The Brightest Black - A Dramione Fanfic

Images

Rita moved slowly, lifting up a tree branch, aiming her camera, and capturing one of the most horrifying images she had ever seen.

The entire graveyard was being swallowed in a sea of black as the dementors swept through it. It was only her little silver seagull, perched on the branch in front of her, that kept their icy, desolate aura from overwhelming her.

Rita had been to Azkaban a few times, to interview people. She'd seen the dead, uncaring looks in the eyes of those that had had all of their hope sucked away.

Not to mention her own time within those uncaring walls.

She could see the figures of the Order of the Phoenix, fleeing with their silver patroni.

She would flee too, if the Dark Lord hadn't told her to be here. He'd decided to fight words with words. Images with images.

She captured another picture, telling the camera to zoom in on Sirius Black, apparating out two shell-shocked and injured wizards.

She'd give the Dark Lord the images he desired. Showing his strength as he faced down the entire Order of the Phoenix. She'd give him pictures of dementors swarming over the dead and living alike.

But he'd never know of her other photographs.

She snapped an image of the two Black sisters standing beside their large, silvery patroni as they searched for any more survivors.

This had been such a stupid plan. The death toll was so high - on both sides. But she knew now why it had all happened.

The Dark Lord was a fool. Thinking the Order was stupid enough to let the Ministry hold such a public funeral for Albus Dumbledore without an ulterior motive.

Granted, the Order was foolish as well. They had underestimated the Dark Lord. There should have been more wards, more guards, more protections for all the innocents that were slain.

It made her sick, thinking back on all she had seen that day. All the images she had caught.

Rita knew better than to think that the Order would take the blame though. No, Rufus Scrimgeour had died this day and he had been Minister of Magic. All blame would be laid at his feet, and no one would raise a voice to save his reputation. He would be remembered as a foolish, overconfident hero of the wizarding world.

And, much as she liked to destroy images, Rita would let this one slide.

She had bigger fish to fry.

A few more shots of the graveyard and she tapped the camera with her wand, closing it up and sending it back into her bag.

She was about done here.

After a quick look at her grandfather's old gold watch she slipped into her animagus form and slipped off the branch, her little seagull following faithfully.

There was no way she was letting it go away yet. Not with all those newborn dementors nearby.

She really wished the Dark Lord hadn't found that terrible room at the Ministry when he decided to go after the prophecy himself. Still, the discovery of that room had helped balance out his anger at finding the prophecy gone.

You win some, you lose some.

A low moan, so quiet she barely picked it up with her antennae, slipped through the air.

Curious, and with a bit of time to spare, she turned in the air and landed on the trunk of a thick oak tree. Scurrying around, she found the source of the moan.

A Weasley.

He was in bad shape as well.

His left foot was bent the wrong way and she could see a bit of bone poking out. There was blood trickling down his neck from somewhere on his skull.