History of the World Volume VI Chapter 8 The Rule of Turpin – Soul
A spiritual identity, labeled most commonly as soul, is held by all things animate and inanimate. Emperor Turpin has been quoted on the topic, most recently in 1803 AD after a particularly bloody uprising based out of the Americas. "Time and struggle leech my joy, my very soul away until all that remains is an idea and a purpose. My idea is Utopia, a world of peace where every creature has its place. My purpose is ruling, warring, and killing. And it is enough reason to keep living."
Modern thinkers take this statement...
The world had gone dark and still. Submerged in a pool of stagnant water, Lily drifted away. She had lost her last grip on the world, on her life. No light remained, no hope.
But there was warmth.
Two stones knocked together on her chest, burning her. She lifted her hand through the darkness and wrapped it around the stones. Light seeped through her fingers, warm red and yellow melted through the dark until she was free, until she was home. Lily sucked in a lungful of clean wood-polish scented air. She opened her eyes on a world that she visited frequently in her dreams. She was in her home, her true home. The curtains were open wide, letting in the morning sunshine. Light seemed to fill every corner of the hall. She looked up the stairs just as her boys started down. James and Harry were together, talking about Quidditch by the sound of things. Her son was growing like a weed, too tall to be just twelve. She wanted to ruffle her hands through the wild hair he had inherited from his father. But she restrained herself. Twelve-year-old boys didn't want to be treated like babies.
"Morning, Mum." Harry gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek before heading past her toward the library. James took Lily by the hand and pulled her forward with them. Lily floated along in this lovely world, the best of her dreams.
They found her baby girl in the library. She was sitting cross-legged on the settee, wearing a pretty puffed-sleeve white dress and blue ribbons in her hair. A miniature stuffed unicorn pranced along the path of her thigh. Harry sat beside his sister and began pestering her immediately. He tugged at her hair, and stole one of her ribbons. James didn't see. He had walked to the bookshelf.
Lily opened her mouth to scold Harry, but she choked on the words. A foul taste filled her mouth and a steady river of black slime flowed out. No, Lily thought desperately. Her back spasmed and she felt her body twisting into a new form, a form that could neither rise nor speak. The colors faded out of the world until she saw only in a washed out field of grey.
And her baby was screaming. Isobel had climbed onto the arm of the settee. James rushed to his little girl and lifted her away from the monster on the floor. Lily wanted to explain to James that it was her, to beg him for help, but a mournful croak was all she could produce. James turned away from her. She was sinking into the river of black, the stagnant slime had returned for her.
"Mom?" Harry rose off the settee, but he didn't turn away. He waded through the back slime, sinking into it past his hips, but he continued to her side. "It's okay. I love you." Despite her form, he wrapped his arms around her and he held her. "Don't leave. Please?"
Lily awoke crying, her hands locked tight over the charms at her neck. She opened her mouth to gasp in a breath, and nothing flowed out except air. Afraid of what she would find she lifted her hands, slender human fingers and a tapered delicate wrist had returned. "God," she whispered, a simple monosyllable that no longer had to be wrenched from her throat.
The Healer, Heiko, entered the room with a tray of potions. When he realized that Lily was awake, his smile spread wider. Dropping the tray carefully on a table, he started chattering excitedly in Vietnamese.
Lily was too busy cataloging herself to worry about understanding her Healer at that moment. She ran her hands over her face, her neck. She traced the curve of her chest to her waist and threw back her blanket to reassure herself that she really was clean and human and whole all the way to her toes. Lily looked at her hands again, searching for any mark of the Bog Golem. There was nothing to find. She looked up at Heiko. "Is it over?" She tugged nervously at the men's sleeping shirt she was wearing, feeling suddenly exposed. "It has to be over."
Heiko threw his hands up dramatically. He rummaged around through a pile of goods at the foot of her pallet and brandished the translation conch. "Over the last week caring for you, I forgot that you did not speak my language. Welcome back, Lily. How do you feel?" His grin was broad and joyous.
Lily shivered, the memory of her transformation and the battle she had waged in her mind still too fresh and raw. "You saved me, healed me. Thank you seems inadequate, but thank you."
"You are welcome," Heiko said. "But I was paid for my call to the brothel, and the chance to work with a newly cursed Bog Golem for the past week has been more than enough payment for my ministrations. Bog Golems are a hobby my mentor passed along to me. There is a colony of them nearby."
