If she was going to actually be the next Head of Hogwarts, that is.
It was a shame the sun was so bright, Hazama Kuroo--Known as Dr Black Jack in the muggle world and a slightly different name in the wizarding one--decided. What it should have been was downcast, a cold wind whipping down the alleyways while the raindrops threatened to fall...
The Boy Who Lived looked miserable but determined, huddled with his two friends. Once he'd looked in his direction, and Kuroo had been disturbed to see that he indeed did have his mother's eyes behind those Potter glasses and Potter hair.
No wonder a--certain person--had hated the sight of him.
He missed his assistant-and-foster-daughter, even though he'd hugged her goodbye only two days ago, and with any luck would see her this evening or tomorrow at the latest.
Dear, dear Pinoco, who'd he'd "saved" on a whim, and because he wanted to know if he could...
It warmed his heart to remember her, squashed-up cuteness, big brown eyes and fluffy brown hair and all. She wasn't really a little girl, of course, even if she looked that way--theoretically, she was the same age as her twin sister, and said sister had been 18 when he first met her as his patient, so she was actually ellegeable to vote by Japanese law and she had for a while.
If she'd actually had a proper ID and such, that is. Though a twenty-something year old who looked like a elementary school kid would be somewhat difficult to explain...
He wondered once again if it would have been better if he'd brought her here after all in some way or another, and decided yet again that it really would have been too dangerous. It was almost too dangerous for him as it was. All it needed was one auror, or something even worse, with a bee in his, her or it's bonnet...
Albus Dumbledore's funeral was just much too much of a public event to risk such a thing.
Hazama Kuroo looked around him, and sighed, feeling the eyes upon him, and the whispers. Well, he'd known his face--his real face, anyway--was quite noticeable from quite a young age, anyway. The great scar running down his face, and the noticeably darker skin on one side ...Not to mention the shock of white hair on that side. He remembered that childhood accident, and sighed. If it hadn't been for that muggle doctor and the friend who had offered to let him graft his skin, it was quite possible he could have died, wizard or not...
It was part of him, though, and he wasn't going to hide it. Not now, not at Albus Dumbledore's funeral. He'd had enough of glamours. Not to mention that he was probably less noticable this way, in the ways that mattered, since most of his former classmates and such wouldn't connect Hazama Kuroo the former Ravenclaw with the scarred man...
Born theoretically Pureblood but illegitimate, he'd been brought up by a muggle foster-mother who'd loved him dearly. It still hurt him that he hadn't been able to do much to make her life better. One day she'd fallen ill, and it had been all over by the time the letter her friend had sent him had managed to make it's way through both the muggle and magical post systems.
But then, at least she hadn't seen him ending up being kicked out of both the Magical and Muggle Medical systems...
Not that he regretted what he had done, either time. Not really. Not truly.
--The Patient Should Come First, damnit.
Always.
There were plenty of people here that he'd known once upon a time, and even a couple that were related to him in one way or another.
None that he wanted to talk to, though. Not enough to attract any additional attention to himself, at any rate.
...Actually, no. There was one person he would have wanted to speak to in such a situation, once.
But no more.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was dead, and there was nothing to be done about that any more.
At long last, the funeral was over.
Hazama Kuroo wondered just what he had come here for at all. To pay his respects to the old so-and-so? Had that really been it?
Or maybe it was just to make sure the old cooger was actually dead and gone...
Though he really should be heading back while the going was good...Since he was here at all, maybe he could wander around his old alma matar a little. It was quite possible that he'd never come here in his life again, and he hadn't gone to the Ravenclaw towers in ages...
He slowly walked around the grounds, passing a weeping Hagrid on the way. Just a little more, and there should be that little shed he had done a fair amount of his experiments in...
And that was his undoing, for it was at that very moment that a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and flung a red goldfish hair-tye in front of his eyes.
"You know what this is, don't you."
He did. Oh, he did. And that voice...
"Come with me now."
He knew who that voice belonged to.
"--You killed him, I hear."
Why was his voice so calm?
He craned his head around, seeing the black robes and the white mask.
"--Been partying, old friend?"
"No time for that."
The long, thin fingers wriggled the hairband suggestively.
"Now--Come."
It was supposed to be impossible to apparate in Hogwarts grounds, was the last thing Hazama Kuroo thought as he fell.
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(Posted Wed, 07 Sep 2005 10:11)
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