[Hogsmeade] Is that all? (Closed)

[Nicholas McNiven]

It was a particularly overcast day, it was autumn after all and that was a season that McNiven really did not like, but then saying that McNiven did not like any of the seasons. He was born and grew up in Scotland so many would argue that the man should have got used to the ever changing and unpredictable Scottish weather, yet here he was trudging up the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. The cold northern wind blowing brown decaying leaves in his face and the distant drip-drop sound surprising or not meant that rain was slowly starting to plummet to the earth once more.

Sniffing rather loudly the Scott plunged his hands into his coat pockets and lowered his head to keep the bitter wind off his face. The bottom of his brown trench coat billowed around his ankles with every step he made and his heavy boots were making light work of the puddle and leaf covered floor, it was as if they were on auto-pilot to The Hogs Head.

Ever since the pub had gone under new ownership it had lost some of its character, it used to be a dark, dingy pub were sinister characters such as himself could seek refuge without having to answer to many questions. But now the windows were clean and let in light, the years of dirt and many types of bodily fluids had been cleaned off its walls and the biggest problem of all was that people laughed. That is always what sickened McNiven about The Three Broomsticks, the laughter, the sickly happiness that radiated from the pub and the rouge wizard never dared to speculate that The Hogs Head would do the same.

Due to the previous train of thoughts Nicolas McNiven’s concentration faltered and he was no longer aware of his surroundings. As a result it came as a surprise to the man that his path was blocked, but it was more of a surprise as to who was blocking the path; a witch he had not seen in sometime and she brought a small smile to the square jaw of McNiven.

“Afternoon wee Locksley.”

[Quinn Locksley]

It had been some time since Quinn had visited the Hog’s Head and she had expected it to not have changed in the slightest. After all her mother had always told her that the Hog’s Head was a dingy sort of place where brigands and the likes congregated in small packs talking about the weather and discussing the availability of Boomslang skin. Not that they were particularly bad men and women, just of a different variety then society accepted. This was more then likely why Locksley enjoyed – as much as it was possible for her to enjoy anything – going to the Head.

She had been greatly disappointed though when she walked in, leaving the dark sky behind her. The windows were clean, she couldn’t spot any cobwebs and some she spotted in there were cheery. All this caused not only a snarl to cross her otherwise smooth features but also her stomach to turn. It was sickening and disgraceful to have such a show in this sort of place. If it was up to her she would have hexed them all to the Falkland Island where they wouldn’t bother her any more. If she wanted to be cheery or have it forced on her she would ply her apprentice with booze and dress him up like a girl.

It was insufferable and she had not been in there three minutes before she turned swiftly on her heel and left, her long black coat trailing behind her. What did she care for laughter or anything of that nature? It meant little to her here, where she had been forced to sit and wait. Those people at the Ministry could be so insufferable too. What good was she to anyone where she could hardly find a hairy goat with a record that was any sort of challenge was what the dark haired woman constantly asked herself. She wanted action, she wanted anything that would get her heart beating and her adrenalin pumping. What that too much to ask?

As fate would have it, apparently not.

She rounded the corner after having left the bright and sparkly Hog’s Head and who should be walking down the very path that she was on but the one and only Nicholas McNiven. Quinn jerked backwards but didn’t ’move from where her feet had planted her. It couldn’t be. Her green eyes narrowed as she glared at the man who had murdered her mother. Her first thought was to go for her wand but she held herself back. The sun might have been hiding behind thick clouds that were now spitting on the filth of the earth but it was still daytime and she couldn’t afford to get caught doing anything reckless again, it had gotten her into too much trouble the previous time.

Deciding on taking a different route then what the dog-faced man would expect, Quinn allowed herself to smile at him. It wasn’t a particularly nice thing to see on her face as it always seemed to be hiding far too many things for comfort. None the less, she smiled at him, her arms hanging loose by her side. “Why McNiven,” she said loudly, “I didn’t think you were incompetent enough to come seek me out. You must be a bigger idiot then I thought.”