"I don't even know what they are." Lily remembered the way the river had felt to the creature, the overwhelming pull of its instincts, and she shook her head, ready to forget.
"Oh, they are fascinating," Heiko said. "Wizard-made you know, a cursed species, like werewolves. They don't breed from what we've been able to tell. Every Golem in the current colony was once a human."
Lily blanched at the thought of other people imprisoned in the Bog Golem, trapped by the form and its mindless instincts. "Can't you help them?" Lily asked. "You helped me. Why don't you help them?"
His smiled faded to a hurt grimace, and Heiko took a step back. "You think me very cruel to ask such a question. If they could be helped, I would. This method of helping was mastered by experimentation on the Bog Golems of the colony." Heiko wasn't looking at Lily as he spoke. His eyes were focused past her, out through the window. "I striped away the cursed form and returned the human face and limbs and torso, so many lovely girls." He shook his head, a bitterly sad expression on his face. "But there was never anything left of them. Without the Bog Golem's instincts, they were empty marionettes, their human minds consumed long ago."
"Oh," Lily whispered. She had nearly been consumed. Her children's spirits had saved her. Lily wrapped her hand around her charms. Harry made her stay. "Do you put them out of their misery then? You don't keep them, do you?" The thought of this Healer keeping rooms of soulless girls suddenly terrified Lily.
"It would be tempting, but no, I've simply let them revert and return to their colony."
"You make them revert," Lily gasped. "Why?"
"I let them revert," Heiko corrected abruptly. "It takes work to keep a Bog Golem human. The potion brewing alone is a major undertaking. Do you enjoy making potions Lily?"
"But I'm not cured?" Lily rubbed the tips of her fingers together, looking for a hint of slime. She shook her head completely horrified. "I thought I was cured?"
"Curses are not so easily discarded," Heiko scolded, seemingly offended at her squeamishness. "Lycanthropy is still around for a reason. I can teach you a potion that will keep you human. You need never change forms again."
"No, it's not that. You are an amazing Healer, and I'm lucky you helped me. But I'm still cursed, only human by the grace of a well-brewed potion?" Lily robbed the tips of her fingers together again and again.
"You are both cursed and lucky," Heiko agreed. "You are the only one of your kind, a girl bearing the Bog Golem curse but free and human and of sound mind. A very lucky girl."
Lily nodded numbly, still rubbing her fingers together. "Can I see them, the colony? Can I see the unlucky ones?"
Heiko nodded solemnly. "I think you should."
"Wake up!"
Harry jerked awake, still hugging his pillow. He'd been having a vivid dream, a dream of his mother. Usually the dreams of his mum were indistinct things, happy glimmers of light and sound that followed him into wakefulness with a warm feeling of being loved and wanted and missed. This dream was different. Something dark was threatening his mother, clawing at her and tainting what was normally a joyful thing. Harry knew the dreams weren't a reflection of reality. Statistically speaking, his mother being alive at all was next to impossible. Why would he dream that something was trying to hurt his dead mother?
"Harry we have to get to the transportation circle. Do you want to go to school or not?" Hermione shouted. "Out of bed!"
He glanced at the clock ticking on the wall and cursed under his breath. Eight, already? "Crap, crap, crap." Harry scrambled out of bed and started stuffing the last of his things into his trunk. They had made their yearly supply run, which meant he had twice as much junk to get to school with.
Hermione had her trunk packed and was already dressed in their new second-year, yellow trimmed robes. The girls and boys came and went in each other's dorms, but they usually respected the mornings as a time when people were trying to get dressed. Harry grabbed his robes for the day and gestured at Hermione to leave.
"You really don't have time to be shy." She grabbed the handle on her trunk and headed for the exit.
Harry started getting dressed the moment her back was turned. He really didn't have time.
Rain misted lightly over the courtyard behind Malfoy manor, drenching the perfectly manicured, arcing topiaries of Narcissa's garden. Draco looked down at the garden from his bedroom window, already dressed and ready for school. He had rolled out of bed with his trunk packed and his clothes laundered and waiting. Mother ran a strict household, and her house-elves were so efficient that, for the most part, they were invisible, anticipating their masters' needs before the Malfoys knew what they needed. It didn't even occur to him to take his trunk with him downstairs. The house-elves would see to it.
