The Scapegoat
Winston did not sleep well. He’d been dreaming about Gloria. After all, this was her home, even if he had never been there whilst she was alive.
He dreamed about her lying next to him on this bed. The sunlight caught strands of her hair, setting them aglow. He would touch her cheek gently, and then his lips would touch hers and slowly their bodies would inch closer. He’d feel guilty for touching her because she seemed so perfect and he was not. After all, he had once hurt her by wanting this more than she did. But the Gloria in his dreams seemed older; there were lines on her face that told him this was not their first time together, but maybe their hundredth.
Then she would reach out a hand and touch his face. He’d hold her wrist and notice the golden wedding ring glittering upon her ring finger. He’d close his eyes and kiss the ring.
When he opened his eyes, the ring would not be golden; it would be the white gold one he had found in the undergrowth and given to that bloody Auror. Her finger would be bone and he would recoil in disgust from the skeleton besides him, jumping off the bed. Then, suddenly, her face would be human again, and she would look at him with disappointment, asking what she had done wrong.
In the dream he would shout, “GET KILLED!” However the version of himself watching and experiencing the dream would shudder, horrified by his own actions.
She would look up at him and say, in confusion, “But you did this to me.” And the version of himself could remember pushing her into the grass, and being cruel and horrible and he would never do that“
He forced himself to open his eyes, the sweat from his body making the sheet cling uncomfortably to his skin. He threw it off and went to the sink in the corner to splash his face with cold water in the hope that it would cool his skin. There was a dull throbbing in his head and his heart was beating quickly.
This was the fourth time he had woken up, from the same dream. The first time his head had been screaming, and he’d found the remains of the sleeping potion Regulus had drunk the night before. He glanced down at his friend, fast asleep on the floor, downed it and gone back to his nightmares.
This time there was still a dull throbbing in his head and his heart was beating quickly, but it was not so bad.
He walked to the window, avoiding REgulus’ sleeping body, and opening the curtains. He could see the edges of the gentle hills, black against a sky which was swiftly becoming grey. There was a pale morning mist rolling across the horizon towards them.
He pulled on his clothes and walked through the silent house, across the terrace and the lawn to the forest. By the time he reached the clearing where Gloria was buried, the sun had risen, although the sky was still pale grey rather than blue.
He liked her gravestone. It was white marble and inscribed with her name, underneath which was written “A Loving Daughter And A Loving Sister.” It had been a nice gesture of Hector’s to make the plants grow in front of her grave. Winston sat amongst them.
There was a faint wind blowing, causing the blades of grass to twist. The mist had reached him now, and he could not see further than six feet in either direction. It was peaceful there, the mist helping to cool his face and the dew off the grass cooling his legs. He closed his eyes.
He knew he should go. After all, he was, presumably, a suspect just as much as Florence was, and he had seen Regulus’ note saying he should leave as soon as he awoke. Hector did not want him there.
He would go. In a minute.
He wasn’t thinking about anything. He felt strangely calm.
Then he opened his eyes and saw Gloria’s gravestone before him and remembered that she, the best thing in his life, was dead.
He tried to rise to leave, but found he couldn’t move. All his bones felt heavy and lethargic. It just seemed so pointless now without Gloria.
Get over her, he told himself. You never even shagged her““
Another thought murmured, insistently, It was more than that. She was your best friend.
But it was interrupted by a thought which in his head had a crude but painfully truthful tone, saying, You wanted to shag her, though. By Salazar, you did, and you are really very glad that you kissed her before she““
There was a crack. Winston jumped to his feet and drew his wand, pointing it at the person who had just appeared there. They were in the shadow of a tree, and whilst he could not see their face, he could tell it was a very tall woman.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” he snapped, jabbing the air with his wand. The wind cooled his face, and rustled the leaves. He did not like the noise. It sounded like whispering. Gloria whispering. “I said,” he repeated, “who are you? Come out.”
He thought it might be Bellatrix, and was relieved, if annoyed, when Florence Parkinson stepped through the morning mist towards him, crushing the grass and leaves beneath her feet.
“The Greengrass wards don’t extend to the forest,” she said, speaking in a soft, serious voice Winston had never heard her use before. She had a black eye. “And I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I wanted to be alone,” she snapped back. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” She stepped closer so she was standing next to him, ignoring his drawn wand, which suddenly struck him as pathetic and useless. Her pale white arms were covered in bruises, so hard that some of them were yellow, though in the dim light it was hard to tell.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Don’t sound so concerned,” she said bitterly, not looking at him but at the grave. “It’s your fault.”
