Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This story is loosely based on Julie Garwood's thriller, Heartbreaker. Though the prologue is almost entirely from the book, it's not going to follow the book exactly. The book was amazing, and I wanted to try something different from TOUCH. So… as I don't have a beta for this one yet, please enjoy and review.
Prologue
It was hotter than hell inside the office than outside. The small, cramped room had only one tiny window, just barely covered by a set of green blinds. All over the desk were mountain-high piles of files. And most importantly of all, the cooling system wasn't working at all. Why he offered to man things for his brother, he was ready to hit his head against the wall. But then again, there were so many cracks; probably not that great of an idea.
It was worse than being stuffed into a broom closet by his twin brothers and Ron Weasley was just glad that he wasn't claustrophobic. He was getting more miserable by the second, however. The air was humid and thick with mildew; all he could think about was those days when he and his best mate Harry had raced their brooms over the Quidditch pitch back in Hogwarts, breathing in the fresh cool air as the breeze caressed their faces. But then again, it wasn't that big of a deal, since he DID owe his older brother Charlie one for putting up with him for the entire week while he was in town for his yearly check-up.
No, his brother's colleagues would say just put up with it for the sake of the kids. After all, the Foundation for Troubled Wizards really didn't get much income to fund their operations, and it wasn't one of those things you could just close down just because there wasn't a proper circulation system running. The point of being a counselor wasn't to wallow up in luxury, as Charlie would say. Ron didn't know what any good could come out of that, except that he'd die of dehydration sooner or later.
Even for ruddy ol' Bristol, it was burning for a summer day. The temperature had risen so much over the past few days, surely a draught or two had sprung up somewhere in the country. The pond just outside the building had begun to drop in water level, and Ron swore he could see the top fins of the goldfish that Charlie liked keeping there.
How the Foundation had ever chosen an old church building for their office, Ron would never know. The building itself wasn't at all in bad shape, but it certainly wasn't built for practicalities. Charlie's office was hidden away behind the auditorium, but even there, the windows had been sealed off to avoid break-ins. The other two windows served merely as ornamentation, the last signs of its former glory.
Ron wasn't what one would consider a big man, but he was tall, rising almost over 2 meters tall, not overbearing, but muscular and strong. Though he was blessed with a nicely chiseled face and cornflower blue eyes, he was also cursed with baby sensitive skin. He felt like his face was burning from steam rising from boiling water. Even with board shorts and a Chudley Cannons T-shirt, matched up with flip-flops on his feet, Purgatory couldn't be as hot as he felt now.
So, after popping a bubblegum into his mouth, he decided to venture out to the auditorium. The Foundation didn't really do much to renovate the building. All the stained glass remained as they were, and a cross still hung behind the pupil. The wooden pew seats served well for a lecture hall. Most curious of all, no one bothered to remove the confessional. Ron remembered that Hermione Granger, one of his best friends from school, that many believers would visit the confessional and confess their deepest and darkest sins to a priest. It was a very private moment between the believer and God's representative. But who would want to do that? Tell a stranger that you once had wicked dreams of shagging your best friend? He shuddered at the thought. What if the person sitting on the other side just happened to be someone you knew?
But this isn't a church anymore. So, what harm could there be, to sit in the confessional for a few minutes? Even though it was hot out, he couldn't help his curiosity. He plopped down on the seat. Bloody, it was cramped, almost like a coffin propped upright! He wondered why the Foundation never got rid of this old thing. It certainly didn't serve them any purpose.
He decided that he had enough fun in the confessional and returned to Charlie's office, but not before stopping by the kitchen to grab a cold drink. He took a slug out of the can as he walked back to the office. It was a shame he couldn't just leave at the moment. Even though he wasn't exactly a counselor like his brother was, he was currently a teacher at Hogwarts and had dealt with many kids in the three years that he had been the flight instructor. Of course, when he offered to take the shift today for his brother so that Charlie could take some time to run his errands, he didn't think it'd be a big brainer. After all, there wasn't any one in the world more messed up than Voldemort, and he's been vanquished, hadn't he?
When he reached the office once again, he leaned back in Charlie's seat, propped his foot on top of the files, and opened up today's edition of the Quibbler. He didn't really care much for reading the news, but he did it faithfully for his fiancée, Luna Lovegood, who was assistant editor-in-chief. Granted, over the years after reading Daily Prophet trash, the Quibbler had a better accuracy rate on its reportings, including Snorkack findings. So Cornelius Fudge had a heart attack; the price of frog liver went up five knuts. Lavender Brown acclaimed as the hottest astrologer of the year. Blah blah blah. He flipped the pages quickly to the sports page and groaned. The Cannons lost once again to Puddlemere United! Another quid lost to best mate Harry.
