Wizengamot itself, that you did not murder anyone?”

Carrie noticed that a man, seated at the head of the courtroom, was the one asking all the questions. Immediately identifying him from the papers as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, she knew his name to be David Faraday. He had been the one to recently replace Dumbledore after his death. The criminal seemed to wait for a moment before speaking, his jaw set tight, as if struggling with something.

“No. I did not murder anyone.”

“You plead not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

“Not guilty to the murder of Barbara Taylor?”

“Not guilty.”

“Not guilty of murder of Pansy Parkinson?”

“Of course not. Was my best mate’s girl.” Faraday’s eyes narrowed and he continued.

“Christian Lowe?”

Carrie’s heart nearly stopped.

“Not guilty.”

“Alison Walker?”

“Not. Guilty. Sir.” He paused for effect, searching the room. “Everyone.” He was young. His blonde, matted hair fell into his face, dirty compared to the pompous form of the group. He didn’t look any older than seventeen. Carrie found it ironic how the man--- well, boy--- had been raised to become a Death Eater but still found it necessary to call Grey ‘sir’, no matter how arrogant he sounded. Weren’t Death Eaters usually rude, cold-blooded beings?

Carrie looked up and saw that the man was not Avery, as she had thought he would be, but another man, unrecognizable to her. His face showed fear in every stress line, in every wrinkle. He was bound to the chair by broad chains, shackled around his ankles and hands. Because of the numerous amounts of questions, he began to obtain a mocking tone.

David Faraday was taller than she had imagined, his height towering over the many heads of the others seated behind him. His thin, bristly mustache was blonde, a different color than his hair, red. She almost burst into laughter from the odd sight as she leaned back into her seat, slouching absurdly to avoid detection. His clothes were too tight and a thin layer of sweat lay in the fold of his arms, as well as on his lower back. He clicked his long fingernails together as he thought and his shoes made a gentle clopping noise as they paced across the marble flooring.

“Dementors!” he called, clapping his hands once, as if summoning them. Carrie gradually felt the room becoming colder and colder. Teeth chattering, she wrapped her arms tighter into her cloak, pulling the hood up. Christian’s face suddenly floated into her mind’s eye. But it wasn’t the pleasant, happy man that she knew--- it was the corpse she had found in his bedroom that inauspicious day. That horrid face seemed glued, tattooed, to the inside of her eyelids. Thus, when she blinked or closed her eyes to rid herself of the view of the dirty creatures taking away the boy, his face surfaced and she stifled the urge to weep. She believed that she would never be cheerful again.

Carrie fled, hiding from view, before the Dementors noticed the stranger leaving. Before they chose to take away what was left of her own soul.

-

*Thanks to the lovely Fresca for beta-ing so quickly.

DEATH EATERS CAPTURED. TRIAL BEGINS TOMORROW.

Carrie read the headline loud and clear, it being the largest thing ever to cross the Daily Prophet’s front page besides the numerous reports on the Boy Who Lived. The article had nothing of substance, nothing she didn’t already know. The Ministry of Magic was to summon the family members, anyone who had any acquaintance with the victims of the Death Eater’s murderous rampage, or anyone who had been a witness to their crimes. For once, Carrie finally found something in this paper that didn’t tell lies, or at least a lie she knew to be completely outrageous. Satisfied with the Death Eaters’ capture though she was, Carrie couldn’t help but feel fearful of the trial. She was definitely a witness, being a family member of one of the victims; that was not a question. How she would be able to handle seeing him, Avery, for the first time was the real question. She had no idea what kind of impression she would make to the jurors and attorneys. Would she run at Avery, cursing him, or would she reduce to a thin crumpling form of a human being, knowing that the man sitting only feet in front of her had been the one to kill her love? Could she control her feelings once he took the stand if he lied?

As if reading her thoughts, an anxious pecking noise sounded from the other side of the room. Startled, Carrie looked up from her morning breakfast and saw a small Tawny owl perched uneasily on the thin windowsill near the front room. Rushing across the wood floor, she opened the window carefully and it stepped inside, allowing Carrie to quickly and carefully unfurl the letter tied to its leg. After she had opened it the animal took flight, the rush of its wings swirling her damp hair from the cold shower she had taken earlier.

It was addressed from the Ministry of Magic, just as Carrie had predicted. After a very formal greeting and some information about the case, Carrie finally reached the component about the trial.

Your presence is requested at the trial of Tyler Mathews, Gaston Avery, and Nicholas Foreman. You may or may not be subjected to questioning by an attorney.

The letter had obviously been addressed to many others, not just to her. They probably already knew whom they were going to question. Her stomach plummeted as she realised that she had a good chance of being one of those few they chose. She shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts of how she would react to the intense questioning. Realising that it wasn’t her that was on trial for murder, her gaze softened, but her worry did not waver. She was still going to have to somehow cope with befalling the intense gaze of the attorney, being in the same room as Christian’s killer, figuring out the answers to questions she had never heard before and might not be able to recall the answer to. Sighing, she returned to her breakfast. It was the only undemanding thing she had on her list to accomplish that day.

~ * ~

“David Faraday, please.” Carrie once again played with the fabric of her cloak as she waited patiently for the secretary to return with a confirmation of an appointment with him.

“I’m sorry. He’s not accepting visitors,” the woman finally said, checking a schedule within a pocketbook.

“But this is important. It concerns the trial of Gaston Avery.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Her mind seemed to struggling with the premise of allowing her inside to speak to her boss or not. Obviously the other woman had something important to say, but what, she didn’t know. It could be a hoax --- she’d seen it many times before, and this woman looked no different than the other ‘normal’ people who had passed through and attempted murder of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

“Please---” Carrie said, allowing every ounce of sadness to seep forth from her pores. She slumped her shoulders, gave her eyes a pleading stare, putting on quite a good show. Taking a quick glance to the secretary’s nametag, Carrie began to speak again. “Mrs. Simon, that man murdered my husband.” Sparing her the details of how Christian had yet to be her husband, allowing many questions to remain unasked, she gave the secretary a brief story of what her mission was. She wanted to speak to Mr. Faraday, to see if he had any insight on the case, if she was to be questioned, what she needed to say. Pretending to be a young soul with no knowledge of courtroom duties, Carrie explained her case well. Waiting for the secretary to seize the bait was the only problem. Carrie almost laughed at her audacity for doing such a thing; she was abusing her links to the case, what she had to work with. The other woman finally nodded and permitted her to pass, providing pity and compassion like no other.

“Good luck,” she added, offering Carrie a wink as she ascended the steps to Mr. Faraday’s office.

Rapping the door three times, she stepped back to permit the man to open it. The noise of a dead bolt being unlocked burst forth loudly, and the door then swung open to reveal the man. His mustache was now curled. He appeared to have showered since the hearing she had so swiftly overheard. She sensed a whiff of expensive cologne, and he now had on a different suit, tailor-made, and his hair was combed. But it was still different colors and looked bizarre. Carrie bit her lip in nervousness as he looked down upon her. His height loomed greater than her as well. He seemed to know how powerful he was compared to this stranger, this woman, who now stood outside his door, searching for answers.

“Yes?” he asked. He stared at her with imploring eyes, stepping aside to offer her a place inside his office.

She walked inside quickly, almost beginning to pace the room, but thinking better of it, quickly took a seat in the chair facing his desk. Crossing her legs, she breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have just gotten this far, to his office. Faraday, bewildered, took a place in his own chair and looked to Carrie for answers of the reason of her visit.

“Sir,” she began, finally accomplishing eye contact. Licking her lips, she struggled with what to say. “I’m here concerning the trial of . . . of Gaston Avery.” Carrie strained with the pronunciation because of the dirty taste that filled her mouth from saying the man’s name.

He seemed to understand, sitting up in his seat and lacing his fingers together, resting them on the over-sized desk in front of him. He nodded, influencing her to carry on.

She gave a nervous smile. “I have personal interest in the case.”

“What kind of interest?”

“I was close to one of the people who were murdered by him.”

“Really?” She nodded. He seemed to be amused by this. “And what do you want from me, miss?”

“I’m sorry. Please call me Carrie. Carrie West.”

He ignored her, nodding his head. He seemed to be distracted. “I can’t provide you with any information.”

Carrie averted her eyes regretfully. She knew that there had been a very probable chance of this happening.

She thought for a moment of how she was going to ask the question, then responded, “I was just curious as to what kind of questions I would be asked.”

Giving her a forlorn, weak glance her way, Faraday nodded, averting his eyes. “I don’t know the exact questions you will be asked because I’m not the prosecutor, but it should be something along the lines of what happened the day you found Christian murdered, miss.”

She nodded, figuring her suspicions correct.”

“But I will give you the information of the prosecutor working on the case. Good man. Young, but he’ll do. Our only aim is putting the three away in prison, particularly Gaston Avery.” He too said the name with an air of disgust, mirroring her own. He gave her a card and she looked it over carefully.

Riley Grey

The name stuck out to her, but she didn’t know where from. Racking her brain quickly as Faraday began to speak again, she came up with nothing.

“Have you received a letter than you’ll be called in? Are you a witness to one of the crimes?”

“Yes. You could say that.”

Faraday sensed that she didn’t wish to be pushed for answers, because he changed the subject.

“I thought that I recognized your name. You were Christian Lowe’s wife, right?”

She gave him a sweet, weak smile. “Almost.”

“I can tell you one thing. Their names. You do know their names don’t you?”

She started to nod, remembering the letter, but shook her head to see if he would accidentally let something slip.

“Their?” she asked.

“Three Death Eaters were captured. In the case of Christian Lowe, all three of them are being tried. We have reason to believe that all three men were involved in some way.”

Carrie leaned back in her chair, digesting what she had just learned, her mouth opening and closing under the hand she had sheltering it.

“It wasn’t just one? Not just Avery?”

“Tyler Mathews, Nicholas Foreman, Gaston Avery,” he offered matter-of-factly. “Obviously you know of the latter.” He unfolded his hands and retrieved a folder from the bottom desk drawer. Thumbing through it, he showed her the three by a picture similar to a mug shot, their prison numbers for Azkaban tattooed on a board they held broadly across their chests. Tyler Mathews, the man she familiarized with the hearing she had snuck in, was the only one who appeared timid, frightened of what he had gotten himself into. The other two seemed to be putting on a great, angry show, baring their teeth and screaming into the camera as the photo was taken.

“That’s really all I can tell you, Miss West,” he told her, standing. “The rest you’ll have to hear from the trial. Or if you can get Riley Grey to tell you anything. He probably won’t offer much, though.” Carrie rose from her seat as well and extended a hand to thank him.

“I wish you luck in the trial, if you’re called upon to be a witness in the case. Just remember to tell the truth and bear in mind--- you’re not the one on trial. You’re fighting for the justice of a loved one and you have done nothing wrong. As long as you remember that while on the stand, you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome.”

He crossed to the other side of the room and opened the door for her. As she stepped out and onto the stairs she gave him the warmest smile possible. She had been wrong about him. Walking into the room she had thought David Faraday an arrogant man who only thought of himself and his work. As she exited, though, she grasped that she had learned considerably more than she had thought she would entering. David Faraday was a pompous being when surrounded by other pompous beings, but unaccompanied, he was actually a very considerate person. She didn’t even see the ridiculousness of his arraying colors of hair anymore. Carrie’s head was still reeling with the possibilities of what would go on tomorrow, during the trial. She made a mental note to call on Mr. and Mrs. Lowe for guidance and to inform them on the latest developments of the suit; they always had the best advice to offer her.

*Thanks to the lovely Fresca for Beta-ing!

“No. You really didn’t.”

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Thirty voices filled the room, smiles all beaming Carrie’s way.

Christian squeezed her hand lovingly and led her inside; paper streamers and balloons covered every inch of the room. He handed her a red rose from behind his back and grinned widely, waiting for the time that she would laugh with him. Finally releasing a smile, she allowed him to drag her into the center of the room, receiving many pats on the back, hugs, and boxes wrapped in attractive wrapping paper.

“Cake!” a four-year-old, Christian’s best mate’s daughter, announced loudly, assisting a younger-looking Mrs. Lowe into the room with the masterpiece on a shiny serving dish.

“You look beautiful,” Christian whispered to Carrie, pecking her cheek softly. “Have some fun tonight. You work too hard.”

Mrs. Lowe began speaking of how she had created the beautiful cake, how she had mixed the icing, homemade, healthy and good for you without ‘all of that added stuff’, and began to cut large, thick slices to offer to the group. Most of the women complained of their diets, waving their hands in the air with ‘No, thank you,’. After many urgent commands to just eat the cake, most seized it and began to eat faster than even Carrie. It was absolutely delicious. All of the components made from scratch; the lovely cake was a triple-tiered obsession that had everyone begging for the recipe.

At ten to eleven, most of the party had departed. Only three couples remained, Christian and Carrie included, and they were now finding their purses and children, asleep on one of the beds up the stairs peacefully. Gathering up a child in each of their arms, their friends having two kids each, they waved goodbye, winking to Christian that the party had been a great surprise.

The cool summer’s night soon brought Christian and Carrie outside to rest on the patio. Wrapped in each other’s arms, feet hanging over the wood terrace, Carrie had thanked him.

Carrie kissed him deeply, lovingly, feeling the kiss all the way down to her toes. A butterfly feeling within her stomach erupted, more chaotic than usual. Something in Christian’s deep blue eyes told her that something tonight was different, was special.

He looked off into the black of the night, the stars twinkling down upon them. The full moon’s radiance glowed brightly that night, illuminating the garden and its many flowers only feet away from them.

“I love you, Carrie.”

Carrie turned her head sharply, staring into his eyes while he searched hers for the answer he so longed for. This had happened many times before to her. But never had Carrie had the strength, nor the love within her, to repeat it back.

“I love you, too, Christian.”

Carrie awoke from her dream all too soon.

~ * ~

Carrie felt the frigid air fluttering around her ankles sneakily, whipping at the hem of the black dress she wore as she walked through the first floor of the Ministry of Magic. Her heels, this time worn in opposition to the flats to come across as well mannered, clicked across the marble flooring with haste. After taking an elevator filled with many paper airplanes and haughty Ministry workers to floor nine, she had stepped off to descend the stairs down to the tenth floor, the place where the dungeons resided. The place where the trial of Gaston Avery, Nicholas Foreman, and Tyler Mathews was occurring. Luckily, she was not behind schedule. Ministry officials guarded the door like hawks. At least they’re not Dementors, Carrie thought, noticing their lofty structure and stern expressions. They closed the doors as she passed the room, the same room she wished she could be in. A secretary a few feet away told her that she was allowed to take a seat in the room down the hall. It was locked behind her and she took a seat at the frigid metal chair and table that accompanied it. Hands clasped together, head bowed, she immediately began to pray that Christian would be brought justice and that everyone that had any type of information would come forward to make the convictions that much easier.