Winston didn’t immediately reply. He felt a chill steal over him, even though there was no wind this time. Could he have hurt her that badly and forgotten? He had wanted to hurt her, that evening, when she seemed to be the only possible person who could have hurt Gloria, but looking at her now, with a tear slipping down her cheek, she did not seem capable of murder.
“Did I““” He couldn’t finish the sentence and gulped.
She looked at him and frowned. They were standing close together, so close their arms were almost touching. She was taller than him, and he steeled himself to meet her gaze and finish the sentence.
“Did I do that to you?”
“No,” she said, frowning. “No, you didn’t do it to me. Are you trying to be funny?”
Suddenly he was scared.
“No, no, of course not““”
“You told my husband,” Winston had never heard that word invested with such hate and disgust, “that you saw me with another man. You might as well have beaten me up yourself.” She kicked the tree that was growing besides the grave.
“I’m““” Winston did not know what to say. “I’m sorry?”
“Thanks,” Florence replied sarcastically. Then, she said sincerely, “I didn’t kill her. I can’t kill““I’ve tried to kill Edgar three times and I can’t.” She sounded angry with herself, and she kicked the tree again. “I wish I could.”
She looked as if she was about to cry. Winston did not know what to do. He should go. He took a step back and the same leaves Florence had crushed walking towards him, he crushed walking away from her. He could not quite bring himself to turn around just yet, though, worried that the noise would cause her to react in some way. He just wanted to get away from her, but felt the same lethargy in his bones as he had earlier.
And, suddenly, leaving this place felt like it would be like leaving home. There was a tug that he did not expect. He had been in love with Gloria, and if she hadn’t died, he would have begged her forgiveness and she would have granted it, eventually. Then they would have one day married, and had children, and spent the rest of their lives together in complete happiness. Home was where the heart was, and his home was currently slowly decomposing, six feet under Florence Parkinson’s feet.
Florence Parkinson had seemed so happy with that man. Rolling in the grass, their hands and lips all other each other, just as he had wanted to be with Gloria moments before. He wondered if Florence thought the bruises and the beating had been worth it, for those moments in the grass. He would give anything to have had a few such moments with Gloria, but when she wanted it as well.
Someone had dared to hurt her.
He would find out who killed Gloria. He believed Florence when she said that she hadn’t killed Gloria, but someone had and he would find out who and get his revenge. And in the meantime, he would be kind, just as Gloria had always been.
He heard Florence sniff loudly, as if to staunch her tears, and then she turned around, the sunlight now breaking through the trees and onto her body, her face still in the shadows.
You bastard, the self-hating voice, which, for most of his adolescence, had been quiet, but had, in the last few days, been making up for it. Staring at another woman’s breasts, a woman standing on Gloria’s grave.
Florence was smiling knowingly, and spoke conversationally. “Yes, I do have rather nice breasts. Want a better look?”
There was something hard in her voice which Winston did not entirely feel comfortable with, but what he was comfortable with and what he wanted suddenly came into sharp conflict as she stepped closer.
A morning breeze rustled the leaves as she put her arms around him and pressed her body against his, pushing him into the tree he had been next to.
She kissed him. He didn’t know what to do. He just stayed still, unable to think straight, his mind slightly incoherently confusing what he had wanted to do with Gloria, and now had the possibility of doing with Florence, but it seemed wrong.
“Then let’s have fun.” Although her words were intended to sound confident and flirtatious, Winston couldn’t help but notice how brittle her voice was.
“Florence, are you sure““”
“Oh, please,” she snapped, her voice oscillating between being hard and shaky. “You’re a sixteen“year-old boy and I saw you looking at me before she died, and I don’t care if you wish I was her; she’s gone and you’ll never see her again. I’m here, now.”
She tried to kiss him, again, but he dodged it, pushing her away and shouting, “But““you’re nearly twice my age!”
