Death of A Victory (The Darkest Of Times)

Title: Death of A Victory
Description: Archived: 7 November 2022

Remy Rene Larue - May 15, 2011 12:46 PM (GMT)

[dohtml]<center><div style="width:500px; background-color:#; padding:0 25 0 25px; background-image:url(-); border-top:7px solid #1240AB; border-bottom:7px solid #1240AB;"><div style="background-color:#; width: 490px; padding:10 10 10 10px;"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/hQKqd.jpg"><div style="width: 480px;font-family: courier new; font-size: 4em; color:#1240AB; text-align: right; letter-spacing: -6px; text-transform: uppercase; line-height:50%;">COME TO ME,</div> 

<div style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 9px; text-align:center; letter-spacing: 1px;width: 475px; text-transform: uppercase; line-height:95%; color:#4671d5;">your time is near, You're living your last day. Beg me crawling in your fear, I enjoy it more that way... I am The Executioner</div>



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 It was almost 2 am as Remy waited in the alley. His orders had been issued yesterday and he wanted to get them finished as soon as possible. Tonight he would silence the one loose end so far and he would do it for The One. He could see the entrance to the hospital only a block down the road and knew that there was still time. He stood in the shadows as he waited for a target to wander past. His bag was at his feet and he looked completely innocuous as he stood smoking and singing softly on the corner. 

 
 Mind made up, i'd given all for you
 C'est la folie d'amour
 By now my mind is clear
 You planted all the fear
 Doubts and despair and
 You keep my heart on the run
 bound to fall in love with the one
 
Qui ne m'aime pas
 Qui n'a pas besoin de moi
 So we planned a secret rendezvous
 Toute la nuit chez moi

A few more minutes passed before he saw the one he had been given an old staff photo of by the Doctor. His trained body language remained the same as the man walked past him and he nodded in greeting from under a hat. His song did not skip a beat as the wand appeared in his hand and he muffled the green flash as the man fell unconscious and he dragged the heavy body deep into the alley. He pulled a few hairs from his head and dropped them into a small hip flask. The flask bubbled for a bit before he took a deep drink and shook his head at the taste before swallowing. He immediately felt the effect as his skin began to boil and change, losing its characteristic Mediterranean colouring and being replaced with the pasty white of the English. The ginger hair replaced his own as it shortened to near his skull. 

Soon confusion grew
I sadly smiled for two
His head went down
He wore my heart like a crown
Ever since I fell for the one

He was calm tonight; there were no clouds in the sky, no people about to look at him in the ally as he finished dressing. He had stripped the body and donned its clothes, carefully folding his own into a small bag that he then pocketed. He dumped the body into a metal container and then stepped out of the ally with a smile on his face towards St Mungo’s. 

He walked into the building, nodding to the various people who looked at him. At one point he was stopped and told to fetch something. He apologised and said that he would do it immediately, leaving a slightly confused healer standing in the hallway. As he made his way up to the fifth floor, he was called to do various tasks including holding down a man who was screaming. He managed to keep his face impassive even when he passed the Doctor in the corridor. Finally after about twenty minutes, he managed to get to the fifth floor. He counted the wards as he walked past them. “… Huit… Neuf… Dix,” he whispered under his breath. He managed to turn a corridor as another Healer walked past him. 

He made his way down the ward until he finally saw the doors to Room 13. He was about to open the door when a healer walked out of Room 12. “Simon! You gave me such a start. Are you on duty already? I thought you only started at 3?” He could barely contain his annoyance as he replied with a prepared statement. “No Ma’am, a change in schedule.” She seemed a little confused but satisfied and called back as she turned to go, “Don’t forget to keep a close eye on Miss Weasley, Mr Rogers. She is sleeping now but she has had a rough day or so.” He nodded, “Yes ma’am, I will take care of her.” The Healer looked a little quizzically at him as she vanished down the corridor. 

He managed to vanish into the room and was a little taken aback by the sparse robin’s-egg décor. It seemed a little juxtaposed to the angel that was sleeping at the blue sheeted bed. He knew his mark was beautiful but he never imagined this. She was absolutely lovely, so lovely he did not want to interrupt her sleep. She was pink in the face from the evening before and was apparently drugged for sleep. He locked the door behind him with magic and then padded forward silently. Once he had assessed that she was truly asleep, he began to feel words well up in his chest and begin to spill from his lips. 

With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace, 
She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair
propped upon pillows, rouge on the pallor of her face. 
She would not have us sad because she is lying there, 
And when she meets our gaze her eyes are laughter-lit, 
Her speech a wicked tale that we may vie with her, 
Matching our broken-hearted wit against her wit, 
Thinking of saints and of Petronius Arbiter. 

 He walked forward slowly till he was looming over her as he spoke, drinking in her beauty and the colour in her cheeks. She was lovelier than the image had let on with a prefect body hidden under the loose and damp sheeting that draped her figure. He slowly went about arranging her figure to suit an image in his head. He moved her left arm till her hand was next to her head and her other so that it was lying across her chest. As he moved her, he floated his wand over her and all of the clothing under the sheeting vanished till the only thing that covered her form was the light blue sheet she slumbered under and her lingerie. 

pardon, great enemy, 
Without an angry thought
We've carried in our tree, 
And here and there have bought
Till all the boughs are gay, 
And she may look from the bed
On pretty things that may
please a fantastic head. 
Give her a little grace, 
Que faire si un œil rieur
Se sont penchés sur votre visage? 
Il est sur le point de mourir. 

 He finished his poem as he finished arranging the angel. He stood back and took a mental image of the girl and realised that he was wasting time. He took a small lock of her hair before pulling his other wand from his robes and pointing it at her neck. He kissed her on the cheek before looking at her and thinking of his One. “Sectumsempra” he whispered and there was a flash of red. A clean wound opened in her throat and a soft gurgling issued as her face went lifeless and the blue sheets rapidly began to turn crimson. He pointed at his palm and whispered “Manifestum lilium” placing the white lily next to her before leaving. He knew he had fifteen minutes to leave the building and began to go the route he was explained. He was called upon once to stop and nodded before vanishing out of the service entrance. He managed to get back to the alley with the body in before he heard the first scream issue from the fifth floor. 

 He stepped out of the intern’s clothing and redressed the body with his wand before stowing it and the dead man’s wand and replacing his usual wand to his pocket. He quickly stepped back into his own clothing and disapparated before anyone even knew he was there. He apparated into Diagon Ally and pulled his hat down as the polyjuice potion wore off. He walked until he reached the post office and bought a fairly expensive envelope there. He filled in the address of the William Weasley’s on the front using one of their pens and slipped a playing card and a lock of hair into the envelope before magically sealing it and sending it via ordinary owl post. 

 He stepped out of the post office and took a deep breath knowing he had done well. He walked to a coffee shop and sat in a corner, ordering a strong black coffee as he pulled out his notebook and began to sketch for the next few hours as he enjoyed his coffees…

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<div style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 9px; text-align:center; letter-spacing: 1px;width: 475px; text-transform: uppercase; line-height:95%; color:#4671d5;">Remember now just what you said, you'll never die this way? Your rotting corpse will have no head, when you lie in your grave... I am The Executioner</div>

<div style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1px;width: 455px; text-transform: uppercase; line-height:95%; color:#1240AB;">TEMPLATE by: CHLOCELOT AT The Darkest of Times </div></div></div>

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