~ * ~

Torches faintly lit the dark stone walls. Mrs. Lowe could see only far enough in front of her to find an empty place on the benches that filled the back of the room. Noticing the Wizengamot staring from the front of the room as she and her husband, Mark, took their seats, she counted fifty in the weak light, memorizing their faces, grasping that the three men’s fates were in their hands.

The Interrogators, the people who presided over the trial, wore plum-colored robes with a silver ‘W’ for ‘Wizengamot’ embossed on the sleeves. They were seated about twenty feet above the rest, in a balcony that Mrs. Lowe could see held exactly the fifty. In the heart of the room, three chairs were bolted to the floor, chains nailed to its legs and sides to restrain the accused.

“Rise.”

Everyone stood from their seat. Suddenly the room felt the happiness, or what was left of it, deplete quickly and easily. Once again, the crowd felt the effects of the surrounding Dementors take control, and most shivered inside the thin, collared shirts they wore. A member of the Wizengamot, an elderly woman, shouted a spell, allowing her wand to shoot forth a type of woodland animal that circled the room a few times. It calmed the members of the Wizengamot and the attendants, enough for them to safely stand without wobbling for the prisoners to enter. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, waiting for their son’s possible killers, Mrs. Lowe searched the room. She clasped her hand in her husbands’ tightly.

The three men then entered from a door near the front of the room, Dementors huddled behind them. Everyone froze, audibly hearing the thick shackles around their feet dragging across the hard floor, listening to their muffled snickers, watching their dirty faces smile, as if the reason they were here, on trial for murder, was something amusing or entertaining. Disgust filled Mrs. Lowe’s pores, and she felt her throat tighten. An urge to rush forth and slap at the three men was a very hard reaction to ignore. Heart beating erratically, she took her seat when Faraday motioned to the group and she leaned back onto the pew, closing her eyes, trying to achieve control of the trembling hands and legs that could hardly sustain her anymore.

She bit her lip. Nervousness took its place within her body as the Dementors exited.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today on behalf of the murder of Christian Lowe.” He clasped his hands together, eyeing the crowd carefully. His words shocked her at the sound of her son’s name. “The Wizengamot has very good reason to believe that these three men, Gaston Avery, Nicholas Foreman, Tyler Mathews, were involved somehow. I am here today to prove that they in fact, were.” Grey nodded to Faraday. Tyler Mathews seemed to have just noticed who the prosecutor was. The smile he had possessed while being dragged into the room, surveying the people, was missing, and he refused to look Grey’s way. He seemed embarrassed of him, much unlike the other two prisoners.

“Do you have a representative, Gaston Avery?” Faraday asked at his place high above them, the head of the Wizengamot, the Chief Warlock. His eyebrows raised, he narrowed his eyes keenly, awaiting an answer.

“Yeah,” he said, looking over to the other two, their eyes sunken. Tyler Mathews didn’t seem to be enjoying the fun as much as the other two, just like the pictures Carrie had seen the day before. His face was expressionless as he sat between the others.

“And who might it be?” he asked. Grey stared at him with an almost fearful expression.

“The Dark Lord. He can tell you anything you want to know.”

The attendants hissed and most of the Wizengamot became outraged, as if he had actually spoken the forbidden term and not just uttered its nickname. But no Dark Lord took his place amongst the jurors, no attempt for escape was made and no curses were shot forth, so it was immediately put off as a trick. Faraday seemed taken aback, but continued down the line nonetheless. The others, as well, did not have a representative to speak for them while they were on trial. Mrs. Lowe thought it because they had no one. That all of their friends were either in Azkaban, where she hoped they would be sent to, dead, or still remaining Death Eaters employed by the Dark Lord that would not dare show their face in public view with fear of being caught themselves.

“Tyler Mathews?” Grey began, motioning to the young boy in the middle chair. He looked up, staring into the prosecutor’s wide eyes, begging for sympathy. He knew he was guilty, the Wizengamot could see it in his face from the start. From his eyes.

The boy nodded.

“Son of Gregory and Laura Mathews?”

Mathews turned his head to a couple that was seated behind him, most likely only in their late forties, who appeared to the unknowing as at least sixty from the stress that their only son had put them through. They were ashamed. He nodded again as the Court Scribe began to work, his quill flying across the parchment. His inexperienced hands hurriedly scrawled in a messy script to keep up with the hearing. Mrs. Lowe discerned the sound of papers shuffling as he started on another sheet.

“Please tell the Wizengamot your age.”

He hesitated. “Sixteen.”

The arrogant, big-headedness that Tyler Mathews had possessed two days before in his pre-trial had completely vanished. The Dementors, or some unknown force, had apparently informed him of how cruel his life could be if convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban, and that was if he was fortunate. If convicted and sentenced without life in Azkaban, he could be facing a punishment of the Dementor’s Kiss, a penalty that he was terrified of. He hid his eyes behind his hair. Mrs. Lowe might have sympathized him if he hadn’t been on trial for Christian’s murder.

“Gaston Avery? Your age?” Grey asked, his eyes wide.

“You have to know that? Really?” Avery’s mocking tone turned Mrs. Lowe’s blood to ice. She couldn’t believe his audacity.

“Just answer the question,” Faraday told him through gritted teeth.

Avery sighed sarcastically and rattled one of the chains binding his feet. “Thirty-seven.”

“Nicholas Foreman?”

“Twenty-four.”

Grey looked up to the ceiling, apparently taking a mental note of something. Mrs. Lowe noticed Rita Skeeter seated in the front row near her and her husband, whispering something to the other woman that accompanied her. She prayed that she wouldn’t bother anyone or write anything negative about the trial.

“So all of you are all quite a few apart years in age. Is that correct?”

“What does age have to do with anything?” Avery asked loudly.

Faraday stood from his seat, anger turning his face beet red as he said, “Gaston Avery! You will bite your tongue or you shall be removed from this courtroom. We don’t need you to make an easy conviction.”

Grey continued as if nothing had happened. “The three of you pleaded ‘not guilty’ to any of the people the Wizengamot inquired that you murdered. Is that true?”

The three nodded silently. Avery sucked his teeth.

“But we’re here for only one victim. We’re here for the trial of Christian Lowe.”

No one said a word.

“Is it true that you serve the Dark Lord?”

“Believe what you want,” Foreman suggested, not making eye contact.

“Then you won’t mind if you show the Wizengamot your forearm?”

Tyler Mathews didn’t move, only twisted his fingers around the chains. Grey then proceeded to pull up Avery’s sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. He did the same with the other two, uncovering the same evidence.

“Followers of the Dark Lord,” Grey told the crowd as he raised Foreman’s arm. Grey’s eyes showed no surprise as he dropped the arms casually, revealing what was underneath the sleeves of their soiled cloaks with no regret of what he was doing. He was aiming for a conviction.

“I’d like to call the first witness. Carrie West, if you would. The witness has not been exposed to any of the other witnesses to be used in this case, for we did not release that kind of information in the letters sent out, summoning them.”

~ * ~

Carrie’s heart nearly stopped as she stood from her seat. The secretary, calm and collected, was motioning for her to move on to the courtroom. Smoothing her hair, she made her way to the double doors, inside, to the front of the dungeon. Grey eyed her, empathizing, his eyes sparkling. Taking a seat below the balcony of the Wizengamot, still in plain sight of everyone, she saw Mr. Lowe give her a wink and a smile, encouraging. Carrie noticed that a man she predicted was Riley Grey, judging from the card Faraday had given to her, stood near the members of the Wizengamot, not speaking. Rubbing his goatee, he focused his eyes on Faraday, who whispered that he could continue at any moment. Carrie noticed that he was very handsome. Grey’s arms were crossed, his lips set in a grim line. Desperately attempting to concentrate, he ignored the frail chatter of the attendees. Fingers snapping nervously, he finally walked to acquire his position in front of the three chairs. There was no seat for him.

“Please state your relationship with Christian Lowe.” He wasted no time with asking questions.

Carrie cleared her throat to find her voice. She fought the urge to lose consciousness again, like she did at the funeral, with so many pairs of eyes watching her. She tried to take Faraday’s advice and attempted to block out everyone else from the room.

“I was . . . I was his fiancée.”

“How long were you engaged?”

Carrie opened her mouth to speak but found no sound emerging.

“It’s all right. Take your time.”

Carrie stole a glance at the three accused men and her eyes hardened. Avery gave her a wink, but it was not a heartening one akin to the one Mr. Lowe had given her. It disgusted her and she realized that she wished nothing more than for these three to be punished for all of the heartbreak they had forced everyone to fall into. She found her voice again, strong and clear.

“Eight months.”

“You loved him?”

Carrie began to nod, but Avery interrupted. “How does that pertain to this? Does it matter?”

“Remove him, please.” Faraday had stood and was now speaking toward the front doorway.

The Dementors came into the room artfully, and Carrie felt the power that she had just gained slowly wavering. After they exited, Avery unchained and timid in their scabby, rotten hands, they continued.

“If you would, Miss West, please tell us how you discovered Christian Lowe’s body.”

Carrie stared at him like she had never seen him before. She couldn’t. She absolutely could not do that.

But she would have to. She would have to look past her tears, feelings, and at least attempt. She wasn’t the individual on trial, she remembered.

“Christian and I had planned to have dinner at his flat the day that---”

“His flat is located at 632 Gregorian Road, correct?”

Carrie nodded, biting her lip. She strained herself to continue.

“The day that . . . that I found him.”

“The day that you found him, murdered.”

“Yes,” she breathed. Taking a brief ten seconds to calm herself down, she went on. “I knocked on the door but after a few minutes, I thought he wasn’t home. It was odd, because we had planned the dinner the day before and he hadn’t cancelled. I tried the door and found it locked, so I used my own key. I figured he had gone upstairs where he couldn’t hear me.”

“Go on,” Grey told her, giving her a half-hearted smile.

“After I stepped inside, I yelled his name, but he still didn’t answer. I walked up the stairs and I couldn’t find him in the bathroom or guest bedroom, so I continued down to his own room.” Carrie now realized that she was almost gasping for air. After controlling herself she clasped her hands together, imagining that Christian was beside her, giving her strength. “I walked into his bedroom and found him . . .” She paused, trying to gather herself. She didn’t want to lose it in front of all of these people.

“What did you do after you saw the body?” Grey asked, taking a few steps toward her.

Carrie tried to respond, but found that she couldn’t.

“Miss West, I know that this is extremely hard for you, but you have to find the strength to answer.”

Carrie nodded once again. “I was in shock. I thought that it couldn’t be true, so I went and shook him. I knew he was dead. No one could sleep and look like that. While I was shaking him I noticed that he was still warm. That’s what prompted me to think that he was still alive. But I felt no pulse.” Her words were flying out of her mouth now, fast and nervous. “I ran down the stairs to see if I could catch the person that had . . . that had murdered him, but I never found anyone. Only that the door was open. The next thing I knew the police were there, and I was in the corner of Christian’s bedroom.”

Grey nodded.

“Do you have any reason to believe that the three accused, sitting right over there---” He pointed toward the three men. “---had anything to do with his murder? Anyone you know with evidence?”

Carrie began to open her mouth, but this time instead of not being able to speak, she struggled with not speaking. Immediately she eyed the three Death Eaters. Mathews had his head down, but beneath his hair showed the eyes that watched her intently. She almost felt that he felt her own pain, they were just so sad. Avery almost slouched in his seat, would have fallen out of it if there had not be chains to support him. Foreman stared into space, consumed with thought. She looked back to Grey, who was waiting patiently for her to speak.

“I do. But you might have a problem with bringing him in.”


-*Thanks to Fresca, once again, for her lovely job she does!
-*Also, a HUGE thank you very much to Lord Great Chamberlain, h_vic, and mudbloodproud for all of their consistent, wonderful help on these next few chapters. Without them, this would be a faulty mess of a bunch of writing. Also to Fresca for beta-ing!

After disclosing Samuel’s name privately to members of the Wizengamot, Carrie was told that she was free to go. This indicated that she was also able to watch the trial unreservedly, permitted to come and go as she pleased. The trial was not open to the public, so few onlookers were perceived besides herself and Christian’s parents. She only prayed that Samuel wouldn’t be too angry with her for compromising his family for a few concise moments. No sane person would allow a family, especially with children, to go defenseless against the likes of Death Eaters. After he gave his story , she was sure that the Ministry would grant him protection. She had no way to contact him, not knowing where he resided at that moment. Brought immediately to the courtroom upon his arrival, Samuel had, of course, asked for the shelter that Carrie knew he would be granted, and the two chosen Aurors were sent off to guard his wife and two daughters while he stayed behind to tell his account.

After a brief recess, time enough to summon Samuel to the Ministry, Carrie once again took her seat, this time beside familiar faces, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe. They praised her for taking such a daring stand against the three men and turned their heads to the front as the prisoners were brought out, Avery amongst them. This time a silencing spell was to be issued and removed when the prisoners were not spoken to, preventing further interruption. Carrie wiped away a tear of relief, realizing that she really had done all right, and sat rigid and motionless to watch the rest of the trial.

Placed behind a screen and a spell that Carrie could not identify that masked his voice, Samuel told his story. Excluding not a single detail, he described the events of how Christian had been close to his daughter, Alice, and why and how she had been kidnapped, and how the compromise had been made to allow his daughter freedom for the place of another person. He informed the members of the Wizengamot that his daughter had been plagued with the information that a man she had identified as ‘Avery’ had murdered a boy in her hospital ward at St. Mungo’s while she had dwelled there.

This added another count of murder for Avery to be rendered suspicious for.

There was no limit to the amount of hatred that filled Avery’s eyes as he listened to the person behind the screen. He had yet to figure out who the man was, his voice unidentifiable when veiled by that simple spell. Tyler Mathews watched Avery with uncertainty, the look on his face pronouncing that he was just waiting for him, frighteningly, to explode and begin to murder everyone in the courtroom for sending for such a person to testify. Surely a conviction could be made with this new testimony brought forward.

“But why would Death Eaters, whether the murderers had been these three or not,” he added, pointing to Avery, Mathews, and Foreman, “have returned your daughter for the place of another? Wouldn’t they have just --- frankly, murdered them both, before the exchange was made? Why would they have allowed it?”

