Curtain Call

2004-04-22T06:51:41Z

Title: Curtain Call
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: "Averys survived. They were known for it. They were also known for being spineless, groveling cowards, and maybe one of these days someone besides Lawrence would think to link the two."

Lawrence Avery stared in utter horror at the monstrosity laid out before him. His heart started hammering against his ribs. In that moment, he was absolutely convinced of two facts: there was a God, and He was a sadist.

"I am not wearing that."

His wife thwapped him with a rolled-up copy of Witch Weekly. "Don't be ridiculous. They're perfectly lovely robes."

"And they're green."

"Green's all the rage this season."

"They have piping."

"It matches your hair."

"Are you saying I'm going gray?"

"Look in a mirror, dear."

Lawrence scowled, well aware that the battle was lost. Here he was, the man who had talked his way out of a lifetime sentence in Azkaban no less than three times, and he couldn't even argue his way past the most hideous dress robes this side of 1975. Instead of arguing with Madeline -- a futile exercise best undertaken by the suicidal or insane -- he gave up and poked at the horrible things with his wand.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Madeline snatched the offending robes away and clutched them protectively to her chest. "You're the one who wanted to go to this silly reception, Lawrence!"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead he flopped on their bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if he should get around to repairing that crack in the tiles. The wonderful thing about Madeline was that she didn't understand any sense of obligation, at least not beyond the conventional RSVP sense. But it didn't work that way with him. If Hogwarts was so set on dedicating this memorial, he was damn well going to be there.

"You're just going to get yourself in trouble," Madeline said from somewhere around her vanity. "If the Potter boy tries to have you captured -- "

"Then I'll talk my way out of it again," Lawrence finished patiently. "I was acquitted, remember?"

"And a fine impression you'll make, showing up where you're not welcome." She leaned over him, her dark curls brushing his cheeks. "You're not locked up and you're alive. Cut your losses."

He pushed her away and took the horrible robes back from her. "I already did," he said, and she fell silent. She knew better than to press the issue.

*

Averys survived. They were known for it. They were also known for being spineless, groveling cowards, and maybe one of these days someone besides Lawrence would think to link the two. Or maybe not. The ability to watch behaviors and to string emotions and meanings to together seemed to come with being an actor.

That was what a Death Eater was, as long as he didn't look too deeply. It was a neat little part for a play, with masks and costumes and a script that somehow wrote itself, and it wasn't really serious if he ignored what went on backstage. And then he couldn't ignore anything, but he also couldn't run away because that meant breaking the spell, ruining the play and whatever safety it still held.

Somehow the fact that it had ended didn't seem real. He just had another role now, husband and father. Except he was still a coward there. His little girl played at being an Auror, and instead of shaking sense into her he just looked away. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

*

"Nice robes," Jane Everette-Nott muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Lawrence ignored her.

There was an enormous crowd slowly filing through the monument, which was more like a small forest of plaques and stones than anything else. McGonagall had said something about it, and so had whichever Weasley was Minister now, and Lawrence thought he had caught Severus Snape's eye for a moment before he went back to picking at the damn piping on his robe.

It became a game, playing Find The Slytherins. Not a hard game, either, since not many of them were alive -- and most of those who were hadn't bothered to come. When he ran out of names after ten minutes, he craned his neck and tried to spot the Quidditch pitch.

"It's kind of amazing," Jane murmured beside him in that isn't-this-a-pleasant-conversation kind of voice, and he knew that she had been counting, too.

Lawrence glanced over at her. "What is?"

"How we ran out of people."

"What, you and I don't count for anything?"

She gave him a sidelong look -- one she must have learned from Narcissa, and where the hell was Narcissa anyway? He wished Jane would drop the act, just for a moment. But of course she couldn't. That was why he liked Madeline, who was ten years younger than him and not the sharpest knife in the drawer and couldn't have played any other role if her life had depended on it. Maybe Severus would understand the appeal of that.