[Nicholas McNiven]

How pleasant, there stood a witch and wizard smiling at each other, like two friends who had not seen each other in such a long time…or at least that is what one spectator thought as she peered out of her bedroom window. Maybe that particular Hogsmeade resident was new in town and had no idea who the man or the woman was, however the biggest factor of this particular misinterpretation of the meeting was that the on looker was completely useless in moments of social interaction and would have more likely then not have taken a slap around the face as an affectionate way of saying hello.

Yes there may have been smiles on both of their faces (although this emotion really did not become either of them) but underneath hatred ran through their veins and every word seemed to drip with antipathy. Quinn in particular managed to dress up her attempt of insulting McNiven to almost make it sound like a compliment and as with any compliment McNiven knew he needed to return the favour.

“Incompetence is clearly something we have in common then Locksley.” The cold look in McNiven’s eyes was in sharp contradiction to the almost slickly kind tone that the man was lacing his own words with. “How long have you been trying to catch me now? Your mother would be turning in her grave.”

It took a lot for the Scottish man to reframe from adding anymore to that latter statement. How much he would have loved to tease her once more about the fact that he was the man who had sent her mother to her early grave. It was a shame really, Locksley senior had put up a good fight and made it hard for him, Quinn…well she was just a pathetic excuse for a witch, she was a Hit Witch and they were just those who were not good enough to be Aurous.

[Quinn Locksley]

Even though it was the middle of the day, Quinn knew that she would make a scene - something her boss had strictly instructed her not to do. She could feel it coming, the screaming, the shouting, the punching, yes, it was all bubbling just under the surface and she didn't care. What was her job when she could avenge her mother's death. This she had been seeking out for all these year, at last, it was so sweet she could almost taste it.

But first she had to bring him in - if she didn't kill him. Yes, Quinn was loyal to the ministry and yes, she knew the rules, but killing this ... man herself would be far too tempting to pass up ... if the opportunity came. A smirk came to her face as the thought of seeing him cowering before her. Too sweet for words.

His arrogance was predictable, defending his puny and insipid sense of dignity perhaps. Whatever he was doing it only caused the Hit Witch to smirk more, a wild glint coming to her ice blue eyes. "I've been getting your friends together for you," she spat derisively. "Merlin knows how lonely it can be in Azkaban. I didn't want you to think I didn't care about what happens to you after I captured you.

"No," she sneered, jutting out her strong jaw and looking down her nose at the witless worm, "I'll be there to make sure you get what's coming to you - a lovely kiss perhaps?" At this point she was keen to have the demontors do the dirty job and being in the front row would be so vivifying she wouldn't miss it for the world. Taking a step towards him, Locksley glared and added in a hushed tone, "I've been told it's almost unbearable to watch but I think for you I'll make the trip there myself."

And then McNiven brought up the worst thing he could have - was he asking to be slain where he stood? No, she couldn't do that, not here. It would ruin it for the dementors. She had to keep running that through her mind, the dementors, the dementors, anything to keep herself in check right? Choosing to disregard the comment about her mother - Quinn knew that her mother would in fact be very proud of what she'd achieved since becoming a hit witch - and move the excitement along. It took some doing, and a twitchy stretch of her neck, but Quinn soon changed the subject.

"So," she scathed, "you are going to come with me quietly as to not disturb the slow people of Hogsmeade and we can be on our way. No need for undue fusing, only pitiful women do that ... though, as I recall you had to wait to be rescued last time but there's not Thyme to save you this time." Pulling out her wand slowly as she spoke, Quinn cocked her head to one side and smirked. "Come along now," she demanded with a tone that suggested she was talking to a five year old, "that cell's getting cold."

[Nicholas McNiven]

McNiven would give the girl that, she was determined and that was something he did like about Quinn Locksley. She seemed however to have everything planned out, her little dream situation where she would be labelled the hero and her mother revenged. It was sad really, this witch seemed to have no other life then hunting him down if she ever succeed, which McNiven was determined she would not) her life would be pretty worthless…he truly did pity her for that.

“Oh I think if a come with ye quietly then it would be a lot better for the both of us.” A small cruel smile spread across his face. “But then when have I ever made it easy for the Locksley family?”