It had been the very question that Carrie had asked herself. She sat up, straining to hear in the dark room.

“I don’t know,” Samuel told Grey. “I have no idea. But I have my daughter, and because Christian sacrificed himself for her safe return, I will be eternally grateful.”

Associates of the Wizengamot shuffled their papers, straightening on their hard benches. The Court Scribe brought a new quill to his aid and began to finish his work. Grey nodded towards Faraday, turning away from the front of the room. They all smelled something that just wasn’t right as they looked toward the accused.

“You are free to go, sir,” Faraday told him. Samuel breathed a great sigh of relief. He then, right there in the courtroom, hurriedly exited the courtroom. Away from the accused, from the people who had kidnapped his daughter, he finally Apparated on the topmost floor and returned home. No longer would he be forced to live in fear every moment. Carrie was happy for him, for the protection that the Aurors would now give him.

“Do you deny the charges brought against you, Gaston Avery?”

A smile burst forth from Avery, the corner of his mouth twitching. It was immediately lost as his eyes connected with the stern look of the courtroom, and his expression hardened. “ ‘Course,” he told Faraday, crossing his arms, the chains clanking against the chair as he did so.

“But that is a different matter,” Grey said, returning the courtroom to the original case. “We are here on behalf of the murder of Christian Lowe,” he repeated. Crossing his arms, he once again began to stroke his goatee, deep in thought.

“Tyler Mathews,” he said, looking to the young boy. Mathews flattened his feet to the ground and looked up, his eyes still pitiful and pathetic. No one could tell if it was a pretense, just to convince the Wizengamot members, the jury of the case, that he was innocent or not. But he was a very good actor, if it was. Faraday pointed his wand toward Avery and Foreman and this prohibited Avery from saying anything.

“Where were you the night of August sixteenth of this year?”

Mathews’ eyes explored the room, searching his brain for an answer. “I--- I don’t really remember. Probably at home. Maybe at my parent’s house for dinner. It’s too long ago to remember.” He wouldn’t make eye contact. He was lying.

“Really? Would your parents vouch for you? Would anyone?”

Mathews turned around to meet his parents’ hard gaze from behind. He found that they wouldn’t even look at him.

“Probably not.”

“Then where were you on the sixteenth? Running errands for the Dark Lord? With these two?” he asked, motioning to the other two prisoners. “Is that it?”

“I was with Gaston and Nicholas, but I did not murder Christian Lowe.”

“Who did?”

Mathews turned to Foreman and Avery for answers, but they would not make contact either. They both stared off into space, waiting for their own turns.

“Did Gaston Avery murder Christian Lowe? Nicholas Foreman? You know who did, don’t you, Tyler?” Grey asked, his eyes turning sad, fake against the Wizengamot’s callous stares. Trying to equate with the criminal, he stared only at Mathews, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Mathews seized the bait just as Grey thought he would. Avery gave Mathews a threatening look.

“Just ignore anyone else, Tyler,” Grey soothed.

“I do know,” he said, childishly, slyly, just as he was a child. Being sixteen years old and on trial for murder was a serious thing. Tyler Mathews hadn’t even lived an adult life yet, hadn’t even completed childhood, and here he was, pulled deep within a murder trial. If convicted, his life would be thrown away, forgotten to anyone who had ever known him. He seemed to be slowly grasping this.

“Who was it?” Grey asked, his eyes hungry. He wet his lips, staring at Mathews intently.

“I’m---” He hesitated. “I’m not allowed to say---” His mind’s eye displayed a picture of the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters that were more faithful to the two men beside him rather than him, the same people that would certainly destroy him, in Azkaban or not, if he were to reveal the secrets of that night. His eyes stared, unseeing, reflecting on this. “I will remain loyal to the Dark Lord.”

“What happened that night?” Grey asked, ignoring his last response. He would get the boy to answer truthfully.

Mathews did not reply. He turned away, fully intent on not speaking another word. He would not be fooled into letting something slip. Grey nodded again to Faraday, signaling that he was finished.

“Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning at ten.”

The Dementors once again swept into the room to carry their prisoners back to their cells. The crowd hurried out before the Dementor’s chilling presences could ruin their already thin frames of mind. Though frightened of the creatures and their effects, Carrie waited, offering Mrs. Lowe a caring kiss goodbye as they hastened away. Grey watched the three prisoners depart with hardened eyes, entirely unlike the gaze he had given Mathews in attempt of causing him to disclose their story. After even the Wizengamot had exited from above, Grey still remained, staring off into space, his mind entrenched in theories. Carrie watched him in interest, hope filling every pore of her body. She wished very much that this man would give her the justice that not only Christian deserved, but also Mr. and Mrs. Lowe, and she, wished for. She suddenly gained an intense wish to speak to him.

“Mr. Grey?” she said, her voice echoing through the empty room loudly. The sound made the man jump as he turned around, smoothing his suit at the sight of the attractive young woman. He hadn’t expected her there. He cracked a smile, a welcoming smile, and she walked forward.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” he told her, extending a hand for her to shake. “I’m Riley Grey.”

“Carrie West,” she said, mimicking his warm and inviting tone of voice and taking his hand politely. At that exact moment, when their skin touched, Carrie comprehended where she had heard Grey’s name before. In the Prophet. The rubbish she distinguished the newspaper to be, she knew that the particular story’s premise had at least been true. Riley Grey’s son had been found murdered two months ago, only a week or so after Christian’s death. Because of his upstanding status in being a top attorney in the Wizarding World, anything going awry within his life was bound to make papers. His son’s death, no less murder, was a major event for the Daily Prophet, and the press had had a field day while contributing all of the facts. What they couldn’t find they fabricated themselves, thus confusing Grey even more. With no knowledge of how or why his son, Andrew, had been murdered, he had sunk into the same gruelling, painful depression that Carrie had. Losing someone so close to him had caused the love of his work to deteriorate, and he had taken a month off to rethink things and mourn his only child. His wife had disappeared a few years after Andrew had been born, Carrie had read, so to lose the only person he had left was very dreadful. After that month away, he had returned, the grief of Andrew’s death still raw and fresh, with one sole intention: to determine who his son’s murderers were and have them locked away for good. It confused Carrie, now, to see him involved in her case.

Carrie leaned against the front pew, her back pressing into the wood as she waited for him to say what was so evidently on his mind. She almost permitted pity to transfer from her eyes to his, but decided against it, knowing that she would not have wanted it from him.

“I’m very sorry for your loss. I hope that I can bring you the justice you and your family deserve.”

Carrie met his eyes and what she saw was a sincere, honorable man. Up close she saw just how attractive he really was. His high cheekbones showed that he was distinguished, a fine man. The chestnut-colored hair on his head was tousled, swept to the side. The smile he was now using on her was contagious. She thanked him with her own pleasant one. Deciding against mentioning his son, for that was not the reason they were here, she pushed off from the pew and straightened. She hesitated, but finally gave in to what she wanted to know.

“Can you tell me anything about Tyler Mathews?” she asked. She hadn’t even thought about what she was asking, hadn’t known the answer she would receive. Because Grey was the prosecutor of the case, he was bound to know more information, inside information, about the prisoners, than she did. He had also spoken with the Wizengamot as well, and listened to their opinions, as well as formulated his own. Carrie craved to know it all, but didn’t know if he would consent to it. She figured that he had better things to do than sit down and talk to someone he didn’t even know about a case that he hardly cared about.

“I can tell you that he’s sixteen, that he’s a known Death Eater.” He paused. “But you already know that.”

She nodded, indicating his suspicions correct. Was he really not going to tell her anything more than that?

“I can also tell you that I’m quite ravenous, and I want nothing more than to go to the Ledbury restaurant in Muggle London.” He looked up to find the clock above where Faraday sat stated a quarter to eight p.m. He raised his eyebrows toward her, shifting a manila folder of papers into another hand. Carrie hesitated, wondering of his intentions. She finally decided that it couldn’t hurt and agreed.

~ * ~

The restaurant was decorated with an oceanic theme. Seashells, fishing nets, photographs of burly men displaying their most prized, very large, fish on hooks covered the walls that had the appearance of driftwood. The air even smelled a bit salty. Carrie’s stomach growled for the delicious perfume the place gave off, and she realized that she was starving.

After being seated, Carrie placed her head on a fist, her elbow on the table, as she usually did. Her eyes caught his, and Grey smiled. Folding his hands under his chin, he stared at her, waiting for questions. She felt immediately close, comfortable to Grey, as if she had known him forever. She was free to say whatever she wanted, though she didn’t know what she wanted to say, wanted to know. Carrie grasped that only four months ago she had done this exact same thing--- probed someone for answers that she, in the end, wished she hadn’t ever inquired to.

“If I may ask--- why did you decide to take on this case? I thought from . . . well, since your son’s death, that you would only focus on catching his murderers.” She paused, allowing him to digest the speedy information. Her voice was going at a million miles an hour. “I don’t mean any offense.”

“None taken,” he told her courteously. Once again he took the form of a man deep in thought. His eyes rolled to the ceiling and stayed there. He breathed heavily a sigh. “I guess we could start with Tyler Mathews.”

Carrie’s eyes constricted toward his. She didn’t understand what he meant.

“I see your confusion.” He shifted in his seat. “Tyler Mathews--- I knew him before now. That is, he was my son’s best mate during their Hogwarts years.” He paused, allowing the message to sink in for Carrie. “They still could be in Hogwarts, their ages . . .” he murmured.

“Do you think that Tyler Mathews had something to do with your son’s murder?” she asked innocently.

“I don’t know.” He breathed in deeply, seeming to struggle with anger, meekness, something. His eyes were cheerless. “I try not to think about it too much. It hurts me to think that my son could have been murdered by his best friend. I can’t even imagine the betrayal . . .” He stopped, searching for words.

“Is that why you took the case?”

His eyes hardened and his jaw set. In a deep, eloquent voice, he said, “I thought that if I could get Mathews a lengthy sentence in Azkaban, I could somehow unearth why Andrew had been murdered. Maybe get the Kiss as the next sentence.” He said the words with no emotion, but hatred was clearly evident in his features.

Cocking her head, Carrie nodded. “You’re not . . .” Carrie didn’t know how to ask the question.

“I’m not planting any evidence, doing anything wrong, no,” he told her, chuckling. He had known exactly what she was to say. “I find myself fascinated with Mathews. He used to be such a nice boy--- good grades, prefect. The perfect, shameless child. But right after my son turned up missing, the papers came out and said that he, Mathews, was a Death Eater. He had apparently departed from Hogwarts a week before Andrew’s death. The question is: how did such an ideal student end up becoming one of the most flawed creatures on this earth?”

“So do you think that Mathews was just--- I guess you could say--- in the wrong place at the wrong time with Avery and Foreman for Christian’s death? That he was wrongfully blamed?”

“You’d be surprised at how evil that boy really is. That pathetic face he puts on during the trial? All an act, I believe. I don’t know if he’s murdered, I really don’t. Maybe he lives with the regret of murder.” He threw up his hands. “I have no idea if he murdered your fiancée; I have no idea if he murdered my son. I know that he’s here for some reason. I’m just going to do my job.”

Carrie nodded. He was very open. Not many would be, especially after the harsh events he had been through. Perhaps it was just that she exhibited an air that screamed ‘confidant’. Riley Grey, too, had been cursed with having no friends after Andrew’s death, and this woman had been the first person he had divulged in, even spoken to, about it.

~ * ~

Hours had elapsed since the two had stepped into the restaurant. The waiters were now leaving, coats in hand. Those who stayed behind to lock up noticed the couple seated in the back and let it go for the time being. Closing time had long since passed, but the owners were behind schedule. Receipts needed to be totaled, chairs needed to be placed on the tables, and the doors needed to be locked. The topic of conversation had long since drifted from the trial to their own losses.

“Sometimes I just feel so alone. I don’t really know what to do. I feel like I could run down the street, screaming, and no one would even turn their head. It’s so normal to lose someone, people say, but nothing like it has ever happened to me. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“I know exactly what you mean. When Andrew died, the first thing that crossed my mind was that someone had made a mistake. I wished it were me, Carrie. A father is supposed to die before his son.”

Carrie gave him a piteous gaze, and he only stared at her longer. They had done this many times in the past hour, just sat silently and stared at the other, allowing one’s pain to seep ever so faintly into the other. Onlookers had perceived them as a loving couple, but it wasn’t like that. Now it was just two acquaintances, connecting on a higher level than most, and becoming good friends all in a few hours.

Things to speak of had expired. Carrie rattled her brain, though she relished the silence welcomingly. She recognized that Riley had been the only one to ever ask her of her feelings, to see how she was doing, besides Mr. and Mrs. Lowe. Because of their good grace and compassion, she had made it through the first two months in her life without Christian. They had told her that those first few were the worst. Now she felt that she actually had something to live for, that a friend just might need her presence just as she needed his.

Just as Carrie noticed that the place had emptied without their knowledge, the manager of the restaurant cordially walked over and offered them their check, gesturing for them to leave in a courteous manner. Carrie reached for her purse to pay for the dinner, but Riley reached a hand across the table and placed it upon her own to impede her.

“Please, let me pay.”

“No, no, no,” Carrie told him, waving him off. She reached deep within her purse to find the proper amount of Muggle money. Sifting through the bills, he put his hands on hers again.

“Please, Carrie. I enjoyed your company. Just let me do this.” His eyes were sincere, affectionate. Carrie couldn’t help but smile back in his presence, still, and she had been with him for past--- she looked at her watch--- four hours! Staring at him with a sardonic, but thankful, smile, she finally gave in. She looked down to her lap and heaved her hands upwards.

“Here’s the check, sir,” the man said, giving him a slip of paper. Riley looked at it briefly and handed the man a credit card. He went off with it, leaving the two alone again for a few more moments.

“Thank you, Riley,” she told him sincerely. Kicking her feet underneath the table idly, she felt one of her legs connect with something solid.

“Watch it there,” he told her, a smile growing across his face. That smile. When she remembered that he had lost someone so near and dear to him . . . just imagining his pain made Carrie’s heart ache for him. Apologizing, joking, laughing, they made their way out of the restaurant, arm in arm. Carrie realized that it was the first time she had really laughed since Christian had died.


-*Thanks to Fresca!

Returning to the tenth floor for the third time in three days, Carrie found herself wondering what the effects the courtroom had on the three inmates. Was it wearing them down? Did it make them want to confess? Carrie cynically figured most likely not. Nonetheless, optimism pervaded her chest. Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned around before entering the courtroom and a smile immediately erupted on her face. Riley Grey stood behind her, a newspaper in hand.

