The Dark Lord's Playbook of Nefarious Misdeeds

Toulouse Part 2

I needed time to process this adumbration of immense magnitude; it changes things and brings about a voluminous amount of questions that I don't even know where to begin to answer. I feel like I have been tipped upside down and shaken vigorously.

Practically, the last two decades have been about not only the stupid prophecy but also about that night- the night that Tom killed Lilly and James Potter. It is also rather confronting to know that some of what Tom has been saying since we ended up here was right, we are pawns on a chessboard. A sinister game playing with our lives. It makes me angry and quite frankly insulted. No, maybe offended would be the better word. I don't like the thought of having someone making me do something either through force or manipulation- and that is exactly what this is an illusion of free will. It disgusts me. And a teeny part connected to my wounded pride finds it humiliating. That I could have been hoodwinked for this long and not even realise it.

When, yes, when we return home something tells me that this whole situation is going to blow up. I have had enough of being played around with like a doll, and it is clear to me now a little more of why Tom was-is the way he is and the choices he has made. Not that I agree with any of it. I could never condone that kind of behaviour. But I can see that he was in a position of not many choices and he chose the most violent and bloodthirsty option playing right into the hands of Dumbledore regardless of what he thought- pride and ego will prevent him from ever admitting that.

Toulouse is a cleaner city than Paris- although I'm sure the smaller population helps with that. We are set up along the Garonne River on the Prairie Des Filtres. I head towards the northern end of the embankment the Pont Le Nouf providing a link between opposing shores and the Basilique Notre Dame La Daurade a rather imposing building sitting on the opposite side of the river looming over the canal boats as they lazily float past.

I turn back and look at our little stall with the words Apothicaire carefully painted on a spare piece of lumber and nailed to one of the large posts, on either side of our table. It's not pretty by any standards, but it does the job of advertising. The large strip of cloth hanging over our stall looks like a poor example of an umbrella or medieval tent from one of those Renaissance fairs.

As I draw closer to the stall, Tom looks up and notices my panic-stricken face. His eyes dart around me, trying to discern what has me in this state. I don't stop and throw myself into his chest bowling us both over.

"They're here!" I gasp out as we collapse on to the ground behind the counter, hoping the lush green grass has broken his descent.

"Who... is here?" Tom asks slightly breathless from the sudden change in gravity and my weight pressing down on his chest. In any other circumstance, I would have been blushing profusely in this position, and I'm sure Tom would have made some innuendo.

"The highwaymen, from the forest in England. How the f-hell they managed to end up here in the same town at the same time is beyond coincidence". I whisper yell, even to my ears I could hear the panic begin to take hold in my voice. Get a grip, I tell myself.

"Darling calm down, panic is not conducive to rational thinking. Now as much as I love to have you sprawled over me, the ground isn't comfortable"

"Right sorry" and I slip off to side resting against the shelving underneath the table.

"We should have just disposed of them when we had the chance," he says as a matter of fact while brushing himself off and moving into a kneeling position.