Who: Dorcas Meadowes Where: That deep dark alley in Hull that your mum cautions you not to walk alone in at night. When: Night time What: Dorcas gets work. Warning: Violence. Blood. That's probably going to be a re-occurring theme with this one.
***
Damn. She was rusty, but--
If it didn't kill you outright, then it could heal.
(She knew that well.)
But this one, a long, deep gash dug along her forearm from where she had thrown it up just in time to block the incoming knife, could even be self-treated. Her own blood vanished away from where it had flowed down her arm like a curtain.
If it did kill you, pray it would be fast. As much as she would have enjoyed making it slow and painful, time was not on her side now. Even though she hadn't quite managed to get the drop on Goyle --
(The younger brother. Had killed at least 12 muggles and 7 muggleborns. Fled to Austria and came back like the rest. One wife, three children now -- too bad.)
-- and he'd gotten in more than his fair share of hits because, like his late elder brother, he was massive --
she still knew where and how to precisely swipe her blade down his neck, swift and sure.
It wasn't even a very big cut, but thick torrents of blood gushed from the wound to the tune of his racing heart. He let go of her neck and grabbed his own, leaving her slumped against the alley wall, sucking in much needed oxygen and watching him futilely attempt to stem the flood escaping from between his stained fingers --
until his legs collapsed beneath him and he fell hard to the ground. More pints of blood outside of him than in.
Gingerly staggering to her feet, she retrieved her wand where it had been lost in the scuffle early on, and managed to turn all that dead weight face up. Finally, she pushed back the sleeve of his robe to reveal the Dark Mark still writhing on his cooling skin and, with one last slash of her blade, cut a red crimson line across the snake and skull.
Let them all see and let them all learn: this is how Death Eaters ended up.