The night before had been very comforting, surreal. Not only had Carrie found herself a friend to release her feelings to, but she had also unearthed a person that was willing to speak about his own. The two had connected more than either of them had thought they ever could again with another person. When Carrie had requested a brief chat about the trial with him, she had in turn received a companion.

He handed her the newspaper without a word, but she noticed that the way he held his posture, something about him wasn’t right. Instinctively she glanced down at the Prophet and almost gasped.

A picture of her and Riley, heads together, speaking at the restaurant from the night before, enveloped the entire front page. A headline that read ‘Prosecutor and Fiancée of Victim Become Friends’ bordered the moving portrait. She read on:

Riley Grey, the prosecutor of the case for the murder of Christian Lowe, was spotted late last night in Muggle London with a very attractive companion who just happened to be Carrie West, the late Lowe’s fiancée. The two were seen dotingly sharing a cup of coffee and juicy small talk. It’s been four months--- could Miss West have finally gotten over her former love and found herself a real match? Or are the two exchanging information that should not be exchanged?

The article continued, but Carrie was too disgusted to read on. Tears, irate and humiliated, welled in her eyes, and she felt the impetuous urge to dash from the hallway to find a bathroom to hide in. How dare the Daily Prophet write something about her. For many years, every time she had glimpsed a major article flowing across its pages, she had sympathized with anyone involved. As it so blatantly showed, the paper obviously did not print the truth. Carrie stood there, torn with the urge to run, to skip the trial, in fear of the prying eyes that had read the article that morning that would wander over her as she sat silently in her pew. And then a real worry twisted her heart--- had Mr. and Mrs. Lowe seen the piece? She clutched at her chest and breathed in deeply, fright replacing the blood that coursed through her veins. She had loved Christian, and still did, truly. All this time, fearing Riley’s reaction, she had not withdrawn from the page, her eyes pretend-scanning to read, when she had only taken in the first few sentences. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she looked up to see the effect it had had on her friend.

He didn’t seem to know what to say. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, desperately trying to suck in air to form words. Carrie handed the paper silently back to him. Immediately, she turned on her heel and an unwilling sob pitifully came forth from her closed mouth. Riley caught up, grasping her by her trembling shoulders, and turned her around to face him before she could go any further.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Carrie. I don’t really know what to say.”

Carrie nodded, comprehending full well that it wasn’t his fault, but knew that he wouldn’t release her until he was finished. He lowered his eyes to hers and said intensely, genuinely, “I really am, Carrie.” Carrie felt that he didn’t have to declare anything, his eyes said it all. They were pleading, almost begging her to forgive him. But he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“It’s all right, Riley,” she breathed, controlling her tears for a few moments. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, please.” But no matter how much she concentrated on his eyes, on anything, a stagnant tear still tumbled down her pale cheek. Reaching up to wipe it away, Riley continued in a commiserating voice. She felt rather awkward as his fingers touched her face.

“No, it is. I should’ve thought about the reporters, Rita Skeeter, what’d they say. I was stupid.”

He then wrapped her in an embrace, comforting her. While Carrie appreciated the gesture, something about it didn’t feel right. Besides the curious stares from onlookers passing through, recognizing them both obviously from the newspapers, the hug made her feel almost uneasy. She pulled away from the prolonged hold early, feigning an appreciative smile, trying very arduously not to search the room for additional spectators. He would certainly see and where would that take them? She’d only known him for twenty-four hours, not even that, and while she was familiar with his life story and he hers, it didn’t mean they knew each other.

Her eyes stared at the floor in front of her idly, thinking with her jaw clenched, clicking her tongue. He stared at her, awaiting a response.

“What kind of information do they mean? The kind that they think we exchanged?” she asked.

He sighed, obviously remembering that just because he had informed Carrie of the situation didn’t mean that it was resolved. “The passing of information from the prosecutor, which is the lawyer, of the case, to anyone besides the Wizengamot is strictly prohibited. If caught, I could lose my license to practice law. That also means that my time will have run out to find Andrew’s murderer. I can’t have that happen.”

“But won’t you be facing some kind of inquiry, just for this being put in the paper?”

He chuckled. “The Court is fully aware of the harsh allegations made by that ridiculous paper, whatever it’s called. They don’t trust it.”

Carrie breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s one good thing. At least you won’t lose your license because of me.”

Narrowing his eyes, he searched hers with uncertainty. “What do you mean, Carrie? None of this is your fault.”

“I’m the one that asked you in the first place to speak to me.” She vacillated, fearing the answer. “Did you say anything that you weren’t supposed to say?”

“No. I only told you of my personal history, of my son, of Tyler Mathews. I told you nothing, if you remember, about the case itself. You asked nothing about the Wizengamot’s opinions, of mine, about Christian Lowe’s suit.”

Nodding, Carrie slowly began to smile. Maybe more people deemed the Daily Prophet as rubbish than she thought. Maybe no one of consequence read the paper in the first place. But as she walked into the courtroom and sat down at her usual seat beside Mr. and Mrs. Lowe, she received no welcoming greeting or smile. Not even a glance that she existed. Carrie dismissed it and decided not to dwell on such a thing. Maybe they just didn’t realize her seated there.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe,” she said, giving them a warm smile and a wave, uncrossing her legs when she finally gained the nerve to lean over and speak to them.

“Hmph.” Mrs. Lowe’s eyes were hard and cold, unlike the soft, affectionate ones she was so used to. Mr. Lowe said nothing, only shifted in his seat as he gazed toward the front of the room.

Suspicions confirmed, Carrie fought the urge not to just robotically plead with them to forgive her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but to lose her friendship with these two wonderful people, her only remaining connection to Christian, because of a faulty article in an even faultier paper would be for naught. Her face stone, her feelings damaged, she returned to her usual place in her seat and forced herself not to think about it. She would speak to them with regards of the subject at another time.

Riley Grey crossed the room, returning to his customary place in the center of the room, in his natural stance, legs straight, hand stroking goatee, mind deep in thought.

~ * ~

“Your friends in school, Tyler,” Grey began. “Who were they? Before you departed Hogwarts, I mean.”

Tyler seemed to calculate something inside his head. “Many of them. Hard to remember their names, didn’t care for many. But my best mates were Draco Malfoy and . . . and Andrew Grey.” Mathews narrowed his eyes toward Grey, almost as if mocking him.

Faraday immediately jerked his head toward the prosecutor as a warning. “Grey, you better get to where you’re going with this. I’m not crossing cases.”

“Yes, sir.” He then began to pace the room, hands clasped together as if praying and their tips under his chin.

“But they were both in very different groups of friends. I hung out with each of them separately.” Grey nodded.

“Why did you leave Hogwarts to become a Death Eater?”

Mathews voice faltered, shock showing in his face from the question asked. “I---”

“Come on, Tyler,” Grey said ruthlessly, placing his arm behind Mathews and onto the chair he sat upon, pressing all his weight on it. “Come on. You know what I mean. Before you joined Lord Voldemort, the one you all call the Dark Lord. Before you got that mark, there, on your arm,” he said, pointing. “We already know you’re one of them, may as well gloat.”

Ignoring the outcries of some of the jury, Mathews went on. “Don’t say his name,” he told him, almost reluctantly, “Do not mock my master. He’s the only reason I am alive.”

“Really? He’s also the reason you’re almost dead. You enjoying your stay with the Dementors? Only a matter of time until they---” But Faraday cut him off. The hate that Grey personally felt for Mathews was shining through obviously to anyone who glanced his way.

“Grey! Get on with the case!”

Muttering a quick apology, Grey persisted once again. Straightening his tie, he continued. “Tyler, continue. Please tell the Wizengamot why you chose to become a Death Eater.”

“There . . . there wasn’t really a reason. It was my friends’ decisions rather than mine.”

“Which friends?”

“Draco.” Mathews avoided eye contact now, as Grey had traveled to the front of the room and was observing him suspiciously. “Others, too.”

Grey didn’t push the question as to who the ‘others’ were. “If you really didn’t want to be a Death Eater, you could have resisted their urges for you to join them.”

Mathews nodded, seeing the end of his part of the argument.

“But why? What convinced you to go with them?”

“I went with them reluctantly, I said.”

“But why? Why didn’t you just stay at Hogwarts, like the good student you were? Let them go on about their own business?”

“Because I would have been left alone. It was only a small handful of us leaving. You know that no sane person, student, anyone, can dwell anywhere, even at Hogwarts, without a friend. If most of my companions were leaving to join the Dark Lord, what few I had, why shouldn’t I go with them? They promised me that being on the Dark Side reaped more rewards than being good. I couldn’t say no.”

Grey nodded, empathizing, though he knew it to be a poor motivation. He avoided asking who all he had joined in leaving, instead dwelling on what tasks he had accomplished.

“What did the Dark Lord ask you and your friends to do?”

Mathews shook his head. Grey sighed, chuckling ever so slightly.

“Tyler, you’re already going to prison for being a Death Eater. You might as well confess to what you were up to then.”

This seemed to change his view on the situation, for Grey’s plan of inadvertently causing him to confess to other acts seemed to not resist his mind. “He started out small. Robbing stores or homes of what he called priceless artifacts. They were only flimsy pieces of junk. I don’t know of the value they were. After we pleased him, he began to recognize us as trustworthy, someone to be confident in.

“I was paired with Gaston at one point, so the Dark Lord could assess just how trusting we were, without the others to hide behind. He wanted to see who was the bravest, the one who actually did all the work. He matched us all up with someone else and Avery became my mentor. Nicholas joined us shortly after. They became more friends to me than the others, and they were also older, wiser. I soon forgot about my gullible friends from Hogwarts, all except Draco, who stayed in contact secretly, for he was on some other mission I’m not sure that he could reveal to anyone. Something that had to do with Hogwarts, I think. I always followed the Dark Lord’s plans, and with that his faith and conviction in me has never wavered.” He paused. “Gaston and Nicholas soon became my loyal partners, a trio of sorts we were called, you could say, that did bidding for the Dark Lord. But soon after, he gave us orders to murder for him.” He eventually realized that he had gone too far, absorbed with the telling of his story.

“Go on,” Grey told him, waving him forth with a hand.

Mathews shook his head.

“Tell the Court who was murdered by your hand.”

He repeated the same movement, progressing his head left and right more slowly this time, as if trying to control his anger, his humility. Grey sighed vociferously, the one breath echoing off every wall. Avery and Foreman stared at Mathews as if he were a complete idiot, dumbfounded that he had told the court so much. This proved his reliance to the Dark Lord, they reflected. Just wait until he once again rewards all of those that have stayed faithful to him. He won’t be included, Foreman thought. It was the edited version of Avery’s opinions. Avery’s face was a new shade of crimson. Gritting his teeth as hard as he did only ensured that they’d fall out sooner.

“Who was murdered at the hand of Gaston Avery and Nicholas Foreman?”

Mathews hid behind his hair. “I will not betray my friends.”

“You’ve already betrayed the Dark Lord. It’s all that matters, I assure you.” But Mathews still shook his head, and Grey no longer felt the need to push the subject.


-*Of course, thanks to Fresca!

“Hypothetically, Mr. Avery---”

“Gaston,” he said through clenched teeth, peering at Grey repulsively. His hands were balled into tight fists, aware that he was under intense scrutiny by the entire room. His partners were silenced and he was too tense to think before answering any of the questions.

“Hypothetically, Gaston,” Grey continued, flashing him an exasperated look, “if you were the one to murder Christian Lowe, or even if one of your friends here were, why would you have allowed the little girl to escape?” He looked up to Faraday questioningly, adding, “Alice, was it?”

Faraday nodded, boredom showing visibly in his features.

“Alice. Why would you have allowed her to escape and just take Mr. Lowe?”

Avery shrugged, shaking his head as a grimace formed. “I don’t know. Maybe they made some kind of deal with the Death Eaters.” He flashed what appeared to be a considerable look to Mathews, who kept his head down. His mocking smile stayed in its place even as he looked away from his friend. Mathews appeared to be holding back tears. Avery seemed to be satisfied with Mathews’ reaction and turned back to Grey for further questioning. Grey stood above them, confused, clicking the tips of his fingers together as Faraday had only days ago. The exchange was significant somehow.

They were finally turning on each other.

“So, a deal was made to keep the girl alive.”

“Hypothetically,” Avery said, the word used with deliberate prominence.

Taking a deep breath, Grey nodded for the Silencing Charm to be removed from Foreman and replaced on Avery. His alabaster brow furrowed from his wandering thoughts.

“Mr. Foreman,” Grey began, strutting to his usual place in the center of the courtroom. “Who murdered Christian Lowe?”

Foreman stared at him, hatred bubbling over from his insides like boiling water. He continued to gnash his teeth so hard that Grey wouldn’t have been surprised to see blood running from the corners of his mouth. His hands were also clenched behind him, twisted deep within the confines of the chains, the knuckles stark white and ghostly against his dark, frayed robes.

“I don’t betray the Dark Lord like my friends do.” An exasperated glare caught Grey dead in the face.

“You’re not betraying your Dark Lord, Mr. Foreman. You’re betraying your friends. They’re the ones that might have murdered the victim we’re speaking of.”

“Oh, please--- cut the nursery school shit!” Foreman’s face was crimson, not from embarrassment, but rage. Grey stared at him with distaste.

“Sir,” Foreman added. He then spat at Grey’s feet and clenched his fists even more, almost extracting tiny droplets of blood from the palms compressing so hard with his fingernails. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any point in this damn hearing. You’re already going to throw us in Azkaban, so let’s just get on with it. Stop trying to get us to turn on each other.” His voice was bitter, reserved. “It doesn’t matter if we killed this person, this Christian Lowe. We’re going to be convicted no matter how much evidence is with us, just because we’ve got this Mark, here.” He attempted to throw up his arm to display the Dark Mark, but his chains resisted. His eyes were at the floor, rooted there. Grey was just waiting for him to start complaining about his limited rights.

“If you wish to go to Azkaban so much, Mr. Foreman, why don’t you just tell us who murdered Mr. Lowe?”

“Because I don’t know the story!” he yelled before Grey could even pause, spittle flying toward the Wizengamot. “I don’t know the full story!”

“Then tell us what you know,” Grey retorted in a harsh tone.

“I . . . I wasn’t there for the full thing, I don’t know.” He was clearly making things up off the top of his head.

“So you admit that you were at the scene of the crime while it took place?”

Foreman didn’t allow his shock to show through his face, but, if it was possible, his fists twisted around his chains tighter. He gave neither a nod nor a shake of the head as an answer, just stared into space. He knew he was caught.