The smell of breakfast: bacon, eggs, and something with cinnamon wafted from the dining hall. His mother and father were already seated. His dad was entertaining an associate, it seemed. Not unusual, but Draco was careful to sit so that the scar of his veto faced away from their guest. It wasn't a secret among any circles, but his father didn't need any family shame shoved down a business associate's throat.
"I can count on you to give this the highest priority," the sharp-faced guest asked. "We are fairly sure the perpetrators are based in your jurisdiction. The Wardens want no interference retrieving their prisoner or those who helped him."
Lucius nodded. "If my people pick up anyone bearing the mark of Vociferor, we'll just dump them back on the street. No one wants to get in the Wardens' way, Nott."
Narcissa smiled at Draco, ignoring the business talk. She served him eggs and toast and touched his hand for just a moment as she set the plate in front of him. "You look very handsome," she said quietly.
"Is this your son?" Nott asked suddenly, He turned his sharp brown eyes and narrow focus across the table. "Could you turn your head, boy, I've never actually seen a veto?"
Draco didn't stop stirring his eggs. He glanced to his father for direction, but Lucius was staring away, seemingly disinterested in the moment. Draco continued with breakfast, but he turned his head so that the visitor could have a nice long look at the white line running down his jaw.
"Did it hurt?" What should have been a commiserating question, sounded amused and unkind. "It must have."
"And how is your son?" Lucius asked. He turned back to Knott with a chilly smile. "I hear that Class III is offering some new specialties. What is his area? Some kind of dance, I heard. Is he good at it?"
Nott's malicious grin froze, and he directed his attention back to Lucius. "My son is Class II, as I'm sure you're aware, and the arts are pursued on all levels of education for those skilled in them."
"The arts," Lucius said with a chuckle. "Yes, of course."
"Couldn't we interest you in some breakfast, Governor Nott?" Narcissa poured herself a fresh cup of tea, regarding her houseguest with serene disinterest, seemingly oblivious to the tension shooting between him and her husband. "The house-elves waste so much, when we really eat so little." She waved at the steaming piles of food.
"I wish that I could stay, Lady Malfoy." He inclined his head sharply. "But I need to be going."
Both of the Malfoy men rose with Nott, and Lucius followed him out of the room. Draco dropped back into his seat, but he didn't resume eating right away. Discussion of the mark on his face and his life inevitably blunted his appetite. If it weren't for Riddle's Veto, he would be a real asset to his father, Class I, nearly the top of the class. How many of his colleagues could claim such children? He was even well ranked (for a twelve year old) in the Quidditch program.
"He really is quite proud of you," Narcissa said. She smoothed her starched napkin and placed it on her gleaming, unused plate. "Promise to be very careful at school, in Riddle's class especially. He doesn't like your father, and he could do anything to you for the least provocation."
"I'm aware, and I will," Draco said. "You be careful too." The caution might have seemed odd. It wasn't that his mother was likely to be engaged in any dangerous activities. Directing house-elves wasn't exactly risky, but she was delicate in a way he had sensed for most of his life without really understanding. Growing up around her obsessions, he had only realized as he grew older that they weren't normal. Some days she made the house-elves polish the silver over and over, some days she carved the topiaries in her garden, using her wand to perfect their smooth arcs for hours on end, and some days she scrubbed her hands until they were raw and red. His mother's peccadilloes were something his father chose to ignore. Lucius simply stayed away when she was at low ebb, the oddness of her obsessions most obvious. Draco was glad to escape her perfectly organized, gleaming home to go to school. But part of him worried about her, wandering the halls alone, chasing down imperfections and buffing them away.
"It's time to go." Lucius stood in the doorway, waiting. "I've got the circle primed."
Draco went to his mother before following his father to the door. He leaned down and kissed her on her smooth, pale cheek. "I'll see you at Solstice."
"At Solstice." She nodded. "Farewell."
Dragging his trunk along behind him, Ron cut through the crowds of students who had already deposited their trunks in their dorms and were now free to mill about visiting their friends. Of course, they had arrived on time for their transit through the transportation hub. His mother had run him late enough that he had missed his class' group transit and had been forced to wait through Class II, III, and IV's transportation groups before they could send him along with the other Class I stragglers.