“Please, Winston!” she shouted back, shaking her hands in his face. When he didn’t react she took a deep breath, stepped towards him and rested her forehead on his. “Please,” she repeated. “I feel so old and ill and tired. I’ll sleep with anyone because it’s so boring; it’s mind-numbing being his wife and just for a bit of excitement, a bit of peace, a space away from him, I’ll do anything. And the fact he hates the idea of anyone else touching what belongs to him makes it all the more sweet. The thrill and the pleasure were worth every bruise and broken bone he’s ever given me. All I’m trying to do is remember what it was like to be young and happy and not have a care in the world. To fool around on a summer’s day. Please.”
She was desperate. Winston didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so pathetic, so helpless. Suddenly, the thought of her didn’t seem disgusting or wrong. She didn’t even seem attractive anymore; she was too close to tears.
He gulped and then tentatively put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, he hugged her awkwardly. It was the only thing he could do.
“I don’t feel happy,” he said, feeling oddly naked saying this to her. But then she’d stripped herself emotionally for him and that made it, somehow, all right. And it was easier, given that he was only resting against her, rather than staring into her eyes.
“That’s all right,” she said. “Not many people do.”
She hadn’t hugged him back. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Then she slipped out of his arms, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him.
It felt strange, her tongue tentatively and gently exploring the inside of his mouth. But it felt nice. He wanted it to be slow. How much better this would have been with Gloria in his arms.
He leant forward, pressing closer to her. Suddenly this didn’t feel wrong. He had no idea why, but somehow he thought Gloria wouldn’t have minded. This was his chance to behave as he ought to have behaved to her.
This thought lasted as long as it took Florence to begin to tear off his clothes, her hands moving quickly across his body and he responded in kind, and soon they were lying at the foot of Gloria’s grave, limbs entwined and it was all too quick and too rough. Even when Winston wasn’t sure what to do, Florence told him and he was too impatient by this point to care what she thought of him.
Winston had expected some awkwardness, but actually, as long as he did what Florence told him to, there hadn’t been any. Until afterwards. He was not sure what to say or do. There had been something hard in her expression and it had all been strangely sordid and bestial. He had expected to feel calm, afterwards, but instead he felt angry and unsatisfied. He wanted to get drunk or do something stupid. He’d just had sex, the thing he and many other teenagers obsessed over, and yet it hadn’t been enough.
He wanted to do something. Something for Gloria that wasn’t something for himself.
“So what did you think?” Florence said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Who was he?”
“Who was who?” Florence said, biting back her annoyance.
“The man Gloria and I saw you with.”
A look of anger crossed Florence’s face, before it was replaced by resignation. After all, his first love, she supposed, had died less than two weeks before. He had probably been wishing she was Gloria all through it. She shouldn’t mind, Florence told herself. She’d just wanted a young man to remind her of her own youth and to stick a middle finger up to her husband. But it bothered her nevertheless.
“Rodolphus Lestrange. He took Polyjuice Potion.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because,” she said, pulling her clothes back on, “the selfish bastard only took a man’s hair to change himself.”
“Have you seen him since?”
Florence frowned. “Why? Would you be jealous?” She did not know whether she was reassured or slightly hurt when he laughed, shaking his head. “A few days ago.”
“How was he?”
Her anger got the better of her. “Winston, we’ve just had sex. Are you really going to interview me?”
“I need to know who did this. Because if you didn’t do it and if I didn’t do it,” Florence frowned, noting the uncertainty not when he mentioned her but when he mentioned himself, “then it must have been““”
“Anyone could have Apparated to Gloria while she was at the top of the hill. Although““Rodolphus was slightly strange the other day.” Florence frowned, thinking about it. “He seemed uncomfortable.”
“Let’s go to the Lestranges’. Oh, come on, what’s the worst that can happen?”
It was Florence’s turn to laugh. “Are you saying we should break into the Lestrange house and spy on them?”
“Yes!” Winston said, grinning wildly. The smile made him suddenly look like a child and Florence felt a wave of guilt. He was only sixteen years old. “Please, Florence. Rodolphus must let you Apparate in““”
“He does,” she replied warily. “If we get caught, Bella will““”
Winston leaned across and kissed her. He was so young, and he had been sweet that day, even if not the one before. He wasn’t Edgar. And she was beginning to become so apathetic that she didn’t care. It would be fun. It would be exciting and for years her only thrills had been sexual indiscretions. This would be different.
“What the hell.”
Regulus had woken up with the sunlight in his eyes. Glancing at the bed, he assumed Winston had gone home so, once he was washed and dressed, left Goldengrove and Apparated.