“Who else was, Mr. Foreman? Was it Gaston Avery? Or Tyler Mathews? You know, don’t you? If you want us to solve the case, we need your cooperation.”

“You’re not receiving any damn cooperation from me, you Mudblood.”

The crowd then began to whisper in shaken tones, speaking behind hands or purses for comfort. Faraday didn’t even have to be asked to replace the charm back on the man.

The feeling of hopelessness pervaded every pore her body possessed. Her posture sagged and she suddenly had the distinctive impulse to run, to break down. But she controlled it, turning her attention back to Grey.

“Mathews . . .” Grey began again, a slight smile playing at his features. He would not allow a silly insult to interfere with the resolve of finishing his work, closing the case. He was hoping this time for more collaboration from this particular prisoner. Mathews’ withdrawn, timid demeanor made him an easy target.

“Who murdered Lowe?”

“Don’t know.” Mathews tossed the answer out there uncaringly, allowing whoever so wished to dissect it as desired. His voice blindingly showed his care. Nothing. His expression was reticent. It appeared as if he wished very much to tell the truth, but something was holding him back.

Grey was growing weary of the prisoners not cooperating, though he had quite expected it, especially because of how high profile, how sinful their crimes were. How evil they themselves were.

~ * ~

At least two hours more of futile questioning had passed, and the crowd was growing frail and jaded in their seats, as were the Wizengamot. The prisoners had been bored as soon as they had walked into the room, uncaring as to how the trial came out because they knew that they were already going to be put away for life. All hope had been lost as the Auror’s hands had grasped them from behind the day they were arrested. There was nothing left for them to do.

“It wasn’t any of us.”

“Really?” Grey asked, a mocking tone shying behind his determined voice. “And why should we, the jury, the Wizengamot, the crowd---” he said, gesturing to each one in turn, “---believe you?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

Grey chuckled at this. “And how are we supposed to trust a devoted Death Eater?”

“I guess you can’t.”

“Did you murder Christian Lowe?” Grey asked, his voice more resolute and anger-filled than usual.

“No!” Mathews told him, his voice breaking from the overwhelming emotion affecting him. His eyes were petrified, moving every which way to confirm that he was not being contradicted by an onlooker’s unfair inspection. Carrie felt compassion wash over her, again, and she didn’t know why. It was something in his face, his expression, that made him contemptible, sad. Carrie suddenly realized that no matter how many life sentences any of these men received, it wouldn’t change anything. Christian would never come back.

“Did you murder Christian Lowe, Tyler?” Grey repeated, placing his hands on both ends of the chair holding the boy, almost shaking it with the rage he possessed. His voice was full of fortitude, but not yet irritation.

“No, it wasn’t me!” he said, his eyes showing his terrified expression more than his posture and face put together, even with his mouth contorted into that pitiful, trembling frown that threatened to accompany the tears that were now filling his eyes. Mathews might cry. He was going to receive rave reviews from the jury.

“Not drama class, Mathews,” Grey said, all mercy or forgiveness any normal person would offer to a boy in this misfortunate situation nonexistent. A contented smile crossed Grey’s face as he watched the scene unfold.

“Who murdered him, Tyler?”

“It wasn’t me,” he said, all attempt of keeping himself under scrutiny for the murder gone, replaced with tenacity.

“Who was it?” Grey asked, his eyes never leaving Tyler’s. He slapped the chair with both hands, lifting it off the ground for half a second as he waited for the boy to react.

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me! It was Andrew, not me!”

Grey’s face immediately twisted into a shocked expression.

“Don’t you dare . . .”

“It was Andrew, not me!” Mathews continued to scream, repeating himself over and over. His eyes were closed into tight balls of fury, spittle coming at Grey’s face from every which way. He dodged it by stumbling backward quickly, his expression that of someone who had just seen a ghost. “It wasn’t me!” The hollow shouts echoed around the courtroom.

Grey’s eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open strangely. His stares were fixed in a trance at Mathews as if he had just witnessed some brutal, horrible crime.

Faraday noticed Grey’s inability to continue. His eyes shifted curiously from Grey to the prisoner, confusion stamped into his face. “Andrew . . . who, Tyler?” he asked, his voice shaking with what he had just witnessed. Mathews stopped screaming long enough to answer accordingly. He breathed in deeply, trying to control himself. Mucus hung down in slender ribbons on his upper lip and tears filled his eyes to the brim. As he blinked, realizing that Faraday had spoken to him, the droplets fell slowly down his face. His tongue snaked out as one reached his lips and captured one. Grey turned his back on him.

“Grey. It was Andrew Grey.” He paused, waiting for an appropriate reaction from anyone who dared to contradict him, Grey being that person. Foreman seemed satisfied with the answer, as did Avery, whose mocking grins were the most prominent in the courtroom. Grey’s hands were on his head. He bent down onto the floor in a crouching position, terrified. Mathews then turned to look above him at Faraday. Claustrophobia was taking effect, and the chains around him were only contributing to the horrors. He squirmed relentlessly. “Let me go!” he began again. “Andrew, not me!” He started to cry. Thick, heaving sobs racked his body. Closing his eyes, he let out a yell that even the top floor could have heard.

Hate was carved into Grey’s features; the left corner of his mouth twitched violently as the muscle of his jaw clenched. Grey never averted his eyes from the front as the hooded, ghostly Dementors stepped into the room to seize their prisoners. Carrie felt the revulsion in the air that Grey possessed for the boy in front of him. Tyler Mathews screamed, the anguish in his voice echoing off the walls, then silently, fearfully went with them, led away by their scabby, rotten hands. Avery went silently, as did Foreman, though their smirks and mockery had vanished. The lights dimmed for a brief moment and Carrie felt all of the optimism she had received from Samuel’s brief visit hours ago taken away. She shivered despite the thick cloak she had draped around her shoulders. After breaking the curse of binding chains, allowing the creatures to grasp their prisoner, Grey picked up his briefcase from the desk and began to leave the room. Mathews didn’t impede the earsplitting yells even as the crowd’s confused, judgmental chatter became more noticeable than the screams themselves.

“A . . . a brief recess,” Faraday announced through shaky lips, muffled because of the hand that covered his mouth. But everyone had already guessed that that would be the next action taken as they glimpsed Grey walking swiftly from the room, briefcase in hand. No one could tell if he was frightened of the charges brought against his son or angry for the outrageousness from the mouth they belonged to.

Stepping out of her pew after Riley Grey had passed, she attempted to stop him so she could . . . well, she didn’t really know. Comfort him? That would really get through to him, a voice inside her head told her doubtfully, and she too placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her astonishment. “Riley!” she yelled over the bustle of the courtroom, over Mathews’ screams. “Mr. Grey!” Taking another few steps, she caught the door behind him and exited the courtroom.

Suddenly aware of what she was doing, Carrie stopped. He had just discovered his son’s murderer. Knowing that he would need a moment, or perhaps weeks, to come to terms with this, she decided to leave him alone for time being. She needed to speak to him eventually, needed to know what was going on. Though she knew that he could use a friend, she would have wanted to be left alone, as he probably did. She Apparated home to wander through her thoughts--- this time, perhaps, not such a bad thing.

But then she remembered that not only was Andrew Grey Riley’s son, he was now a suspect for Christian’s murder.

-*Thanks to Fresca!

“I’m so sorry, Carrie, again. You must think I’m an awful friend.”

“Riley, you haven’t done anything---”

“But I have. I do hope that you don’t believe what that . . . that monster said about Andrew.” He paused. His bottom lip began to quiver as he stared into Carrie’s eyes, and he once again broke down in front of her.

It was a curious thing, witnessing a grown man crying, no less at the rate and intensity Riley did. She hesitated at first, her hand in the air only an inch from his shoulder, but then placed it upon him in a reassuring way. Exasperatingly, she stared at him. The stress of the trial had worn them both down--- Riley in the sense that he was prosecuting such horrid people, and Carrie because she had to see Christian’s potential killers every day for the past week. The effects that it had forced upon them had made their relationship that much stronger.

“H-He ca-can’t have kill-ed Chris-Christian,” he said between sobs, his hands over his face, his voice muffled. “He was s-such a g-ood b-boy.” He attempted to impede his breakdown, but he found that he didn’t really mind to in Carrie’s presence and just let go of trying to withhold it. Riley knew that she wouldn’t judge him as others would, getting so worked up over what a meager prisoner had said. Mathews could have told the jury his son’s name just to get a rise out of them, see where they went in the case. See if it could get him off. But Riley had really taken it to heart, and for his son to even be thought of being involved in this heinous crime, of someone his friend Carrie had loved so much, shriveled his insides.

After a few minutes of Carrie whispering reassuring words to him, he lifted his head up, drying his tears and nose on the back of his sleeve. He turned around, mumbling to himself of how silly he was. Carrie handed him a clean tissue and gave him a weak smile.

”It’s all right, Riley. I know that you had nothing to do with this.”

He nodded, sniffling. He breathed in heavily and began to pace the room, thinking. Carrie smiled at this, wondering how he could continue to have that same signature stance even while he was absent from the courtroom.

“Carrie,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her from the seat at his kitchen table, “I want to thank you for helping me through this. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”

She grinned, looking down and away from his penetrating, overly grateful stare. “You’re welcome, Riley. I could say the same for---”

But she was interrupted with the feeling of his lips pressing onto hers. His kiss was urgent, imperative, and Carrie certainly did not care for it. Millions of confused, mixed thoughts surged through her brain. Pushing him kindly but with evident energy, she broke the kiss with a worried expression.

Carrie opened and closed her mouth, torn between slapping the man in the face or breaking down in tears. Her breaths were coming quickly, her heart beating with prompt speed. That seemed to be her retaliation these days, the weeping. It seemed to be everyone’s. “Riley, I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” She paused, realizing something and she covered her mouth with a pale hand. “Christian . . .” She then turned on her heel and headed toward the front door, but he prevented her from doing so by grabbing her shoulders from behind. He stuttered something unintelligible. But unlike the last time, she did not allow him to stop her. She literally ran through the doorway after she had unlocked the door, stepping into the afternoon sunshine quickly and forlornly, tears marring her beautiful features. She Apparated on the spot, Riley calling a few more rounds of apologies after her.

Carrie figured that they were deserved this time around.

~ * ~

Carrie busied herself around the house for the rest of that day. Taking a quick bubble bath with the television playing one of her favorite shows kept her mind occupied. Reading an intriguing book, Wuthering Heights, for the rest of the enduring afternoon made her only think of Heathcliff’s own nerve, his evilness. But then she remembered her own romance troubles and it set her in a right state. Riley was now the wicked one in her life, and she couldn’t stand him. She finally ended up confronting her problems, thinking on them, rather than ignoring them.

Riley knew where she lived because of his occupation [he had assisted with the witness letters]. If he showed up on her doorstep begging for exoneration and pity, she knew exactly what she would do. Stomping on his foot, she would laugh in his face as he requested on one knee for her to accept his heartfelt apology, that’s right. Her heart beat rapidly with her wild imagination, but reality set in and she realized that she could never carry out something as impious as that.

She had wanted Christian to be the last person that kissed her. How childish it sounded, but true. Only Christian could make her heart melt during a kiss, during an embrace, a prolonged conversation.

Carrie found Riley’s presence comforting, a bond with a companion she wished she had all of her life. In no way, shape, or form did she think he would ever take Christian’s place in that of friendship, and she didn’t even consider him a future prospect as a husband. Carrie only enjoyed his company. They both had lost someone near and dear to their hearts, and were only looking for a friend to help pick up the pieces afterward. Yet, there had always been something about Riley that caused Carrie to feel somewhat uncomfortable while in his presence.

Well, she thought,, the kiss just confirmed why you’ve been thinking this way. Riley apparently didn’t think in the same manner as she did. Carrie loved him for his ability to listen, for being a friend--- unfortunately, nothing more. She had always felt somewhat uneasy around him. Not enough to wish she were not in his company, but enough to feel her stomach becoming perturbed. Carrie recognized flirting, intentional or not, and he had always had the daring to slip in a few awkward phrases of his own liking, as well as those overly affectionate hugs he would give at such inappropriate times. It almost made her roll her eyes right there in the moment in near anger for his audacity--- and especially while the wounds Christian had produced were still so fresh! She didn’t want to ruin their friendship just from something as small as the kiss, but Carrie didn’t know if she could get over something like this. Riley knew, more than anyone possibly, how close she had been to Christian, and four months after his death certainly was not enough time to begin dating or even kissing someone else, no matter how charming Riley was or not. That, and she wasn’t fond of her friend the way she had been of Christian. Friends was as far as she wished to go, with anyone, at this point.

And she wasn’t even counting the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Lowe had not called to check in the past two days like they usually did, every day.

She curled deeper within the confines of the quilt her mother had given her, fighting tears, and sighed.

Her mother. How she wished, so very, very much, that she could just pick up a phone and call her. She probably had no idea of Christian’s death, of how her daughter was doing. When she had sent out invitations to the wedding, Carrie had made completely certain that all of her family members were included, had even tucked a small apology note on the inside, but she hadn’t even received a response back. They hadn’t shown up to the church the day they had scheduled, which had also been the day of the funeral, so they obviously didn’t care. And they had always claimed that they loved her so much--- why couldn’t they take part, even for just the reception, in what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life?

The angst of losing everyone in one solitary day came raining down upon Carrie and once again she submitted willingly to the tears that she knew would make her feel better for the moment.

~ * ~

Carrie sat in her usual seat beside Mr. and Mrs. Lowe. She bit her tongue as her mouth refused to cooperate with her brain. Her lips wished to apologize for whatever it was that she had done to upset them. Her brain told her to just keep her eyes forward and remain silent.

So she did the latter, and noticed that instead of Riley Grey standing at the front of the room there was another man--- the same build, but obviously not her friend. She turned to the woman beside her, whom she recognized as Tyler Mathews’ mother, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but finally gave in to what she wanted to know. After all, it wasn’t they that had had anything to do with the crimes their son had been blamed for. “Excuse me,” she said, catching her attention, “do you know where the other prosecutor is?”

The woman nodded, shifting her eyes to the front and eyeing the new man. “The Wizengamot deliberated last night and decided that they couldn’t have a prosecutor that was so personally involved in the case. Andrew Grey, the person that Tyler Mathews---” the sound of her son’s name came out in a strangled sound from her throat, “---said killed Christian Lowe, was the prosecutor’s son. They couldn’t keep him on the case any longer for that reason.”

