InsaneJournal

Apparating out to a farm was probably not exactly on the list of things a Healer would consider ‘resting,’ but Dorcas was restless and in a decidedly upbeat mood despite her injuries. The wound in her shoulder was--and would be, for a while yet--the most trouble. Getting dressed counted as exercise again. Aside from that, Healers orders said to keep it in a sling to avoid using it. The gash on her side mostly ached and pulled a bit if she sat wrong, but the cut on her scalp was doing all right.

Dorcas apparated to the edge of Gideon’s property and headed for the farm. She wore a leather jacket, the right side of the jacket draped over her injured shoulder and the sling. Alecto’s knife--in the sheathe she’d made for it (another bit of work that probably did not fall under ‘resting’)--was strapped her left thigh. Despite her injuries and the exposure to basilisk venom, Dorcas had a bit of spring in her step that wasn’t there as much as it used to be.

Alerted to Dorcas’s presence -- a surprise, but a very welcome one -- in the middle of collecting eggs from the coop and avoiding the sharp beaks and claws of ruffled hens, Gideon set the basket and its fragile contents on the ground, reaching the front of the house just as soon as Dorcas had cleared the crest of the hill, red hair gleaming in the sun, the sharp glint of success brightening her features in a way he had not seen from her in a very long time. The sight induced him to smile back in bemusement. “Well aren’t you a sight. Hullo, love,” he said, continuing his forward trek to meet her halfway. His intent to pull her into an embrace was cut into a half hug in care of her injured shoulder. “What do we have here?”

It was good to see Gideon smile. She grinned back at him before ducking her head slightly as shifted to give her a half hug. Her side twinged slightly, but she did her best to mask the intake of breath by following it with a short laugh. “That’s a bit of a story,” she said. “Not...a long one or a nice one, but it ended better than the…” What to call it? She was pleased with herself, but also a bit nervous about how he might take some of the news. “...well, it ended better for me than things at the greenhouse.”

In many ways, Dorcas was every bit the opposite of Molly (and, in many ways, the opposite of himself as well) -- improvisational, unbound, reckless, headstrong. She threw the entirety of herself into the fight, whatever the fight was, so much so he sometimes wondered if a paltry thing like death would ever keep her down. He both envied her her spirit and worried about her immensely, but undoubtedly, when she could soar like the brilliant thing she was, damn all of it if it didn’t make it all seem worth it. “Sounds like a tale to be told over a stiff drink or two. Thanks to the new live-in, I’ve now got a steady supply. Come on, then.” He nodded to the homestead itself and started to lead the way.

Dorcas nodded. “Definitely a tale to be told over stiff drinks.” There was nothing about Alecto Carrow that didn’t require a stiff drink or several for anyone who’d had a run in with her. Or had someone they loved have one. They had that in common now, and she wished she could have spared Gideon that. She followed him as he led the way to the homestead. “And I’m happy you’ve found something good,” she said, “amidst...everything.”

Unbidden, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smaller, quieter smile as he opened the front door and was immediately confronted with the double beastly threat of two over-excited, over-sized sheep dogs who apparently forgot he had only been out of their sight for an hour, and appeared just as happy to give Dorcas the same welcoming treatment. “Nana--stop. Down. Wendy, leave her alone, she doesn’t need a bath. It--it was unexpected.” Not that he had had many expectations for his life after Azkaban. “And it’s not without its own ongoing challenges, not the least of which has been myself and, well, the fact the world cannot see fit to let us be for too long.” Carrow. The Ministry. The Order.

Getting mobbed by a couple of very large, very enthusiastic dogs was always a bit of a surprise, but Dorcas managed to brace herself. Luckily neither dog knocked into her injuries, either. She ruffled her fingers over their shaggy heads once the dogs settled somewhat. “Mmm. The world has a way of doing that.” She wished it didn’t. She shrugged out of her jacket and headed for a chair.

With her jacket off, Gideon could see in full the sling that bound her entire arm, the way she favoured all her injuries (not just her shoulder) as she moved. Without further preamble, he moved to the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey, pouring them each a finger before settling the opened bottle between them for easy reach. “I didn’t know herbology could be so dangerous,” he began mildly, arching a brow and nodding to her shoulder and then eying her side.

“There are some dangers from time to time,” Dorcas replied, reaching up to feel the shorter bit of hair above the healing cut on her scalp. “This...wasn’t herbology, but I reckon you could guess that.” She took her glass and drained it, savoring the burn of the firewhiskey before continuing. Not all of it was hers to tell, but her part would likely interest him most, anyway.

“There was an unexpected rumble of sorts,” she said, “and I ended up in an over-due duel with Carrow.” She needed another drink just saying the woman’s name, so she poured another finger and knocked it back.

