Angel's Revenge: Ingel Parri (Marauders' Era HP FF)

Chapter I

I-

She was wandering, sure, but she definitely wasn't lost. No, she knew exactly where she was going; she knew this street now like the back of her hand.

Only a few meters away on the near-pristine sidewalk was her target and his child, waiting less than patiently for the shiny black car to pull up to the curb. She narrowed her eyes at the tight grip her target had on the girl's upper arm.

She didn't dare show herself, not now. Not yet.

They got in the car, the man slamming the door. There was no need to tail them, though, as she'd been doing that for the past few weeks. She knew his schedule, his identification, his address, and his secrets. She knew he hit his daughter. She knew he visited the brothel every Sunday and Wednesday.

She watched his daughter, too.

The poor girl, Elody, was a half-blood, with a witch mother that was long dead. Her father was hopelessly ignorant of even the existence of the magical world. Elody was barely eleven years old, not even having received her letter to Hogwarts yet, but she would start that year.

The child spent as much time away from the rich, luxurious house-and her father- as she could snatch. However, she was home, always, on Mondays, sitting miserably by her father at the dining table that seated several dozen.

Perhaps she chose that night because she didn't want the child to see her father finally get what was coming to him.

She consulted her watch. It was five o'clock, Sunday.

The child was due at her best friend's house.

Frank Winstead was due at the brothel.

She slipped down the street, following the familiar path to the Winstead house. She, YYY, would be waiting.

~0~

She could hear the slip-slap of the door opening and closing, the jangling and rustling of keys and coats, the squish-suck of rain-wet shoes on the marble, and then a muffled thudof every footstep on the carpet.

Even knowing exactly where he would go next, she couldn't help but tense as Frank Winstead passed the door that she was waiting behind.

The office chair in his study rolled out loudly, and then there was the sound of air escaping from the cushion under his weight.

Then, she waited for the alcohol to make an appearance.

It didn't take long.

Frank Winstead took out a bottle of vodka and a glass. He poured himself a generous amount.

"Cheers," he said, clinking the bottle and the glass together before knocking the vodka back. He opened his mouth, his tongue hanging out a bit, and let all his breath out at once.

She watched patiently as Frank Winstead drank himself silly, mildly surprised that he'd gone so far. Had anything happened in the hours he'd been gone?

That was none of her concern, anyway. Her business was in killing.

At half-past twelve, Frank Winstead stood and stumbled to his bedroom. She waited a moment before following.

YYY found him lying on top of his made bed, eyes closed and snoring thunderously. He still wore his clothes and now-dry shoes.

She took the wire from her pocket, holding it in her right hand, and approached the monster, careful not to wake him. Drunk as he may have been, he wasn't exactly dead to the world. She had to be cautious.