Carrie nodded. She chatted for a few moments about this fact and thanked her as the hearing began again.

Time passed, and the Dementors never brought in the prisoners. A few people of the crowd began to murmur confusedly, but Faraday stood up, calming them quickly.

“Tyler Mathews has agreed to give a full account of what happened the night that Christian Lowe was murdered. He has only agreed to do so if the other two prisoners, Avery and Foreman, are not present. If any members of the Wizengamot object to this, please raise a hand.”

No one dared to contradict a prisoner who offered information. Not one hand was raised, and Faraday nodded to the new prosecutor to begin. Tyler Mathews was soon brought out and chained to the solitary chair in the center of the room by the Dementors that he was so afraid of.

“Hampton, go on.”

“You may begin at any time, son,” Hampton, the prosecutor, told him, looking down upon Mathews with hard eyes. He was obviously another very accomplished attorney, older than Grey. He had almost certainly seen more cases like this one as well, and was not astonished at its developments.

Tyler Mathews searched the room for someone, anything that would make him stop with what he was about to do, but no one even moved in their seats. Shaking his head, he pushed his hair over his face and narrowed his eyes to the floor. He took a deep breath.

“As I’ve already said, the Dark Lord put the newcomers with other loyal and trusted Death Eaters. Gaston and Nicholas and I were paired initially, but with much deliberation the Dark Lord then allowed Andrew into our group.”

“Why did it take longer for Andrew to be placed in the group than for you to be?” Hampton’s voice was startling to Mathews, who figured that he had free reign to tell the story without interruptions.

“Because the Dark Lord didn’t trust us,” Tyler answered. “He still doesn’t trust some of his most faithful servants, and most have been with him for years. I guess he figured that if two of the new, young people wishing to join his ranks were placed with two of his faithfuls that there was a chance that we, the newcomers, could overthrow what he had created.

“The four of us were assigned a variety of things,” he continued, still not making eye contact, ashamed of what he was doing. “Gaston and Nicholas were constantly being asked to leave our group and return to their old tasks, much harder tasks than the ones placed upon us. Usually we waited in a random place--- the countryside, an abandoned house--- until we were needed. We, Andrew and I, never did anything without the other two.

“About two months had passed since we had turned our lives over to the Dark Lord, left school. You can ask anyone who’s joined him---” His eyes turned cold, extremely frightened. “---after those first few months, everything that you’ve lived for up until that point had been for nothing. Any friends and family that you had . . . they were all at risk for being murdered if you so much as thought of leaving or betraying him, the Dark Lord. He knew those kinds of things--- it was as if he could read your mind or something. We were never to speak of or to anyone who wasn’t our kind. And if we disobeyed him, his punishment was the Cruciatus curse.” He shuddered. “Andrew suffered many times at the hand of the Dark Lord. He was always telling me that we shouldn’t do some of the things we did, and I think that Dark Lord knew his doubtfulness would interfere with whatever tasks we were assigned to.

“If Gaston returned and told our master that he had killed someone for him, Andrew would actually . . . he would cry for days on end. He was slowly realizing that the reasons we joined were ridiculous, stupid ones. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work, none of us were in the first place--- we were all too good at heart.”

“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with the case at hand? We are not here for Andrew Grey, but Christian Lowe.”

The prosecutor waved a hand at Faraday, urging him to be quiet and allow Mathews to get on with the story. Mathews looked back down to the ground, humiliated.

“Then the day came when the Dark Lord told us, Andrew and I, to murder for our first time. He said that we had proved ourselves worthy enough of becoming his eternal followers. We received the Mark that night.” He finally averted his eyes from the marble flooring and raised as high as he could the arm with the Mark upon it. He placed it back down gingerly. “The pain of it . . .” He shook his head. “Not only did the Dark Lord himself do it, but I think that he made sure it hurt as much as it could, just to remind us what we were getting into. It hurt for days afterward. Bathing was agony, no less someone brushing against it. A week after the event, the Dark Lord gave the information for Gaston and Nicholas to take us to a house on outskirts of London, where we would perform the deed.

“We didn’t get a chance to get the girl alone until the morning, when her mother took her to a . . . daycare center in town, I think. They would walk halfway so Muggles wouldn’t see them, and then they’d use the Floo Network at a friend’s house.”

“Alice,” Carrie breathed, comprehending.

“As they were going, Gaston told us that I was supposed to snatch the girl and Apparate back to the hillside the others were resting on. Andrew was to come with me in case things went wrong. But nothing did--- we kidnapped the girl, just as the Dark Lord had told us to. I felt satisfaction in pleasing him, but Andrew, on the other hand, detested what we had done. He wouldn’t even look at the girl as we had her. The time finally came for us to do what we had been sent out to do, murder, but Nicholas thought it appropriate to allow the worry and fear to settle into her family before we killed her.” He paused, remembering. “Learning the plan, Andrew disappeared. Gaston and Nicholas thought that his resolve had finally worn completely thin, and he had quit, despite the promise he had given to the Dark Lord. But three days later, he returned, wishing to speak to me.”

“I want to speak to Tyler alone.”

“I can’t allow it.” Gaston’s voice was obvious beside Andrew’s weary one.

Andrew sighed audibly, obviously attempting to control his anger.

Mathews could hear their conversation drifting through the closed door of the house they were now borrowing, residing in. Its walls were thin, poorly made, and he feared that they would crumble with each person that walked inside it.

Something must have convinced them, because Mathews then heard a third voice, Nicholas’s, and he told Gaston to draw back and allow Andrew to see Tyler privately. The door soon swung open, revealing Andrew, disheveled, dirty, his clothing torn and ragged.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Never mind that. I just wanted to speak to you.”

The pair vacated the house, walking past their friends seated at the kitchen table. As they stepped into the rainy afternoon, Tyler felt the frigid drizzle settling upon his bare arm, the same one that the Mark had been placed upon only days before, and it almost sizzled with the coolness from the water. He closed his eyes, feeling the relief, allowing it to saturate him. He had been so stressed with the fact of what he was doing, though he felt that he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was what the Dark Lord had requested, his master, and anything from him was perfect, right. Andrew, though, did not feel the same. He detested his Mark as if it were the root of everything evil. He would not succumb to such desperate measures to stay alive.

Tyler stared at Andrew quizzically, though he hid his uncertainty toward him well. He leaned against a dilapidated brick wall. Its bricks were worn and faded, and moss hung around its bottom as if it were a leech, sucking its life away. Crossing his arms, Andrew looked toward his friend.

“I don’t think we should go through with this.”

Mathews shifted within the limitations of his chair, sighing, and continued. “He told me that he didn’t want to murder the girl, he didn’t want to kill someone so innocent. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He no longer wished to be a part of the Death Eater life, my life either, if I continued in this way. I told him that he couldn’t just walk away, that he would either be murdered or tortured until he came back, one, but he didn’t care. He said that he would much rather be murdered than murder.”

Carrie heard the shuffling of the people in the seats nearby, and she soon felt a warm presence take its place beside her. She realized that Riley was now settled next to her. Ignoring what had happened the day before, she squeezed his hand reassuringly and released it, just as Mrs. Lowe would do to her.

Mathews sniffed, the moment obviously emotional for him. With the turning of his head to his shoulder, he wiped the tears of remorse tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “Andrew said that he had been to see the Chief of Healers at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Obviously he knew I would be confused so he went on, even though Gaston and Nicholas were making their way over to us. Quickly, he told me that Christian Lowe had been her doctor, and he was also the person leading the investigation of her kidnapping.”

“I told him what I was, Tyler. I showed him my Mark, I told him our mission.”

Tyler stared at him incredulously, his face palpably showing his surprise. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea of the trouble that you could be in for?” His voice was angry, though kept well under control because of his closeness to Andrew.

“I know. I don’t care. I just want this little girl to have a chance to grow up. It’s not fair--- why should she have to be murdered?”

“Andrew, the Dark Lord never tells his reason for why we’re murdering. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

“No.” His jaw was set and his fortitude apparent. “I won’t do it. I told Christian that I would bring the girl to him at seven o’clock sharp today. At the main bridge in the center of town.”

“You can’t just take her---”

“I don’t expect you to try to stop me, Tyler. I know that you’ll do the right thing, be my friend. I have to do this.”

Gaston and Nicholas then reached earshot, thus ending their conversation.

“Because he was a better friend to me than Gaston and Nicholas--- their friendship, I think, based purely on the fact that I was servicing the same master they were, I did not inform them of Andrew’s intentions. Thus, later that evening, I distracted Gaston and Nicholas in the back room while Andrew made his way out of the house with the girl, Alice. Gaston . . . he can see things . . . it’s odd. He sensed what Andrew was doing, so he pushed me out of the way so he could catch him in the act, to turn him into the Dark Lord, proving his disloyalty. But then Nicholas and he once again came up with another one of their plans, to torment everything and anything in the path of their destruction. They withdrew from murdering the girl on the spot--- they knew it would torture her family. They withdrew from allowing Andrew to know that he was caught immediately--- they wished to see his plan. Always for their benefit, not others’.

“So, we all followed him. They never suspected me of a thing. He met Christian Lowe under the bridge as planned, and they exchanged the girl. They shook hands. The nerve of Andrew--- I know that he knew we were there, watching, and still he didn’t plan a way around it. As Christian was Apparating, he took Andrew with him. For protective reasons, I think--- just so Andrew wouldn’t be murdered, like he knew he would be, and because Christian was so grateful for his cooperation, he obliged.

“When they had Apparated safely, Gaston then went to the Dark Lord, requesting to know Andrew’s location. He returned with the correct information, and with my heavy heart we Apparated to that location, Christian’s flat. I tried to stop Gaston, because when his anger gets the best of him he is impossible, but there was no way. We ended up in his bedroom--- the girl had already been returned safely over to the Aurors and her parents were being informed--- but Christian couldn’t be there to enjoy the homecoming.” His voice was bitter. Taking a deep breath with his mouth open wide, the breath he inhaled was loud inside the deathly still courtroom. “Andrew was helping him pack, helping him get away from us. Gaston’s ability to hold a grudge against all involved in betraying the Dark Lord, himself, is amazing. His intention was to get me to kill the girl, but it ended up being him murdering Christian.”

Christian’s shock was nothing compared to Andrew’s as the three devoted Death Eaters entered the room. Andrew dropped the pair of socks he was holding and Christian withdrew his wand, pulling it from his pocket as if he had known a battle would be coming. The suitcase on the bed was blown into the air when a stray curse failed to hit its target.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Christian told the three, whose wands had been extracted as soon as they had arrived.

“But you’ve requested it, speaking to Andrew here,” Gaston said mockingly, peering at Andrew with severe distaste. The boy had shrunk into the corner fearfully, the fright in his face unfailing to disappear.

Gaston pointed his wand at Andrew, a sneer crossing his face and rooting itself there.

“You’re going to rot where you go, boy,” he said, aversion pervading his voice.

“You’re supposed to be my friends. Tyler?” he pleaded. His breaths came in heaves.

“I am no friend to those who betray the Dark Lord. Neither is Tyler,” Avery told him.

Andrew dared to take his eyes from the wand for a brief second and stare at Tyler, who was having difficulty in deciding what he wanted to do. He couldn’t just sit there and allowed Gaston’s anger to get the best of him. But if he intervened then he would be labeled as unfaithful in addition to Andrew.

So he just stood there, his mouth sealed together with tight lips.

Christian stood tranquilly, hoping that everything would turn out for the best, allowing the scene to play in front of him. He trusted that no one would get hurt. But this was the real world, and those were real Death Eaters in front of him.

“Nicholas, Tyler--- take Andrew into the next room. I want to deal with this one myself.” Avery’s voice was full of spite, resentment, and ridicule. He was going to make this man pay for what he had done.

Nicholas willingly and immediately obliged, though Tyler took some urging. Nicholas, somewhat compassionate in nature, shot his friend a curious, obviously motivational, glance, saying that if he didn’t cooperate while Gaston was this irate he would suffer as well. Finally finding his feet, his forced them to move to pick up his best friend and carry him out of the room.

“It leaves us,” Gaston said, throwing up his hands, allowing his wand to take its aim off his opponent. Christian saw the mockery, but also saw the chance to curse him.

He missed. Avery chuckled loudly, watching the door close behind the others. But Tyler stood at the door, listening, peering through the crack underneath.

There was no limitation to the fear that filled Christian’s heart. His legs were weak, but his determination was strong. But Avery’s purpose was even stronger. Within seconds, Christian was pinned to the bed with unseen ropes, his mouth silenced by an invisible barrier.

“This will teach you to try and outsmart the Dark Lord.”

An open window then caught Christian’s attention. Turning his head, forgetting Avery for a few brief moments, allowing his mind to wander, his eyes rested on the full moon, brazen and bright against the misty night sky, dotted with stars. That moon apparently brought back millions of memories.

“He . . . he stared up at that moon as if it were the only hope he had or something. It was weird.”

Carrie took a great intake of breath, realizing why Christian had been staring at the moon. They had spent many a night staring up into its beautiful body. He had proposed to Carrie under it, told her he how he loved her. The memories came rushing back.

Tyler’s expression turned evil. “But Gaston only laughed.”

Gaston stared at him with ironic puzzlement, then began to snicker again.

“Should have gotten Greyback to do this,” Avery murmured, audibly enough to make sure that Christian heard. “Seeing as how it’s his night to shine.” He took shot a quick glance toward the full moon. “But I didn’t think about that until now. That’s a punishment, there.”

Avery raised his wand, the two words that were inside his head now itching to be used on his lips.

“Avada Kedavra,” he said, the words echoing inside the still room. Avery watched the life drain instantly from his victim’s eyes.

And so did Tyler.

“It was so unfair, what he did. All this man did was save a little girl. But Avery had his thoughts and I mine. The girl had escaped and who was at fault was all he cared about.” He halted briefly, giving time for everything to sink in. “His wrath then turned to Andrew. He claimed that the Dark Lord had given me the assignment to kill my friend.

“He handed me my wand and spit in my face. He told me that if I didn’t do it that he’d kill me too. He mocked me, mocked the dead man in the next room, Andrew. He didn’t care that he had just taken away a valuable life, it didn’t matter to him.” Mathews stopped. The jury was so intrigued, absorbed with the story that a sneeze from one of them caused many flinches to take place.

Murmurs surfed the crowd of onlookers, even a few of the Wizengamot, but they were hushed by Faraday’s raised hand. He peered intently at the boy, influencing him to go on. “Go on, please, Tyler,” he added.

Tears filled eyes. No voice could have spoken even if it had wanted to at this point. But Mathews went on, just as he was advised to.