Taking a step closer to Quinn he removed his hands out of is pocket to prove to the young witch that he was not armed with his right hand he reached forward and placed his hand on the witches shoulder, his thin fingers like talons of an owl gripping onto its pray in fear of it escaping, or in Lockleys case wiggling free. The Scots man knew he needed to act quickly in fear of an interruption so emptying his mind from every other thought and focused on that image in his head, the run down warehouses near the docks just outside of Liverpool. That would be the perfect place to kill Locksley; no one would find her and defiantly not link McNiven to the murder.

Over the many years of hopping location the process of Apparition no longer bothered McNiven, the feeling of being squished through a small tube and the motion sickness was more of his day to day life style then eating and sleeping. However it had been a very long time since he had done a Side Along Apparition and as his feet touched the ground the man fell to the floor, panting heavily and looking around in disbelief.

“This is not the right place?”

(I have skipped forward to thread 2 to make this more interesting then name calling! How is that for decision making? Enjoy picking the location!)

[Quinn Locksley]

Quinn had always thought that she had a few of her mother’s good parts: tenacity, resourcefulness, a keen eye, good judge of character, and many others and all that she had learnt from her mother, Georgie, came into play whenever Quinn was working. Whether it was simply doing paper work or if it was in the field, Quinn knew that her mother’s influence had driven her to that point and she was proud to be her mother’s daughter. She had never told anyone but even though her father was a little bumbling she had a few of his characteristics too: a well-contained temper, a thoughtful demeanor. Inwardly she was proud of those too thought she would never admit it to anyone, lest of all he father.

It was with this in mind that Quinn stood still as McNiven moved slowly towards her. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t see a reason too. She just stood there, her gray eyes burning into the man’s ugly face. She couldn’t let anything he said or do bring her anger to a point where it wasn’t in her hands any more. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t want to lose her job, she quite liked it in all truthfulness and she didn’t know any other way to be other then what she was. She had to do the right thing, even though it would kill her to do so.

His hand was on her shoulder and still Quinn kept perfectly still. Soon he would make his move and she would be ready. But she wasn’t. As soon as she realised what he was doing, Quinn tried to get out of his grip but it was too late. Already they were being squeezed and restricted. Where was he taking her? She didn’t have to ask why, she knew the answer to that question instinctively. She would have done the same if killing was the only way to resolve things. The stakes where higher for him though and they both knew it. Even better then that, she knew that McNiven knew that she knew it.

Suddenly the squeezing stopped and her breath came back to her … but the air she breathed in heavily as she fell to her knees was rank with the smell of damp plaster and the all too distinctive smell of old urine. They seemed to be in an old tube tunnel. Quickly getting to her feet, Quinn backed off quickly and pointed her wand at McNiven. “A … poor choice of location, McNiven,” Quinn sneered, gaining her breath back, straightening up and looking down her long nose at him. “So what was the plan? Bring me here to kill me?” Quinn began to laugh, the eerie cackle bouncing off the damp walls. “More foolish then I though possible.”

Quinn rolled her sholders quickly a few times, loosen herself up, then, wand still pointed at the man on the floor, Quinn said quickly, “Everte Statum.”

[Nicholas McNiven]

A few years ago had you asked Nicolas McNiven how he rated himself as a wizard he would have looked at you with his dark, stone cold eyes, his tongue would slowly slip out of his mouth like a snake tasting the air and ran it over his dry lips. A cruel smile would then spread across his face out highlighting the wrinkles on his stubble covered jaw and slowly in his silky Scottish accent he would answer with one word. “Me.” However if you were to look at the situation that he had got himself in right now, he might even have doubted himself.

It was not the salty air of the docks that filled the mans nose, but instead the stale air of the underground tunnels of the London tube system. There was very little light and in his slightly confused state McNiven failed to notice Quinn draw her wand and point it straight at him. He did not even have time to roll to look at his nemesis in his eyes before he was blasted from the ground and sent flying into the sidewall. The air was knocked out of his lungs, a groan escaped as the sound of him hitting the floor echoed around the empty tunnel. He had not been expecting that one, moving slowly he could hear his body creaking and cracking, a shooting pain ran up his spine and for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick…oh how Locksley would have liked that.