He rang the doorbell of the Lestrange Mansion. It was barely eight o’ clock, but it was summer and the sky was already deep blue. The door was opened by the house-elf.
“Hettie,” Regulus said, handing his coat to her, “thank you.”
The elderly elf bowed her head, and gestured Regulus to the living room. Inside, Bellatrix was lying on a couch, although she sat up and smiled when she saw him. Sunlight shone through the windows.
“Regulus, so pleased you could come. I haven’t seen you since the wedding.” She gestured to the armchair opposite her and Regulus sat down. “How have you been?”
“Busy,” Regulus replied, and Bella laughed. The sound made Regulus’ skin crawl, but he managed to hide it.
“Not busy enough. I asked you to get someone else arrested for it.”
Regulus smiled easily. “So I can. I am here so you can choose which one I make Fabian Prewett arrest. You, Florence Parkinson, Winston Flint, Helen Clearwater or your husband. Take your pick.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I am intrigued as to how you plan on indicting me for it.”
Regulus explained, slowly but carelessly, as if it was all painfully obvious.
“Gloria knew your husband was using the Polyjuice Potion to sleep with Florence Parkinson. You thought she would tell all; after all, she had a reputation if not for gossip then for honesty, and so you killed her. I will say you were blackmailing me but I saw you picking the hemlock. Winston Flint will also remember seeing you. In fact, if I can persuade Winston Flint that any of those people are the murderer, which I can, he will say anything to get them sent to Azkaban.”
“Does he trust you so much?”
“Yes. He does.”
“Including himself?”
Regulus laughed. “That would be the easiest of the lot.” He smiled. “So what do you say, coz? I’ve still got a year of Hogwarts left and I’m cleverer than half the other Death Eaters.”
She twisted her lips in a smug smile. “More than half, I should think.”
Suddenly there was a crack, and Regulus and Bellatrix both turned to the doorway. There was Hettie, the house-elf, with two wands in her hand.
“What is it, Hettie? Where did you get those wands from?” Bellatrix said sharply.
“Intruders, mistress. Two of them. Locked them in the cellar.”
Bellatrix smiled, like a cat about to play with its prey, Regulus thought.
“Fetch them,” she commanded regally and Hettie nodded, before disappearing. “I wonder who it is,” she said idly. “I hope it’s not one of Rodolphus’ lovers. He’s only been stupid enough to have two that I know of and I’d hate to have to punish a third.”
Regulus had never heard someone say the word “hate” whilst their tone implied the complete opposite.
Hettie reappeared with the unconscious bodies of Florence Parkinson and Winston Flint, both with their hands and feet tied together, dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. Bellatrix’s face lit up.
“Where did you find them?” she asked Hettie, although she kept her eyes on the two bodies.
“They were on the staircase when I found them, mistress. Knocked them out with the frying pan and tied them together.”
“Good little servant,” Bellatrix said, in a soothing voice. Hettie preened in response to the compliment. “Now, close the door and make sure Rodolphus doesn’t come in.”
“Of course, mistress.” Hettie nodded and left the room, the door shutting with a soft but definite thud.
Regulus had never seen Bellatrix torture someone, but he had heard enough stories. Some Death Eaters talked about it with an awe and enjoyment which verged on the voyeuristic. Others shuddered in fear.
Bellatrix pointed her wand at Florence, whispering, “Renervate.”
Florence opened her eyes, saw Bellatrix and yelped. She tried to scrabble away, but just bumped into Winston’s body and yelped again, glancing from him to Bellatrix and squeaking, “You killed him!”
Bellatrix laughed. “No, Florence, you stupid woman, he’s not dead. What were you doing in my house? And don’t even consider lying to me.”
Florence glanced from Winston to Regulus to Bellatrix. She bent her head, not meeting Bellatrix’s eyes as she said, “Winston““Winston thinks your husband knows something about Gloria’s death.”
“Well, he doesn’t,” Bellatrix said briskly, but she smiled slightly, opening her mouth to reveal her sharp white teeth. She ran her tongue across her lips before she spoke again, leaning forwards so that she was inches from Florence’s face. With one hand, she grasped Florence’s chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. Regulus noticed a thin line of blood where Bellarix’s nail pierced Florence’s skin.
Florence looked too scared to move. “I, on the other hand, do.” Bellatrix was speaking barely above a whisper, but aside from Winston’s gentle breathing, there was no other noise in the room.