“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my friend. That’s why they hate me so much, they think I’m just like him. They can’t stand me. So Gaston did it instead, once again, no remorse stopping him. Even though Andrew had lived with us for months now, he still wasn’t bothered by what he did.” He pushed the hair from his eyes and made eye contact with Hampton. “Gaston never tried to kill me. Nicholas took Andrew’s body somewhere I couldn’t find or see him. From what I know he burned it. No trace of him was ever found, according to the papers. He’s the only friend I have left, the only person that cares about me. Gaston never thought twice on what he had done. The deed is completed, and the Dark Lord sees no further need to kill the girl from what I know. Two deaths, rather than a young girl’s, have quenched his taste for blood.”

Carrie was crying fully now. Riley placed an arm around her shoulders protectively, as if daring anyone to laugh at her in this time. She didn’t make any noise, just allowed the tears to roll numbly down her face.

Now she knew.

“I just desire the same justice for Andrew as you wish for Christian. That’s all I want.”

At least three minutes passed before anyone had the courage to move. Faraday finally gave a cautious affirmation to Hampton. This was the signal to escort the boy out instead of the allowing the terrifying Dementors he was so fearful of do so. As Hampton unchained him from the chair with a quick spell, Tyler Mathews began to cry. His body heaved with the wretched, austere sobs, and he just released all of his feelings there, in the middle of that courtroom, with the Wizengamot and crowd watching attentively, piteously. No one should have to have gone through what he had, no less a boy as young as he. Hampton gingerly helped the boy from his chair and Tyler, with his hands covering his face, abandoned the room, never looking back on what he had done.


-~ Thanks Fresca!

The bench was faded, a cream color rather than the brilliant white it had originally been painted. The woman felt that it represented her and her struggles. With life’s battering events, she had become only a thin shell of the humorous, lively person she had once been. And she resented that. The animated landscape that stretched in front of her was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. With its towering green oaks, small children laughing, enjoying their time with loved ones in thick sweaters and coats, and vibrant, colorful jungle gyms and swings, the park was a festive place.

A young man walked toward to join her, and she happily obliged by moving over so he could sit as well. With a warm smile he kissed her cheek, and this time she didn’t quarrel for its purpose. Taking a seat on the bench together, she rotated to face him.

“Riley,” she said, giving him an awkward smile, refusing to make eye contact. Silence followed for the longest time. Carrie finally stared deeply into his eyes, letting him know that this was very important.

“You know what we need to do.”

He was silent.

“What?” he finally asked, unsure. He wet his lips to speak.

“You know.” She gave him a pleading look, taking a deep breath. “We need to put this all behind us.”

“Do you mean the kiss? Because, Carrie, I am so sorry---”

“Shh,” she said, quickly pressing a finger to his lips, chuckling. “Our relationship doesn’t need to be based on apologies and regrets.”

He thought, quirking his lips. On a whim, he asked, “Does this mean we’re putting everything behind us?” His eyes were sad, yet hope was present in their blue shade. He stared at her with certainty, knowing that what she spoke was for the best.

“Everything,” she breathed, nodding. “The things we’ve done, Andrew . . . Christian.” It nearly destroyed her inside, speaking it aloud, but knew that she had to if she ever hoped of living a normal life again. Existing was not possible if she didn’t let him go. “I don’t want to keep on living my life on what could have been’s and if only’s. We can’t wallow in our grief forever.” She looked up at him and then away. “They’ve closed the case. The proper person is in jail. It’s all we can do.”

Riley seemed to be holding something within, but he didn’t voice it. He opened his mouth once to speak, but Carrie didn’t see, and he only closed it again. He shook his head.

He reached out to embrace her and this time she didn’t wane in her imposing feelings. Carrie held onto him with a sort of need. While stroking her hair in a casual manner, she tucked her head into the crook of Riley’s elbow, withholding her emotions. She couldn’t cry now, shouldn’t. Not when she had told him to be so strong.

“We’re going to get through it, Carrie,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head with more love than she deserved. “You and I, together. I promise.”

She lightly smiled, giving them both more hope than they had found in a while.

“I wish I could have met your son, Riley. I think I would have liked him.”

He breathed in deeply, distrusting his voice. “I . . . I always knew he was good at heart. It just still amazes me how he could do something as low as joining those evil people . . .” he drifted into his thoughts and Carrie brought him out of them quickly by pulling away from his hold.

“But he never did anything wrong, Riley. You remember that, all right? He did a great thing, saving that little girl. She wouldn’t be alive without him.” She placed a hand over his. “Don’t think on it for one second. Please. Don’t do that to yourself.”

He pursed his lips and tilted his head upward, straightening his posture as he draped an arm around her tenderly. “Wish I could have met Christian. He was obviously a great catch too.” His voice was almost acrid, resentful.

Carrie suddenly felt somewhat uncomfortable, but she pushed the apprehension away and adjusted in the seat as well. “Riley, I loved Christian very much. But he’s gone.” She closed her eyes, praying for strength. “I’m not going to waste the rest of my life pretending he’s still here like I have been. A part of me died with him, but this chapter of my life--- of your life as well, if you want--- can be wonderful if we can only release the ones we’ve lost.”

“But how?”

That was a hard one. But Carrie answered considerately, carefully. “We take it day by day. Can’t do anything more than that.”

Riley measured this and indulged by standing, helping her up as well. They stood, facing the other. He placed a reassuring hand to her face and she closed her eyes, feeling the winter breeze against her hair.

“What do we do now?” he breathed, looking into her closed eyes.

She broke out of her reverie and stared down at her feet. “We go home. We keep in touch.”

“But . . .” He paused, searching her eyes for permission to ask the question. He dropped his arm. “We can only be friends? Nothing more at this point?” His voice was expectant, but wary.

Could she allow herself to love Riley the way she had Christian? Could she permit her friend to be happy at the cost of her own true feelings? To give him the joy she had once felt with Christian?

“I think, right now, we stay as we are,” she told him, her lower lip trembling. She didn’t want to lose him. “You’re my best friend. I can only ask for that.” Carrie was very aware of the feelings he felt for her, but she believed that letting him down easily was the only way to go at this point. He hadn’t lost his fiancée, after all, even though she had conveyed quite an elucidating story of her love for him. Christian was still there, hovering over her, watching. Even though she had pledged to unleash her bitterness, her sadness, she couldn’t abscond to the care she continued to feel for her first love. It was all she could ask for in Riley now. Just to be her companion.

He nodded, understanding. They made plans to meet for lunch the following week and embraced once again, finally departing. He went left and she, right. Bundling closer within her coat, Carrie turned around to watch him leave and found that Riley had done the same. She gave him a supportive smile, assuring him that everything, eventually, would be all right.

~ * ~

Gaston Avery Charged with Three Counts of Murder, Placed in Azkaban. The Additional Accused Request For Re-Trial.

Carrie read the article diligently over breakfast.

Gaston Avery {pictured center} was found guilty of three counts of murder following the trial of Christian Lowe {pictured bottom right}, renowned Healer of St. Mungo’s Children’s Hospital, The other two counts were that of Andrew Grey {pictured left}, the son of Riley Grey and prosecutor in the trial of Lowe, and Josiah Marcum {pictured right}, a patient at St. Mungo’s at the time of his death.

Gaston Avery has also been rendered suspicious for at least seven other murders, all of which he confessed to yesterday afternoon on a plea bargain. Tyler Mathews and Nicholas Foreman, associates and friends of Avery, were also present and suspected of Lowe’s murder, but were found not guilty by the jury after Mathews’ lengthy confession. A re-trial has been stated for their compliance to the Dark Lord, the only charges remaining to prosecute with. Mathews’ sentence is expected to be shortened because of his cooperation in Lowe’s case.

There was further writing of things that Carrie didn’t care for, but what caught her attention was the end.

Mathews and Foreman have been placed in Azkaban until their next trial. Riley Grey, surprisingly to the public, is rumored to bear witness for Mathews. Because of Andrew’s, Grey’s son’s, credulous involvement in the Lowe case, it is now apparent that Grey has broken his long-time grudge with the boy, Mathews. With all of the unsuspecting twists and turns the cases that Grey takes on have lately, there’s no telling what verdict the jury could come out with.

It felt as if all of this had been decades ago. Still weary and in shock of how cooperative Tyler Mathews had been, Carrie put the paper down on the table and wandered through her thoughts for a long while. A startling buzzing interrupted her calm reverie and she breathed a deep, exasperated sigh, wondering who could be calling at this time of morning. She placed the phone to her ear and said a brief, annoyed greeting.

“Carrie? Carrie? Is it you? Carrie? My God, Carrie, please let it be you!” The voice came out terrified, panicked, rapid. He hadn’t tripped over his words, but it was still hard to figure out what he was saying.

Carrie immediately realized the caller was Riley, and her expression became reserved and questioning.

“Riley? What is it?” She rubbed her eyes for recognition and stared toward the kitchen clock, which read five past ten. It was later than she had expected. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. In the background she could faintly hear the sound of weeping. She set the receiver against her ear with more force so she could figure out the source of the noise, but it didn’t help. “Riley? Answer me, Riley. Where are you?”

A quick banging reached her ears as well and a tense breath of air escaped her lips. It sounded as if something had just connected with metal bars. “Riley. Where are you?” Her voice was cross.

“I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Riley, where are you? What’s happened? What have you done?”

“I’m at Azkaban.”

Carrie’s head jerked in confusion and she narrowed her eyes to the floor, searching her mind desperately for why he could be in such a place.

“Are you on a cell phone? Are you hurt? Why are you there, Riley?”

No answer came.

“Riley!” She began to walk out the door to an Apparition spot as she donned her cloak. “Riley, I’m coming now. Stay where you are, I’ll find you.”

A perceptible click informed her that he had hung up.

~ * ~

Carrie was literally sprinting down the stone hallways of Azkaban, urgently searching for her friend. Apparating directly into the wretched building’s center, she had evaded capture, for now, by the Dementors. The feel of their scabby, rotten hands caressing her skin was extremely unappealing and she shuddered at the thought.

But wait. Could the Dementors have gotten Riley already? Would she find him dead, just like she had Christian? Or worse?

That thought started her bottom lip at wobbling, the feeling of misery to pervade her. He was the only friend she had left. She couldn’t lose him. Speeding up, her cloak billowed behind her in the frigid air. Tears formed from the dryness the wind created in her eyes, and they began to rush down her face in despair with every step she took not finding Riley. Inmates called at her from the pits of their cells, but she couldn’t hear them--- the sound of the blood rushing through her ears and heart was too deafening. She rounded a corner; her steps echoed on the hard granite flooring when she almost ran into him.

Riley was on the floor curled into a piteous ball, his chin tucked between his knees in an uncomfortable position. By the way he was sitting, rocking back and forth so starkly, she could tell he wasn’t dead. It allowed her heart to slow a bit, but it started up shortly after as she saw Riley’s wand rolling across the floor, a limp hand hanging out of the cell in front of him. As soon as she saw Riley sobbing the way he was, she knew what he had done.

Carrie had already witnessed Riley in this state once and it had been a heartbreaking moment. But this kind of sound only made Carrie want to perish it was so awful. Hollow sobs reverberated across every open space- the corners, walls, prison bars. He was sucking for breath every time he heaved. It was a scene that could only fill an infamous horror movie.

Her legs buckled from beneath her and she slid to the floor, her mouth open in shock.

Gaston Avery was dead.

In his cell he lay wilted and unmoving. The surprise of the curse he had killed so many with was upon his insipid face. It had been just as surprising to Avery as it was now to Carrie.

Carrie’s hand covered her open mouth in a trembling way. Eyes wide with revelation and fright, she finally turned to Riley, who was staring at her in a trancelike manner, emotion completely absent from his aged features. She attempted to speak, but it wouldn’t surface. No breath would enter her lungs, no less her voice box. The longest time passed before she established the courage, the ability. Riley didn’t move; he stayed rooted to the spot as if he were a statue. He had stopped swaying and now only stared toward the ground in front of him with some type of passion that Carrie could not understand. He was obviously deep in thought.

Finally mustering a concise pant, Carrie leaned forward to whisper to him, her voice still weak. “R-Riley . . .” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Wh-Why? How could you do this?” Carrie had never thought he could carry out something as wicked as murder. He had stooped as low as Avery himself.

His sole intention had only been payback, revenge. Riley looked away from her in shame. He hadn’t expected her to react this way. He had surely thought that she, of all people, would be happy for him, that his son’s murderer has been punished. An eye for an eye. You for my son. Face still contorted in a sinful, saddened manner, he turned back to Avery and that bit of satisfaction filled him enough for then. Quivering, he returned to Carrie and stuttered something unintelligible.

But then he remembered the reason he’d executed the murder in the first place. Andrew. His son’s picture focused in his mind’s eye and all of the bitter memories returned, strong and cruel. He wanted so badly to be able to hold his son in his arms once more, no matter his age, and tell him that was loved. Riley closed his eyes, an attempt at controlling his emotions worthless, but he tried anyhow. He sucked in a breath, choking on his tears for air, creating an exotic lament with his mouth undone so spaciously. The song came off oddly, creating fear in all that heard. Eyes closed, Riley did not see his friend scooting back, away from the crazy man he had become.

“I . . .” Calm overtook him quickly, remembering her alarm of him at the moment. He chose his words carefully. “I--- I had to do something for my son. I never did much for him, I- I was always working.” Bitter tears filled his eyes once more and careened down his face. He scooted toward her on his hands and knees. “I thought about it for a long time---” He paused and finally looked up at her. “After you and I met at the park--- I began to remember that Andrew and I never did much together. We didn’t get the amount of time that Christian and you received. That’s what killed me so much, Carrie, that we never got to spend the time we deserved with each other before one of us died. It wasn’t fair. And now there’s never that chance.” His features turned hard, angry as he continued to think about Avery and the horrid thing he’d done, taken away a life so promising. Carrie did not recognize him. Her eyes were wide and unbelieving at what she was hearing. “Avery took that time away from us!” he yelled loudly, snapping her from her nervousness and altering it into trepidation. The Dementors would be alerted all too soon. “He should be punished! Worse than this fucking prison can do!” His shouts were at their highest range, his pungent sobs at their most apparent. His mourning began again and she didn’t know what to do.