The name induced Gideon to grimace and unwittingly mirror Dorcas’s actions by knocking back his own glass -- it was a name that needed to be washed out of one’s mouth with something that burned away the taste of ashes. He closed his eyes, remembered how she first appeared to him in the sun only moments before -- flushed with victory, a half-battered Nike perched high upon the hill -- and when he opened his eyes again, they were keen. “Did you win?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Yes. Not as once-and-for all as I’d like--she’s still breathing--but she’s wandless for the moment.” Dorcas couldn’t help but grinning as she told the next part.“Split it right down the middle and put a hole in her wand hand. Kicked her in the head, too, which felt rather rewarding. And only fair, since I got her knife in the shoulder and had to listen to her talk about Marlene.” That had rankled. Seeing it had been the hardest thing in the world; hearing Alecto talk about it had opened the wound and poured in salt. “Took one of her favorite toys away, too,” she added, patting the sheathed blade on her thigh. “Wasn’t about to let her have that back.”

“Good.” There, in that one word, lay a dark and satisfactory trace of bloodlust -- the vestiges of himself from another age. “She should be made to feel every moment of ignominy while she still draws breath.” His gaze fell to the knife strapped to her thigh. It had been that knife which had been used to carve crude words into Bilius’s body. “Can I see?”

The word held a tone and feeling Dorcas knew well, and while she didn’t like that there was a reason for them to have to share it, the sharing of it was a strong bond indeed. “Indeed she should.” Dorcas nodded and eased the knife from the sheathe and laid it carefully on the table for Gideon to see. “You know already, but careful of the blade. The venom’s not a pleasant thing.”

His fingers closed around the hilt and he raised the knife up to eye level. It was surprisingly heavy, a rough hewn thing with little thought given to any embellishments, but it was balanced well, and in the daylight that fell in through the windows, the blade glinted sharply, undoubtedly very effective at its purpose. It would have parted skin as easily as paper. Self-made, he thought. Tools of the hunter.

May you one day be returned to your owner. Straight through the heart.

He carefully laid the knife back down on the table and refilled his glass with a steady, certain hand. He wasn’t sure if Marlene would have been happy to see Dorcas consumed so by vengeance -- he knew Colin wasn’t -- but he understood it. Oh, how he understood it.

“When all of this is over,” because, in some way, it had to end, and chances were, it would not end well, but he was curious nonetheless, “do you see yourself as ever being able to move on from it?”

Dorcas refilled her glass and watched Gideon examine the blade. She wondered if her face had looked something like that as she’d looked it over the first time. The sheathe she’d made for it was only slightly less crude than the blade, mainly because of the limited materials she’d had on hand and her own limited mobility with an injured shoulder on her dominant side. But it fulfilled its purpose of holding the blade until she could bring it to bear fully against its creator. Alecto Carrow’s corpse would be its only truly suitable final resting place.

She took the knife when Gideon set it down, carefully sliding it back into the sheathe. His question wasn’t entirely outside of the realm of expected ones, but it still gave her pause. When all of this is over. That was the main bit. There was no point in trying to move on as long as Carrow lived free; Dorcas wouldn’t--couldn’t--risk getting someone else (and possibly their family, if they had one) killed. She couldn’t take that. She’d never have the image of Marlene’s body out of her mind completely, either.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe with Carrow gone somehow. And if I find someone willing to put up with a haunted ex-con who keeps venomous tentaculas as guard dogs.” Dorcas knocked back her firewhiskey and looked at the empty glass for a moment. “Maybe. Dad couldn’t, but we’re not so alike as that.”

“Someone managed to put up with this haunted ex-con who keeps a growing colony of cats, an unknown number of pygmy puffs and various farm animals,” he said, smiling a little as he raised his glass to her in salute. “Not to mention a secret son coming out of the woodwork. It can be done, apparently.”

Dorcas found she couldn’t help but smile a little herself when Gideon put things that way. “There is that, yes. I’m happy for you.” She leaned back in her chair a little, wincing slightly as her side complained. “Think I had a twinge of jealousy when I first heard, to be honest. But I’m still not ready to try, myself. Not yet.”

He could only nod in understanding. Loss was a gaping hole. One had to cover it, build thick walls around it, and bar it off lest it widen and spread and consume all of one’s self. It was safer to always keep it that way. At least there would something left to salvage -- but it was a lonely and painful existence, that he well knew. In some ways, Gideon still wasn’t sure if he was or ever would be ready either, but it had all descended upon him anyway and now he’d tear the world apart if he lost it again. The thought of a second loss was terrifying -- so much so he had almost brought it about by his own hand. He could only hope that by some miracle, Dorcas would live on to one day find that for herself. There weren’t many people in the world who deserved more.

“I...seem to be kept abreast of all that is happening in the Order anyways,” he finally confessed. “I’ve asked Bilius not to tell me, but...it’s difficult to keep secrets from one another, even willingly.”

“That’s...’good’ isn’t exactly the word for it, it being as is it, but perhaps ‘more bearable’ works,” Dorcas said. She wasn't surprised, really, but knowing did make her feel a bit easier. The old Order and the new were the only family she had left, and it was easier knowing all the family had some idea of things that were going on. “Things with Lady Noir were either sloppy scheduling on her part, or--more likely--a set up for us all to have a go at each other and eliminate enemies and potential competition.”