“Very good Locksley.” McNiven falsely congratulated as he pushed himself back up trying to ignore the dizziness that was coming over him like a wave. “But I’m sure mummy wouldn’t be happy that ye attack an unarmed man. Just think about the immorality of it all.”

Despite the fact his face was drained of colour and moving his head too quickly would mean him losing balance and falling over backwards McNiven still tried to play it cool and relaxed, ignoring the fact that his heart was pounding so quickly in the fear of the possibility of his impending death.

[Quinn Locksley]

It was a well known fact that Quinn Locksley was a woman of means, being able to look after herself was always something she could do. While her mother had always been an excellent role model she had always been away with work, chasing down the scum of the earth and keeping them safe, so it had been Quinn and her Father. He wasn't anything of a role model but he tried and Quinn knew it, though she never let him forget that he wasn't anything that she had ever needed. She'd always looked after herself and just at the moment she seemed to be fairing well.

McNiven ended up on the floor, the noise of his hitting the wall and the floor echoed around the long tunnel they were in. Quinn checked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone and they did seem to be. The fluorescent lights flickered sickeningly over head, a faint buzzing coming from them the grew louder after McNiven ended up on the floor. Even though she knew he had been hurt by that last, McNiven put on a brave face and spoke again of her mother. Rage, hatred and contempt coursed through her veins, and her eyes snapped wide.

She lunged at the man who dared speak ill of her mother. Quinn grabbed him by the neck, pinning him to the ground, forcing her wand into his cheek. "My mother would be proud," she spat, "to know that the supposed unarmed man was the very one who'd stolen her from me. And that's the last time you'll be speaking about her." Quinn could feel the colour running hot to her cheeks, flushing them with an angry pink. She could hardly stand to hear her father speaking about her mother, fondly or not.

Quinn pulled the man close to her, so that their faces were mere inches apart. "And that's the last time you'll be having ten fingers," she sneered as she moved her wand quickly to the man's small finger and whispered, eyes still on McNiven's cold ones, "Confringo." The blasting spell shot like a gun, the noise echoing around the abandoned tunnel.

[Nicholas McNiven]

McNiven had been in many fights in his time but the ones he shared with Quinn always rated high-up in his ranking. They would push each other to such boundaries that they would be in so much pain that by the end of it they would almost contemplate giving in and letting the coldness and the darkness take hold. But there was one thing that kept McNiven fighting and clinging onto this meek existence, it was the want to annoy Quinn, the want to make her suffer. That is what kept him standing at this very moment or at least he was standing until Locksley knocked him to the floor, wand digging into his cheek and hand grasped so tightly around his neck it restricted his breathing.

His cold eyes looked at the flustered face of Quinn and despite the fact he was wandless in a situation that could result in his death in seconds he still managed to enjoy the look on her face. He knew how to get to her and despite the fact the result was always painful it was worth it, although that small cruel smile soon faded off his face when he bothered to listen a bit more closely to what she was saying. He raised an eyebrow at the statement about it being the last time her would be speaking about her and his square jaw clamped shut in fear that she was going to go for his tongue.

However Locksley was clearly more familiar with the ways of torture then McNiven was aware and instead she moved onto his fingers and with one quick and for her, painless cast the little finger on his left hand was blasted off. It was an extremely strange sensation for McNiven, the warmth of his thick crimson blood seemed to spread over his other hands and the pain was so intense he could feel the water building up in his eyes but instead of a cry of pain the hardened man just laughed through it. A throat ripping laugh that admittedly was partnered with the odd groan of pain, but in its own way the pain was thrilling.

His nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth together as he knew he could not let Locksley take another finger, surprising or not over his thirty eight years on this earth he had grown rather attached to them. This would mean that he would have to break on of his own rules, McNiven for a murder still held a few morals close to his heart from his strong up brining. The first being that you never attacked an unarmed wizard or witch and the second being that you never struck a woman, but when push came to shove and his life was at stake he could overlook this latter factor…as Locksley was about as far from a female as you could get. Trying to focus on that factor McNiven brought up his right hand, and with it being clenched into a fist he made contact with the side of Lockleys face. Using this momentarily lapse in concentration from Quinn McNiven used his bloody hand to pull away hers from his neck and he wiggled free, desperately scrambling backwards trying to get some space between them.