He decided that wasn't a good idea to ask.

*

This whole setup had to be Dumbledore's doing from beyond the grave, since who else on Earth would include Death Eaters' names in a war memorial? Stupidest idea he'd ever heard.

But there they were, plain as day, and now he wished somebody had warned him. What was he supposed to do with them? If this were a play and if he had picked his sides better this would have been time for a solilequey, and then curtain-calls and him going on with his life.

"Do villains get solilequeys?" he asked the nearest names, and then bit back a humorless laugh when he saw that he was trying to get answers out of Evan and Antonin. Brilliant move, that.

Because it seemed like an appropriately dramatic thing to do, he ran his fingers over the names. Jane's stupid husband Derek. Mulciber. Macnair. The whole damn Quidditch team.

Benjy. His best friend. The only one who'd actually had any sense at all.

Fuck.

It was like the stupid Greek tragedies that he couldn't be bothered with, because it felt like the writer had given up halfway through. That's it. The end. And then they all died.

Except for the snivelling coward, of course. There was always a character like that, to pull through by sheer stupid luck and stare blankly at the carnage, and the curtain came down before anyone figured out what would become of that poor bastard.

He'd always thought it was a stupid way to end a play.

*

Madeline was wrangling their son when he came home. When she greeted him, describing what havoc their daughter had wreaked this time, the baby made a grab for the silver piping.

"Oh, for the love of -- " Madeline tugged the piping loose, rolling her eyes heavenward before she smiled at Lawrence. "Did you have fun?"

"No."

She huffed and held a ringlet away from the baby's questing grasp. "Well, why in the world did you go, then?"

"Curtain call," he said, and changed the subject.

.
.

Lesser Evil

2003-09-18T23:53:20Z

Backdated.

Title: Lesser Evil
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG
Summary: The War of the Ring from the other side. Not all the soldiers in Mordor's army were Orcs.

The East is the lesser of two evils. The clerics say it is not evil at all, that it is Divine Will, but he knows better. His brothers know better and his parents know better, and every man he fights alongside knows better. The world is evil, populated by devils who will not die and men who dream of being kings. Why should the East be any different?

There are no cities here, just the farms of the demon-men. That is what his companions call the screaming, pale people who try and fail to fight them as they push their way West. He knows the history as well as they do. The demon-men came from the West, raiding and plundering, stealing history and language and names. They believe themselves rulers of the world. The East does too, but at least the East does not hide that greed behind virtue. When his companions slash and stab, they are cutting down history.

When he wields his spear, all he sees is that demon-men have red blood, just like he does. They die as easily as the Ak'Alam -- the true-men, his people. They die as easily as he would. Their language is different, but their screams are the same.

There is a demon-woman huddled in front of him before her burning farm, and she is holding her child in one hand and a long knife in the other. It is a strange act, one that produces harsh laughter from his companions. The demon-woman thinks she's a mother. She thinks those tears and those shouts of defiance will trick them into thinking she is a true-woman.

He is not so sure it is a trick at all.

One of his companions grabs her arm. She screams and stabs with her knife. His companion releases her with a hiss and tries to grab her child by the hair. She stabs again. His companions give up and reach for their spears. One of them tells her to run, so he can see if he can hit her. She doesn't understand, but she sets her jaw and holds her ground, shielding the child with her body and holding the knife.

And suddenly he understands. The lesser of two evils is still, at the end, something to be fought against. The demon-woman's child may grow into a monster, but it is still a child now, and she is still its mother.

When one of his companions readies his spear, he draws his dagger and stabs him.

The demon-woman doesn't stop to question. She runs, disappearing into the smoke with her knife and her child. Maybe she survives. Maybe she doesn't. He will never know. It is the greatest evil of all to betray another of the true-men. His cursing companions have already driven their spears into him.

If she survives, she will not tell. Who would believe her? She is a woman of the West, and it is well known among her people that the Haradrim are beasts.

Lisse

Curtain Call

Lesser Evil