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 Evil's Monologue

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Nubillia Auctor

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Posts : 11
Join date : 2012-01-16

PostSubject: Evil's Monologue   Sat Apr 14, 2012 12:44 am

Nubilia was never in any doubt that she had to do something to make her claim to evil, or whatever that has to be done to establish your part as an evil-doer, but then that something had always been dependable to her. She could do something now, something later, something tomorrow. She was never sure exactly when, but then they did tell her that timing was key. And it was - timing was everything. The right time to act, the right time to keep quiet and the right time to strike fear into the hearts of all on the opposing side.

Then there was the matter of what exactly to do. What else could she do? She’d already ordered the murder of Aberforth Dumbledore, the brother of one of the prestigious past headmasters of Hogwarts… it did seem like a good idea at the time, the aftermath simply wasn’t big enough for Nubilia’s liking. Cecily had slit his throat on Monday night, last week. It’d taken them at least until Thursday to find out that the stupid man was dead, a grand total of four days to make any impact. And what an impact. Apart from crying, and weeping, and all the usual behavior that was to be expected, after the funeral ended and the cremation ceremony finished, people forgot all about him.

That simply wasn’t good enough for her. Nubilia didn’t want people to forget and bloody move on with their lives; she wanted to make people remember, and quake with fear at the memories. She wanted to make more than just impact. She wanted to make history.

So obviously quiet murder wasn’t the way to go. That set her back at least two months in Nubilia’s almost inexistent plan of action. Stupid Aberforth. Maybe if Cecily had killed him in a more… explosive manner, for lack of better word, then maybe people would have noticed faster. Maybe. Or maybe he was really so much of a hermit that nobody would have cared if he lived or died or not.

Damn it all.

So what was there really left for her to do? She needed to make her mark on the wizarding world - and fast. Her mind ran through all the possibilities; explosion? No, that was in no was creative. And Nubilia prided herself on being at least a bit more creative than Fyedka was. And she was sure he could think of that on his own. Start a fire? That was just about as effective as an explosion was. A flood? No, too slow and clumsy. Apparate into the Ministry and start shooting killing curses everywhere? She could probably make her few Avengers do it (and she could also think of several who could possibly even enjoy it), but she knew Fyedka and a couple of the Avengers with sticks up their asses and no sense of fun would never approve, and would probably convince the others not to go throught with it.

But something at the Ministry was a good idea. Something to shake ‘em up a little bit. Shake them up, Nubilia murmured to herself, dipping her quill into the ink pot to the side and scribbling that down on the little scrap of parchment that sat in front of her. She tapped the table’s surface impatiently; ideas… ideas…

What if maybe she didn’t need to make everything go with a bang? She could easily cause panic; it was something that came almost naturally to her. Or, well, the people she usually associated herself with did.

Why did she have no ideas? She was usually bursting full of ideas. Why not now? The parchment in front of her remained depressingly empty, only the three words ‘shake them up’ scratched in messy cursive near the top. Nubilia set the quill down, leaning back in her chair and putting her arms up behind her head; the universal sign for relaxing. Maybe she needed a break. Inspiration would come - she knew it would eventually. It just needed the right push

Her gaze flitted around the room, settling from the dingy sofa to the worn-down table with far too many scratches on it’s top to the book shelf pushed far to the back of the room then to the books that sat inside it. She usually hated reading, and the shelf was only there to fill up empty space. It was a formality, really; she couldn’t be here without taking some of her father’s books with her. It didn’t feel right to her.

But the books. Some of them were muggle (she kept them anyway. Anything that her father had once owned couldn’t be all that bad) and some of them were wizarding. Most of them were history books. History of the wizarding and muggle worlds. Nubilia fixed her eyes on one particularly dusty tome, eyes widening as she jumped up out of her seat, rattling the table and upsetting the small, lit candle in it’s stand, where it fell over and the parchment Nubilia was writing on caught fire.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled, and groped for her wand where she hastily put the fire out. Couldn’t have it burn down her only safe house and dwelling she had in this godforsaken country. Nevertheless, a huge grin spread slowly but surely across her face. This was it. This was what she’d have to do. She hadn’t been as happy as this in months of arriving in this shit hole island.

So the only question remained clear to her. When to do the deed? She could go in and do it now, didn’t she recently acquire a map of the Ministry? She was certain she wanted to do it in the Ministry, because that’s where people would take the most notice. And that’s what she wanted. People to notice her. Nubilia moved across the room, bumping into the table again in her haste to get across to her trunk of small, useful tidbits she’d stored over the months and begin rummaging in it. She knew she kept it somewhere, but where? She finally found it, ten minutes later, grasping the crumpled parchment tightly and beaming like she’d never beamed before.

Should she call Fyedka first? Should she get reinforcements and help from other Avengers? What should she do? A million question swirled in her mind, making her almost dizzy from it all. She wouldn’t tell Fyedka, that was for sure. He’d never approve of it, not this plan especially. So maybe she didn’t need help. She didn’t trust any of them to keep their mouths shut, anyway.

Glancing up at the clock with that old, cracked face that hung on the opposite wall, she decided she’d do the deed tomorrow. It was too late, anyway, and to get her maximum effect, she’d need as many people as she could possible get into the ministry all at once. She snatched a new piece of parchment from the stack in her trunk to start scribbling all the ideas she had flooding into her mind.

Who should she bring with her? She’d decide that later.

Grinning, Nubilia finally looked up from the parchment a while later, her hand sore from all the writing. She was proud of it; her first written plan ever. And it was practically fool-proof in her eyes.

So it was decided. She’d bring a couple of her Avengers tomorrow, at sundown, where the minitry’s atrium was sure to be flooding with people going in and out from work and changing shifts. The timing was flawless.

Picking up her wand, she waved it enthusiastically (a bit too much so; she hit the table several times hard in her haste to get the spell working) until a large, silvery raven appeared. She pointed it out of the tiny, open window, and it nodded it’s head before flying outside. Nubilia was confident that it would know where to go and who to find. The patronus was just another extension of herself.

By the day after tomorrow, people would be shaking under their bedsheets in utter terror of what she could potentially do to them. Nubilia would make sure of that.
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