[Quinn Locksley]

When Quinn was being trained to become a hit witch, after being shot down for an auror post, it had been drilled into them that capture was essential and what they aimed for. It was one of their code of conduct rules, that no matter how scummy the people they chased were they were still human beings and deserved even the slightest bit of respect. Had it been any other person in McNiven’s place, such as De Conti or Thyme, she’d had merely neutralised him and taken him in but this wasn’t just any two-bit criminal, this was the man who killed her mother.

All rules had been thrown to the wind and all that was left was the rage and the anger.

The look on McNiven’s face when his finger got blasted off was so sweet to the young woman she could almost taste it. His pain was pleasure to her, always had been and even more so since she’d found out he was the one who’d murdered her mother. She couldn’t explain this interaction and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. All she wanted was to make this as painful as possible for as long as she could before finally giving him over to the right people: the Dementors should would do the job decently enough.

As she lent over the man, hand around his neck and arm still extended to his hand, Quinn could almost picture the Dementor giving McNiven what he so greatly deserved one unwilling kiss! She slipped up though. He managed to weasel his way out of her grasp by punching her in the face. His fist was such a surprise that she didn’t have time to react, only let the large hand connect sharply with her cheek bone. She could feel the power that was behind the punch, even when he was a digit down.

Quinn went crashing to the floor, her wand arm getting caught under her bulk. Her other cheek hit the dirty floor, her right eyebrow grazing as she slid forward. She lay there for no less then a split second before pushing herself up and swinging her bruised arm towards McNiven clutching … nothing? Her wand had gone! Where was her wand? Frantically spinning around, Quinn searched the cluttered ground for her wand. She pulled herself to her keens, and searched more frantically, her blue eyes wide with worry.

Then she got control of herself, pulling herself up to her feet and straightening herself. She brushed her short hair out of her face, feeing the blood that was tricking down from her graze. She looked at McNiven, and smiled. She’d finally spotted her wand. It was half way between to two of them, against the wall. She looked at McNiven, then at the wand and back again. She lunged for it, grabbing for the wand …

[Nicholas McNiven]

If fear was an emotion that McNiven knew and understood then that is what he would have been feeling right now. The dim lighting of the old tube tunnel made everything so eerie. The strong smell of damp earth and mould was strong, but then not as strong as the overpowering smell of his own blood, the stump of a finger was still oozing the precious crimson liquid. The urge to be sick was slowly passing and after throwing that punch into the side of Locksley’s face the adrenaline rush was starting to kick in, although it did nothing to regulate his breathing.

Wandless and arguably defenceless the man could only sit panting on the grimy floor staring as Locksley stirred and swung her arm around to give the final blow…with thin air. As she started to look around in panic a smirk filled the well chiselled jaw line of McNiven as he too joined the search for the elusive wand. His dark cold eyes searched the floor and there is was, laying perfectly between them but it seemed his eagle eyes were not the only ones, Locksley was on her feet.

The adrenaline pushed him forwards and just as quickly as he scurried away he lunged forward, his knees scrapping on the rough ground and his good and blooded hand pulled him forward. Reaching out with a fumbling hand his bony fingers clasped around the wand and with a small evil laugh he pointed it up towards Locksley.

“AVARDA KAD…”

Something stopped him from finishing off the curse, put he kept the wand aimed to strike in between Locksley’s eyes. Slowly McNiven stood up, winching as his muscles contort and ached with the strain of battle. “No.” He added slowly, almost as if talking to himself as he finally stood up straight. “A quick death is too good for you.” A small cruel smile filled his face. “I think I shall make you suffer. Just like Mummy. Maybe a few broken ribs should do the trick.”

It simply took a flick of the wrist and so a movement of the wand and in his smooth Scottish accent McNiven started to count. “One…”