The wizard community in London wasn't actually small. Even though Ron finally got a mortgage for a small cottage on the outskirts of London, he was still surprised at the number of wizards and witches that do live there. Despite the size of population, he always found it a feat that gossip could still spread around easily. The gossip column, written by the one and only Parvati Patil, managed to cover all the latest flings, newest breakups, flashiest trends… how Parvati was able to dig these up, Ron never knew. But every time his best gal pal and best mate made it on the gossip column, he was never short of a laugh. Apparently, every one still hadn't given up the rumors of them being together.
Placing the paper down on the desk, he glanced at the wall clock. Only about an hour more and Charlie would be back. Well, it was now or never. Might as well take a kip since no one has dropped by for counseling. He placed his head over his arms on the desk and closed his eyes and drifted off into slumber land.
He was dreaming. There was actually a cooling system installed in the office, and Luna was wearing his favorite outfit, a little black dress that fitted her body. She was sitting on his lap, holding two champagne flutes in her hand as she caressed his chest. Then she took a sip of champagne and fed him with her mouth. He stirred in his sleep with a smile. Just before her lips touched his, he thought he could smell Calvin Klein Obsession. Hermione had given him a bottle last Christmas because he didn't smell that great all the time, and though he didn't appreciate her pointing out that he had body odor, Luna loved the scent very much. It was a habit to spray a tad bit before going out with Luna. It was odd that Luna would spray his cologne, but it was his dream.... Just a little bit of the cologne was strong enough, but his nose was slightly irritated with the intense smell. Wow! Luna really did like the cologne! He should ask Hermione where she bought it.
"Forgive me for I will sin," he heard a soft deep voice as he continued to sleep. "I have been searching for absolution for a year, and I hope to receive it from you, Father."
All of a sudden, Luna disappeared from his lap, and he was inside the confessional. It was suddenly warm again. He looked down at his clothes, and instead of the Cannons shirt, he was wearing a black cassock. "But I'm not a priest," he protested.
Yet the voice on the other side of the grate just snickered as he continued. "Please here my confession, and tell if I may obtain absolution, Father."
Ron shook his head with confusion. "Uh, so… what is it that you wanted to confess again?"
"Forgive me, Father, for I will sin."
"Wait a minute. Are you trying to confess a sin that you haven't committed yet?"
Another snicker. "Are you annoyed yet, Father? Angry?"
"No, not really. Just confused. You're asking for absolution, but how can you ask for forgiveness for something you haven't done yet?"
"Ah, but I haven't named my sins yet, Father."
"So, why are you asking again?"
"I went to another priest a year ago, and he refused me absolution. All I could say that he shouldn't have made that mistake. And you shouldn't do the same thing either"
Ron felt goosebumps on his skin, even though it wasn't cold, just eerie. "And why is that?"
"Because I'm not lying at all, Father. He could have stopped me. I was only… practicing. It was all so new to me, and he could have found an easy way to stop me. But he didn't. So, God can't blame me. Now, it won't be that easy. I got it perfected now."
Ron was really confused now. What was it that he perfected?
A small sigh before he continued. "I thought I could control it."
"Control what?"
"The craving"
"So what was the sin that you confessed?"
"Her name was Narcissa. A nice, pretty, and confident name, isn't it? Her friends called her Cissa, but I didn't. I preferred Narcissa, like the god Narcissus. Of course, I wasn't really what you would call her friend.
A burst of laughter pierced the dead air. Ron could feel perspiration beading down his forehead, but he felt cold. This felt too real to be a dream, but it was one, was it? He dreaded to find out more, but he was compelled to ask.
"What happened to Narcissa?"
"I broke her heart."
"I don't understand….I thought she was…"
"What do you think happened to her?" the voice demanded, clearly showing his impatience. "I killed her. It was my first, and it was messy. There was blood everywhere, all over me. I was terribly inexperienced then. I hadn't perfected the technique. When I went to confession, I hadn't killed her yet. I was still in the planning stage, and the priest could have stopped me, but he couldn't. I told him what I was going to do."
"Prayer," he replied, a shrug in his voice. "I told him to pray for me, but apparently he didn't pray hard enough. I killed her, didn't I? It's a pity, really. She was such a delicate little thing, so beautiful and delicate…..more so than others…"
Oh God, there were more???
"How many crimes are we talking about---"
The voice interrupted him. "Sins, Father. I committed sins, but I might have been able to resist the urge had the priest helped me. He wouldn't give me what I really needed."