“I had to kill him, Carrie,” he said simply, getting up from his sad place on the floor. He picked up his wand with trembling fingers and pointed at nothing. He chuckled acrimoniously, laughing at himself, staring at the place Carrie had been only seconds before. She was now against the wall, feet away from the cell that contained Avery, inches away from Riley. “I’m going to go to prison, Carrie. I know I am. I know these things--- I’m a lawyer, for Merlin’s sake.” He seemed to be assuring himself of the fact, afraid of what he could do while in this state. It was almost humorous to him. Chuckling, he took another awkward step toward her. He appeared as if he was about to fall over drunk, but Carrie knew he was perfectly sober.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Carrie,” he said. His expression was pained, almost hurt. He wouldn’t formulate eye contact, and that was something that Carrie was afraid of, that he was lying. He looked up at her with pleading eyes, but it was almost as if he were staring right through her and speaking to the wall. “Why are you backing away from me?”

“I- I won’t. And yes, Riley. I understand.” Her voice was slow, vigilant. Nodding accordingly, she wiped her eyes quickly so she wouldn’t lose sight of him. Observing the wand in his hand suspiciously, she stood her ground. She decided not to make any sudden movements, and that included standing up until she deemed him . . . what? Sensible? This was Riley. He may have just committed something completely unlike anything normal, but that didn’t mean he was going to hurt her, right? His best friend?

Carrie couldn’t be so sure. There was no motive or purpose to her injury, but his fanatical expression made things hard to follow.

At that moment, when Carrie’s fear of Riley was at an all time high, the Dementors came in, followed by a few harassed Aurors and Ministry workers. They had finally caught the intruder. The Dementors hung back, allowing the Ministry to accomplish what they needed to, and a man stepped forward, holding out his hand in a cautious stop motion.

“Grey.” He apparently knew Riley from somewhere--- work, perhaps, Carrie realized. “Grey, put your wand down. It’s over.” He stole a glance over to Avery, dead in his cell, and closed his eyes, shaking his head in a disgusted way. “Come on.” He stole a glance at Carrie, who, from far away, seemed to be the one that Riley was aiming his wand at.

But Riley didn’t even seem to hear him. His surreal state had become his main motive. He was unaware of anything in the room, even Carrie, who was now whimpering to hold within the tears of fear for what Riley’s life now had in store for him. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to visit him in Azkaban.

The same man who had motioned to Riley before waved a hand at the Dementors, signaling for them to depart. Before they turned to leave, they gave what materialized to be a longing stare at Riley, standing erect and tastefully active against the rest of the prison. Riley didn’t even seem to notice their presence. They finally went unwillingly, sucking, trying to rid the air of the death that Avery’s murder had created. Carrie realized she was shivering and crossed her arms to protect herself.

“Grey. It’s Harrison. Drop your wand, son.” The old, agitated Ministry worker seemed to be close to retirement, and he took a step toward Riley to close the distance between them, hoping for the man to see him. “Riley Grey.” He snapped his fingers. “Grey!”

Riley jumped, turning toward him. He dropped his wand and it clattered to the floor with a hollow resonance on the stone. It finally settled next to Carrie’s feet. She bumped it with her arm before she was able to pick it up, her hand was shaking so badly. Once it was safely held, she threw it on the ground to the men. The object went rolling across the floor to the old man, who retrieved it and gave it to the other person that had spoken earlier.

“Come here, Grey.” The old man wagged a finger, motioning for him to come. Riley finally snapped out of his staring and closed his eyes. He opened them again slowly and his knees finally gave way and he fell to the floor, terrified. He seemed to be surprised as he looked around, noticing that his surroundings were considerably lower than they had been.

The man sighed, disconcerted. “Grey, this can be easy or it can be hard. Now, you’ve been my friend here for a good many years and I don’t want to embarrass you, but I will if you don’t want to cooperate.”

He placed a hand over his face to conceal his emotions. “I couldn’t help it, Andrew . . .” he murmured, shaking his head. He had sat up now. “I don’t know what I’ve done . . . Please, help me out of this.” Carrie breathed a sigh of relief when the two workers walked over to Riley and bound him from behind, leading him out with sympathizing expressions. Riley didn’t even protest.

“Riley . . .” Carrie said, at a severe loss for words. She reached out an arm as he passed her and it brushed his leg. He didn’t even look up as he was escorted away, staring at a row of cells he would soon inhabit himself. His illusory state had vanished. Remaining was the emaciated skin of a desperate man that had been Carrie’s friend, soon to occupy one of the cells Avery himself had spent too few of days in.

*Sorry about the wait time for this last chapter, everyone. Exams and life in general had me so busy that I completely forgot to even submit this before the challenge I originally wrote this for ended. Thanks for all of the reads and reviews. They have been much appreciated. Here is the last chapter!


The torture of what if continued to afflict Carrie. She would put aside her serious thinking for when she went to bed, which usually kept her up until the early morning, giving her only a few precious hours of sleep. This way she didn’t wallow in her day reflecting on Christian, or worse, Riley, who had just landed himself a one-way ticket to Azkaban for the rest of his life. If only she had told Riley that yes, of course she would seek to be more than friends from that moment on . . . Maybe then Avery would still be rotting in his cell and Riley would be enjoying lunch with her like he said he would, possibly holding her hand, feeling that life was worth living. Why couldn’t she have stopped being selfish for only half a second and considered her friends--- friend for once? The pain started again, fresh and resolute. It truly felt as if she had lost Riley as she had Christian--- while Riley was still alive, she felt that his anguish was hers. He was as good as dead where he was going. If he felt frightened in Azkaban with all of those Dementors swarming around, she was frightened for him. If he persisted to think about his son and wish that he, Andrew, were alive, Carrie did as well. They had shared so many common interests, had gone through the same horrid events that life offered, and a special bond had been created. For Azkaban to sever it without remorse was heartbreaking, to both of them.

She had made up with Mr. and Mrs. Lowe. One good thing had come out of all of this. It had all been a terrible misunderstanding, Carrie had told them, and they had apologized profusely for even thinking of anything other than what she would have told them. Carrie felt that it might wound them just as much, seeing her with any other man than Christian, especially so soon after his death, so she had been able to sympathize with them on the subject.

Breathing a deep sigh, she rolled over on her bed to stare at the clock. It was nearly ten in the morning, Saturday as well, which gave Carrie a light-hearted feeling. No work today, no bills to pay. She had finally gotten off her insistent streak of yearning to perish like Christian had, and even she had to say, it was a much better way to live.

Suddenly, the dream she had envisioned the night before rushed back to her, sharp and quick. Christian had been there, Riley as well. She had been hiding behind a large Oak tree beside the lake she remembered so well.

With the wind whipping at her face, Carrie watched the two men greet each other with a welcoming persona. They didn’t seem to know she was here, watching. Their expressions were not dismal or reserved; they were genuinely happy. The feeling that Carrie thought she would have had if the two had ever come into contact--- despair, fear, perhaps--- was not there. Not a single unhappy thought crossed her mind.

“Take care of her,” she heard Christian say, and they shook hands. Riley seemed to relax in this fact, look smug, though he was polite about it. Christian halfway shrugged, jutting his hands into his pockets, averting his eyes to the floor. “I can’t anymore.”

Tears welled in her eyes as Carrie watched Christian turn and begin to walk toward her. She looked down at the ground, unable to hide the embarrassed expression that crossed her face as realized she’d been caught spying. But he didn’t even seem to mind.

He sighed, appearing as if what he was about to say was truly difficult to declare.

“Carrie . . . Do you know how very much I love you?”

Carrie quickly nodded, not desiring him to think otherwise, even for a moment. Never could she not think that.

“I know that this is hard . . . it’s--- it’s very hard for me as well. But, it has to be done, Carrie. “ He shuffled his feet, averting her eyes. “You have to let me go, Carrie. I’m not here to take care you anymore, no matter how very much I wish to be. I want you to move on.” He offered her a smile, which she found she couldn’t return at that moment. “I don’t want you to be miserable. It’s the last thing I want to see.”

Tears filled her eyes at the thought of what this all meant. She nodded, understanding, yet not knowing how on earth he could do this.

But, really she did. She knew exactly why he was doing this. She couldn’t continue living in this vacuum. She would have to get over Riley as she had Christian. They would no longer be able to be friends, she and Riley, not while he was in Azkaban.

“Okay.” It was all she could muster.

“But I’ll always be here for you, Carrie. Always, always know that. I’ll never give up on you. I’ll wait.” He beamed her his signature smile and even in this sad, depressing moment, she felt a grin working its way on her own face. He kissed her cheek.

And she awoke.

His words haunted her, kept repeating themselves over and over inside her head. She relished the words, yes, but after they faded it left yet another gaping hole in her already damaged heart. ”Take care of her. I can’t anymore,” he had told Riley, and it was so true. “You have to let me go, Carrie. I want you to move on.”

She sighed. Wish I’d known that a week ago, Christian, she thought bitterly. Immediately feeling repentant, she repeated apologies in her head thousands of times. She had no right to criticize him. But then she realiszed that she was talking to herself, pretending that Christian was still here, and tears welled in her eyes. She was really damaged. It wasn’t Christian’s fault that she couldn’t move on, and it probably wasn’t even Christian telling her this; it was her subconscious giving her a break, making her feel as if she could have had Riley if she’d wanted--- but she didn’t want to think that way. In the normal world she would have gone after Riley in a heartbeat, but this was not the normal world, and she was not the girl she had once been. Without Christian she was scarred and her wounds raw. Accompanied by Riley, those wounds had been sewn up again with his kind friendship and he had accepted her, broken and damaged as she was. But now, lacking both of them, she felt as if she were in agony.

She’d have to get over it. That was the only explanation.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail and walked to the bathroom. After using the toilet, she began to plan out her day.

A phone call broke Carrie from her task and she rushed into the other room to grab it. Grasping the cordless on the fifth ring, she feared that the caller had already hung up. After placing the receiver next to her ear, it was obvious that they hadn’t. A steady, then faltering, humming resounded in her ear, like a person was attempting to speak but couldn’t find the capability.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice unsure. She averted her eyes to window for no particular reason. “Hello?”

Static, then half a word pervaded ears. The caller was in a bad service area, whether they were calling from a cell phone, or they were crinkling a candy wrapper in the speaker. Carrie leaned more toward the fact that it sounded like a butterscotch wrapping being scrunched, yet she didn’t know why. It struck her as something that her mother would do when calling their relatives. Instead of picking up the phone and bearing speaking with them for a few minutes like any normal person, every time their Great Aunt Gabriella would call, Carrie’s mother would find some item to either bang or wrinkle in the phone, forcing them to both hang up because of the noise. Carrie and her sister could laugh for hours at this, and while their mother was doing the dirty deed they would spend the time with their hands covering their faces, stifling giggles with red faces, watching. Mrs. West had always informed them subsequently to not follow her bad example, but was soon caught emitting a few chuckles at her audacity after the phone had been replaced to its dock.

Carrie retuned to the present and repeated herself for the third time and released a low sigh, growing tired of the person who was on the phone.

“Look, whoever it is please just---”

A click and a dial tone not long after made Carrie slam the phone back down. She shuffled into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast, deciding to splurge this morning by rummaging through cabinets to find pancake mix and bowls while attempting to control her anger. It was a stupid thing to become upset about, she told herself, and she realized that was true. But a part of it scared her.

Stop it, she told herself. You don’t need anymore stress. You’ve had enough for a lifetime. Just eat the pancakes and have a good day. Do some shopping. She smiled at the thought of getting out and doing something, going over the plans of what she needed. Grocery shopping was a must. There was hardly any food to be found in the house, and a new blouse would be just lovely---

Another ring of the phone forced a frown upon her face and she rushed into the other room, the thought of ignoring it crossing her mind for only a split second. She wrenched it from the dock and pushed it against her ear. She didn’t say anything.

They hung up almost immediately after. Carrie let loose an audible sigh, though no one was there to hear her, and she walked into the kitchen once again.

The phone rang yet again. Though an inside feeling told her to just ignore it, Carrie was very curious as to who it was. She wrenched the phone from the hook for the third time after reaching it and pressed it to her ear.

“Hello?” Her tone was forced and aggravated, and she wanted the caller to know that. The humming sound continued, again, so she knew that it was the same caller. But this time was different. This time they spoke.

“Carrie?”

She nearly dropped the phone, for the caller’s voice was achingly familiar. Her mouth immediately formed a large oval shape and all breath was brought to a direct halt.

The caller sighed audibly, but it was a happy one. Contented one. “Carrie, are you still there?” they asked. Their voice was almost heartbreaking.

“Mom? How--- How did you get this number?”

“You left us your number in the wedding invitation, remember?”

A stabbing pain erupted in Carrie that she hadn’t been expecting. But it wasn’t as agonizing as what it used to be, not even close. “Oh. I remember.”

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

Carrie paused for a moment, steadying her voice. “I think I’m going to be okay. Really.”

“We saw the obituary in the paper. You didn’t call. You could have come home, Carrie.”

Carrie shrugged. “I didn’t think Dad would let me. I wouldn’t have been company at all.”

“Your father needs to come to terms with the fact that you’re not his little girl anymore. And you wouldn’t have to have been.”

Carrie smiled into the phone, cherishing her mother’s sweet, pleasant voice. She didn’t know what else to say.

Silence followed for the longest time and only the sound of breathing was heard.

“Do . . . Well, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing. I was just--- well, do you believe that you’re ready to come home? Not--- Not for good, you know, but for a while. A visit sound nice?”

Carrie closed her eyes, fighting tears of joy. There were no words to describe how nice it really did sound. “Yeah, Mom. It really does.”

“Are you going to set out tomorrow?”

“No. I think I’m going to start packing right now and set out by noon. I’ll be there by supper, if that’s all right.”

“You’re always welcome, anytime. Get here as fast as you can.” Carrie detected a trace of a grin in her voice, and it made her heart jump with anticipation of seeing family that she hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

“We’ve missed you, Carrie. Hurry on.”

“I love you, Mom. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too. Be safe.”

“I will.”

Carrie was afraid to let the phone go. If she replaced it back to its dock then what proof did she have that her mother’s voice had actually come through it? So, she carried the phone with her into the next room and grabbed a large suitcase from the very back of her closet and set to work, the phone still in her ear.

“Everyone here will be very excited to see you again, you know,” her mother continued. “We’ll see you soon.” Her mother paused, thinking. “You’re coming home, Carrie,” she said. “We’ll take care of you here.”

“Yeah, Mom,” she said, a trace of smile in her own voice. She liked the way that sounded. “I’m coming home.”


*~Thanks so very, very, very much to Fresca for beta-ing every single one of these chapters for me and sticking with it until the end--- even when I give you so little time to do your work! None of this would have been possible without her editing.