She poured herself another drink. “Rough business. Most of us at least a little worse for wear. Don’t know that anyone else left feeling quite as good about their duels as I did, though.”

He was glad -- ever so glad, even if he well knew the sentiment was more than a little selfish -- Bilius had decided to stay behind, even as the first true engagement of the start of something that would only grow worse made him feel the first stirrings of discontent in a long, long time. He ran a hand over his mouth as if he could wash away the renewed bitterness there, and said, “I didn’t think it would be this difficult, staying on the sidelines.”

“It was easier than I expected, slipping back into it. It…” Dorcas took a deep breath and exhaled. “It felt like old times, before we started losing people and it seemed like we had a shot. To me, at least. Others may have felt differently, having different fights and different circumstances.” She drank her firewhiskey and looked at the bottle for a moment. The comfortable numbness was setting in nicely, which meant she should perhaps slow down a little on the drinking. “The old guard of us is all I’ve got left for family. I’ve got less to lose, this go around, and more to gain for everyone who’s got kids or a partner. I don’t think I could stay on the sidelines if I tried.”

“I’d hate to think this was still, in part, a death wish,” he said to her, knowing how it could get, how easy it was to allow one’s self to run up to the edge of that cliff in quiet hopes of simply hurdling over. “You know this only gets worse now.”

Dorcas sighed and shifted in her seat. "I know it's going to get worse again," she said. "I don't know that it's exactly a death wish--cousin to one, maybe, but not so close. I'd like a life without Carrow in the world."

The bottle, which had been three-quarters full, now measured less than half, and grew even lighter as he filled his glass and held it up. “I don’t want to be in the Order again.” Of that, he was still certain. Everything once associated with Albus Dumbledore filled him with immense loathing -- he could barely stomach even saying the name these days. He was a man at peace, one who was content to retreat from the world and leave it to lie in so much as it would let him do the same.

And he was glad Bilius was not here right now when he spoke next and held her gaze directly.

“But I also want Carrow dead.”

Dorcas held his gaze, and a fire seemed to spark in her eyes as she leaned forward. “I can’t fault you for either of those things, certainly not for Carrow. And if you decided to do something about that,” she said, “you would have my complete support in all possible ways.”

His smile could hardly be called pleasant, but it was most certainly genuine. “I doubt she’ll return to her home after this. You said you broke her wand. She’ll be needing a new one. Probably won’t be going through above board channels, which means black market. That’s where we begin.” Let the hunter become the hunted.

She nodded. “Can’t really see her waltzing into Ollivander’s. Black market’s definitely our best starting point.” Dorcas poured herself another glass and drummed a fingertip on the rim. “What do you propose?”

This was where Gideon had to confess he had done more research on the darker going-ons of the world than he professed, an idle activity between cleaning the horse stalls or sowing seeds for the next harvest. He knew Knockturn had been shuttered, but that only meant smugglers, traffickers and other unsavoury types had merely moved deeper underground and gotten more clever, receding to parts of muggle East London where the spotlight of the Ministry didn’t think to shine. “We set a trap. Only a very few will risk selling black market wands these days -- and we know she won’t be going to Diggle or Fletcher.” Which left Wagstaff and Mina, who both operated muggle storefronts for pawn and jewelry shops, respectively. “No one there will object to a Death Eater gone missing.”

“Mm. With her missing, they’ll have a safer time of things. I can imagine that lot making good customers.” Not that anyone could kick them out of their shops, self-preservation being taken into consideration. A trap sounded like just the thing to Dorcas. “And once we have her, we’ll need a place to put her until we’re done with her,” she mused. They likely had some options there.

“Which won’t be long.” Only enough to glean what information from her they could; the risks would only grow the longer they kept her alive. “I have just the place.”

Dorcas nodded. “Good.” She knocked back her drink. “Where?”

“The only place fitting to render justice.” Where old ghosts, if they still dwelled there, could bear witness and finally, perhaps, rest. “For Marlene.”

Dorcas stilled for a moment. The McKinnon house. Walking in that door to end Alecto Carrow was probably the only way she’d manage to set foot in that house again after what she’d seen. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Only fitting place for it.”

Both in terms of significance and simple logistics (all stayed away from the old McKinnon house now save for the earth just starting to reclaim the crumbling structure and land around it). He knew it would be difficult for her, visiting that place which had been the beginning of the end for her (and perhaps, the end of a beginning), but in a way, he hoped the very place which had been the site of so much death could at last finally serve as a final catharsis for the woman with whom he had shared more secrets than his own sister. “I’ll go tonight and set up monitoring spells that will let us know when she approaches either shop. We’ll have to be ready at a moment’s notice, but the quicker we are, the easier it will be. This one, Dorcas….this one stays between you and me.”

“Good. Good.” The sooner they got this started, the sooner they could catch Carrow and have it over with. The sooner they could take that weight off their lives, the better. Dorcas nodded. “This is just us, completely.” The others wouldn’t approve, because the others didn’t understand, not with Carrow, not like Dorcas and Gideon did.

“Then good hunting, Dorcas Meadowes.” With a tip of his glass to her, Gideon knocked his back to seal the deal.