“Ho“how?” Florence managed to say. Bellatrix smiled widely, leaning back and turning to Regulus.
“Do you think Florence killed her?’
“I did no such“” Florence began to say, but Bellatrix spun round and glared at her, quieting Florence as effectively as a Silencing Charm.
Winston stirred slightly, his body arching as he tried to sit up, though his eyes were still closed. Regulus flicked his wand and Winston fell to the floor, unconscious once again, with a thump.
“That’s entirely up to you, Bella.” He nodded his head subserviently. Bellatrix smiled, gratified by his submission to her choice.
“Do you want her?” She gestured to Florence, whose eyes widened in panic.
“No,” Regulus said, shaking his head. “That sort of thing does not concern me.”
“Very wise of you. And I think, for once, we shall take the easy option of Winston Flint. I know a Death Eater, a recent recruit, who is skilled enough at Legilimency to make sure Winston does not remember coming here. And you think you can persuade him that he killed Gloria?”
“Easily,” Regulus said, shocking himself slightly at how perfectly he was playing his part.
“Good. So, Florence, what were you and Winston doing before you arrived? Legilimens!”
Regulus watched as Florence winced at Bellatrix’s invasion of her mind, an invasion that was cut short by a peel of laughter.
“A sixteen-year-old boy, Florence? I would have expected more of you.” Bellatrix then frowned, a frown which eased itself into a cruel smile. “No, actually. I expect nothing of you. You slept with my husband and for that, you will be punished.” She leant forwards again, so she was very close to Florence’s face. Regulus could almost hear Florence’s heart beating; her fear was etched across her face. “You will remember everything. This evening, Winston Flint will confess to murder. You will also go to the Auror Office and say he has been blackmailing you, that he raped you just like he nearly raped Gloria, and that you saw him kill her. Understood?”
“Why would I lie?” Florence said fiercely. Regulus guessed she must have become irritated with Bellatrix’s confidence in her ability to control her, but he knew this burst of bravery would not last.
Bellatrix just laughed, tapping Florence’s cheek lightly as if she was a child. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Edgar Parkinson what you did with Winston Flint. And I think one beating a week is about as much as you can endure, isn’t it? Or we’ll tell them you killed her. It would be easy. And even a lifetime being married to Edgar Parkinson is better than a lifetime in Azkaban.”
Florence glared at Bellatrix longer than Regulus would have expected to before nodding. Bellatrix smiled triumphantly. Outside, birds began to sing.
Later that day, Winston Flint walked into the Ministry. The receptionist in the Auror Office asked him what he wanted.
“I want to confess to the murder of Gloria Greengrass.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly, but she calmly, if slightly nervously, escorted him to Fabian Prewett’s office.
Fabian questioned Winston. Winston admitted to the charge of murder, but vociferously denied abusing her, to the extent he jumped to his feet, shouting his denial into Fabian’s face. Then he had sat down, frowned and said, “Maybe I did. I forgot I murdered her for one week.”
“You forgot?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, I forgot. But now I remember and I poisoned her and must have““” He turned a sickly yellow colour and couldn’t finish the sentence.
There was a knock on the door. “Fabian, a word?” Alastor Moody asked. Fabian bit back his irritation and followed him out of the room.
“We have three other cases to solve, we’re trying to infiltrate the Death Eaters and you’re refusing to accept a man’s confession!” Moody shouted at Fabian. “Besides, Robert Williamson says Florence Parkinson is claiming he’s been blackmailing her and she saw him kill Gloria. Charge him so we can put him on trial and he can rot in Azkaban, where he belongs!”
Fabian was confused. Something, somewhere, was wrong. He tried to argue, but Mad-Eye threatened him with demotion and Fabian had worked too hard to risk his career for a man who was admitting to murder. He gave in.
Winston Flint’s trial was short and conclusive, helped substantially by Florence Parkinson’s evidence. The representative Winston’s parents hired did her best, but considering Winston pleaded guilty, there was nothing that could be done. He was given a life sentence in Azkaban.
Tooth and Claw by welshdevondragon
Chapter Notes: Thanks to Soraya.
Chapter Endnotes: So was your guess correct? Did you enjoy it? Was Bellatrix scary? Whether you enjoyed it or not, I'd love a review. If you're interested - there is an epilogue.