The Assassin by Lily4James
Slowly, I trudged along the dimly lit corridor. My feet were reluctant to quicken the pace. The floor was sticky under my shoes, as if it had been coated in honey. The surrounding walls gave the impression that they had once been white, but were now a dull grey. I reached the end of the corridor, glad that the overpowering reek of vomit was fading slightly. Descending the steps and thrusting open the door, I took a fresh gulp of the icy November air and adjusted my eyes to the sudden darkness. Sidestepping a reddish-brown stain on the pavement, I rounded the corner to stand at the bus stop. With a sneak at my watch I noted that I was three minutes late. I wasn’t worried, public transport was never on time in this joint. How did Muggles cope?
I shivered slightly as I boarded the bus; it was just as cold in there as it was outside. Wistfully I thought of a heating charm, but quickly disregarded it. Something like relief swept over me as I scanned the crowd and saw that my target was already on board as I had planned. I’d been following her for just short of a week and tomorrow I was to complete the task. I’d been given special orders for this one. Not from the Dark Lord himself, but still, from someone very high up in his ranks. I didn’t like my assignments, nor did I hate them. In theory, any fellow wizard should loathe what I do. However, I found myself not caring nor ever feeling guilty. I rarely felt any powerful emotion, why should guilt be an exception? It was just a routine to me for I had no life. I’d died long ago. I’d died the day I’d had that serpent-skull scorched into my left forearm. I was now merely an existence. I even felt myself not caring for the power of Pureblood anymore.
At first I had been determined to do well, to succeed and achieve my goal of being in the dark-lord’s inner circle. Now, however, I just carried out my instructions so as not to be killed or worse, tortured. I felt nothing, nothing at all, except fear. Fear overwhelmed me at night when I lay down to sleep, fear and cowardice. There were fleeting moments of shame and contempt when I entered our quarters once a month, but that was most likely due to the stench. I had convinced myself when I first took the mark upon my skin, that there was nothing sinister about my actions. I was a Pureblood, fighting alongside other Purebloods like myself for the victory of this war.
Again, I focused my gaze on the woman at the front of the bus. She was average height with shoulder length black hair. I didn’t know what this woman had done to deserve such a punishment. Call me insensitive but I didn’t need to know. I had never asked my superiors for a reason nor did they offer such details.
Unexpectedly, the woman stood up. My eyes narrowed. What was she doing? This wasn’t her stop. The bus halted and several passengers made their way towards the doors, the woman among them. I was deliberating whether or not to follow. Slowly I got up and started down the aisle. As I approached the front of the bus, I froze. She’d turned around sharply, yet there was no element of anger. Her eyes locked onto mine, pools of unwavering green, swimming with tears, yet not a single one stained her porcelain cheeks. It occurred to me then that although I knew this woman’s name, age, address, even her most personal details, I had never seen her face, not properly. And although I had been stalking her, like a predator stalks its prey, for almost a week, it was only now that I felt I truly knew her identity. Her stare was neither accusatory nor questioning; in fact I wasn’t sure what it was. I was confident of one thing though, she knew me. She knew my game.
One blink and she was gone, like she’d just evaporated leaving no trail. Had she in fact Apparated? To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if she knew how to Apparate. My eyes hastily searched the throng of impatient passengers, pushing and shoving everyone in sight in their rush to carry on with their busy schedules. The bus, once again began to churtle around corners and through busy streets as I fell into a nearby seat. She was gone. I got off at the next stop.
Some time later, I found myself standing in front of a shabby door with peeling green paint and a rusty number ‘1’, hanging on for dear life. Before entering my apartment I briefly tried to recollect how and when I’d arrived there. Sighing, I collapsed onto my bed causing a loud ‘creak’ as the mattress sagged under my weight. Closing my eyes I begged for relaxation. All I could see was that green-eyed stare, tattooed onto the back of my eyelids. I could not fathom how she could possibly have known about me. I was well known for being one of the most discreet in our ‘profession’. I always blended into the background, always inconspicuous, nonchalant, never being sighted let alone caught.
After lying awake for hour after endless hour, I finally came to a conclusion. I had imagined the whole ordeal. Naomi McCormack had looked at me, quite possibly even stared, but she did not know who I was, or where I would be the next morning at half-past nine.
So why was I still awake? My conclusion had not reassured me and sleep did not come. I considered whipping up a sleeping draught, but ignored the idea. I didn’t deserve such a break.
I stood in the elevator the next morning, swaying slightly from lack of sleep. I was on my way up to my victim’s apartment. As the elevator continued its slow ascent I stood staring at the small, bare bulb in the ceiling. I found myself considering the light I was about to so violently extinguish. Once again I tried to suppress all memories of the previous day and forced my professionalism to take over. After all, in my line on work, compassion doesn’t save your neck, for I was enslaved.
Upon reaching the door I muttered “Alohamora”. I could usually accomplish this rather swiftly but for some reason it was taking longer; I had to repeat the incantation three times before any result. Finally the door swung open with a ‘click’. I entered with little caution.
It was the most peculiar of homes, not like a home at all. It looked somewhat unnatural, like a show-house trying to fool its visitors that it would remain in pristine condition. The floors were spotless and the surfaces were without clutter, everything was immaculate. I surveyed the room and my gaze was drawn to the only part of it that was untidy.
There was a large coffee table in the centre of the seating area. It was scattered with photographs; on closer inspection I counted there to be seven. Seven black and white prints, still and unmoving. I picked them up one by one, and one by one they fell onto the polished wooden floor. Every photograph was of me, one for each day that I had followed her. I was numb with confusion. Had she too been following me? Had our roles been reversed?
Hearing the creak of a floorboard, I saw that Naomi was standing just inside the door. Judging by her expression, she had expected my presence.
“Hello Draco.” Her voice was quiet yet unbroken and strong, “Is it today?”
“How did you…?”
“I know when I’m being followed,” she answered my unfinished question, “I’m aware that I am a vital obstacle in your master’s plan I am also aware that there are many men, like you, seduced by his power and terrified into joining him. Every day you are ordered by the guilty to end the innocent”
I reached into my pocket and felt reassurance in the dry wood of a wand against my sweaty hand.
“Draco, I’m no threat to you. It won’t make any difference to me if you hex me or curse me.” She indicated my right hand, currently resting in my jacket pocket. She then pointed a finger at the black and white prints now strewn across the floor, “Those were only to be sure. It’s been a long time coming and I’ve not got the energy to fight it anymore.”
She was speaking in a barely audible whisper, yet I caught every word as it resounded in my ears.
Fearlessly, as if in a dream, she stared at the tip of my wand, now raised. Thoughts raced through my head, none of them making any sense of the situation. What was she talking about? I was about to murder her and it sounded as if she were trying to protect me. I tightened my grip on the weapon, thereby steadying my hand. She focused her eyes upon me. I was drowning in her stare and not at all sure why. I let my hand fall, the wand clattered to the floor.
“Thank you.” She said with sincerity before reaching into her own pocket.
I seemed to wake up then, as if coming out of a trance. For I knew now that she too had her wand. Fear swept over me like darkness and I suddenly knew how all my victims must have felt in their last miserable seconds on Earth. I was going to die; I was going to die the way I’d killed so many. I was defenceless, I couldn’t reach for my wand, she’d kill me. Was this payback or self-defence? My head was throbbing and I was having trouble thinking, I decided to go ahead and grab my wand. I spotted it on the floor and was just about to swiftly retrieve it when…
“Avada Kedavra!”
Her lifeless body fell to the floor with a chilling pound. I was left standing alone in the empty room, silent tears spilling onto my face.
She had killed herself.