"And that was?"
"Absolution and acceptance. I was denied both."
Ron jumped when the stranger slammed his fist against the grille suddenly. Rage that must have been simmering just below the surface now erupted full force as he spewed out the grotesque detail of exactly what he had done to poor innocent Narcissa.
He was overwhelmed and grossed out by the horror of it all. Dear God, he wanted out of this dream! Even after Voldemort's destruction, he felt that nothing could have been more grotesque than that night, the Death-Eaters shedding so much innocent blood. But this was something that he apparently couldn't stomach.
"I've developed a real taste for it," the man whispered.
"How many women have you killed?"
"Narcissa was only the first. There were other infatuations, and when they disappointed me, I had to hurt them, but I didn't kill them. After I met Narcissa, everything changed. I watched her for such a long time, and everything about her was… perfect… that is until she betrayed me." His voice turned into a snarl at this point. "She thought she could fool me with her games, but I'm so much smarter than that. It wasn't any fun letting her torment me with her games. So I had to punish her."
"By killing her?" Ron's voice squeaked.
"No one will ever find her. There is no evidence left of her body. Naturally, I have my ways. But it was perfect. It was thrilling. Hearing her squeal like a pig under me. Oh, how I loved that sound! Made my blood boil with excitement! So much more exciting than sex. So of course, I had to make it even more exciting. Until she couldn't bear it any more.
Ron couldn't find his voice to speak. This was a little too much for him, even if it seemed surreal.
"So, Father, are you going to ask if I am sorry?"
"No. You don't sound like it."
The voice turned into a hiss. "The craving's back."
Ron shuddered. "But you could get people to help. There are people… the Foundation…"
"What, lock me up?" the man laughed sinisterly. "No, I only punish those who hurt me. I'm inculpable. You must think I'm sick, don't you, Father? And don't lie, because you're only suppose to tell the truth."
"Yes, you are definitely nutters." Ron cringed.
"I don't think so. I'm just dedicated."
"You really need help."
"I found a new client."
"Another woman?"
"But of course. I only take women for my clients." The man sighed. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on. I've been watching her. Her soft scent warms me, and her voice is so sweet. Oh, and her body… hmm…does marvelous things to mine…. I watch her every night when she sleeps, listen to her quiet sounds of breath… she's not yet perfect, but she will be, soon. And I want her all to myself."
"You've got to be kidding…"
"And don't you want to know who she is?" the man laughed again. "If I tell you, you'd probably tell, wouldn't you? But you can't! We're in a confessional!" He laughed harshly again. "But it's all right. I'm changing the rules for you. You can tell anyone you want. Sure, it's all in your hands. In fact, I've already sent a letter to the officials. They'll receive it by the end of the day. But do you want to know who she is?"
"Why would you want me to tell?"
He snickered. "Makes the game even more interesting, don't you think? It will help me to go beyond perfection. Who are you thinking of telling, dear Father? Want me to tell you who's on your mind right now?"
"No."
He snorted. "Doesn't matter. I know exactly who you have in mind, Father. You have a friend who works as an investigator. One of the best in the entire bureau. Your friend with the black hair and green eyes, and that scar. Yes, I know who your friend is." He laughed sadistically as he heard Ron gasped. "And I know who you are, Ronald Weasley. Yes. Tell Harry Potter about this. It's not just a dream, you know."
The man pulled the curtains apart from the confessional before he whispered. "Tell her that I'll be waiting for her to reach perfection."
Ron sat up in shock. He looked around him, and sighed when he realized that he was still in the office. He looked down at his clothes. No cassock. The clock showed that Charlie should be due back any minute. Even though the thermometer showed that it was burning, he couldn't help but shudder with a chill in his bones. What a dream he had! Another shiver shot through his back. No way he'll ever want to go through that again.
He heard Charlie Apparating in the auditorium and sighed with relief. It was about time that he was back! He pulled himself off the chair, and while bending over to tie his shoe laces, he accidentally bumped into a pile of folders. Quickly, he picked up the folders, but to his surprise, there was a manila folder with his name on it, hiding underneath his chair. Curious, he opened it up and pulled out a folded sheet of white paper and a Muggle tape. He read it quickly, and his face whitened as Charlie walked into the office.
"Hey, Ron, thanks for sitting in for me!" Charlie called out good-naturedly. He paused in his steps as Ron stared back at him. "What's the matter there? What's that you got in your hands?" He quickly reached over and took the paper from Ron. "Oh, my God….." he whispered as he let the paper drop to the floor.
Hermione Granger… Almost perfect… Almost mine… written in blood.
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