The year two dorms were completely full when he finally made it in. There was a trunk sitting in front of every bed, except one. The beds were grouped along one wall, with desks against the other. Ron sighed and dragged his trunk over to the last unclaimed spot, wondering who he was stuck by for the year. It was probably Forest on one side. Forest was such a slob that his things generally crept into his neighbor's space, making dorm life one more degree of unpleasant.
While Ron was unpacking his robes, the door banged open and Harry and Draco came jogging through. They were windblown and both holding brooms. Harry's glasses had slid halfway down his nose.
"Ron, you made it," Harry called. "I saved you a spot." He stowed his broom carefully at the head of his bed, the bed next to Ron's. He nodded towards the broom and beamed. "A birthday present from Draco. What do you think?"
"Wow." Ron stared at the broom. It was streamlined and black, positively wicked. Draco bought Harry a birthday present? Ron hadn't got anyone a birthday present. It wasn't that it hadn't occurred to him, but he figured Hermione and Harry didn't have spending money for buying people things, and he didn't want to make anyone feel bad. "It's nice."
"Just a little payback for helping me with my birthday party," Draco said with a casual smirk. "Good summer, Weasley?"
"I suppose so," Ron groaned. "My mum was completely barmy all summer. She didn't want to let me out of her sight, her last baby at home."
"Oh, lord help him, Ron's mummy loves him too much," Hermione said sarcastically from the doorway. "Did your dad make you eat ice cream too? How did you ever survive?" She looked him up and down then added, "Yellow is not your color."
Ron turned to Hermione, frowning. She was neat as a pin in her new school robes, all except her hair. Its untamed riot was the only clue that an uncouth, Muggle-raised girl approached. Well, it was the only clue until she opened her mouth. "Do you have to be unpleasant to me first thing?" He turned to Harry. "I have to hang out with her. What's your excuse?"
Harry shrugged and smiled. "She's rather useful in a fist fight."
Hermione continued forward until she was standing next to Ron. Their bickering hadn't signaled a return to the wariness of their first year together. Bickering had turned into a bit of a ritual with them, a way to interact comfortably. "In the hall, they just announced an assembly for one o'clock. That's in twenty minutes. So I'm going."
"We'll walk with you," Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes, but did follow when they set out.
"What kind of assembly is it?" Ron asked. "The first year students will still be getting their supplies. It must not concern them?"
"I guess," Harry said. The students were all trickling toward the main hall for the assembly and for lunch, so they flowed along with them. "Maybe it's Quidditch related?"
"God, why do boys think everything has to be about Quidditch?" Hermione asked.
"We don't think it has to be," Ron said. "It's just our secret hope."
Draco took the lead heading into the hall and cut toward a knot of yellow-accented robes - other second years. He took the seat next to Lisa, and they all piled onto the bench with him. Lisa turned to Draco and smiled. She nodded warmly to Harry and ignored Ron and Hermione's existence.
Harry stared toward the teachers' table at the oblong black stone sitting front and center. It was the same stone that had chosen Ron's brother Fred last year. The same people had returned. Were they here to recruit another red-eyed soldier? Harry stared at the stone, transfixed, wondering. The witches' leader, Oscasia, stood beside McGonagall, her perfectly-coiffed black hair left free to tumble down her back in an orderly river of wavy curls. Golden jewelry clinked on her ears, around her neck, and on her wrists. She was pretty...and terrifying. The last time she had wandered into their school she'd taken Ron's brother, an amiable, good natured guy, and in short order, turned him into a curse-spitting, red-eyed imperial enforcer. Harry stared at the dirty stone, remembering its gritty, sticky surface. Hermione had felt the stone's character last time, same as him. Would it want one of them today?
"Settle down," Professor McGonagall commanded. She stood stiffly, obviously unhappy to be standing next to the bejeweled Oscasia again this year. "We have a visitor today, the Lady Oscasia. She is going to address you." McGonagall nodded perfunctorily and stepped aside.
Oscasia moved forward and tapped the divination stone with her wand. The students that had looked up at her with interest last year now stared up with fear and worry. It was no secret that Fred had not faired particularly well when taken by her, and no one wanted to go the same way. Harry leaned across Ron to whisper to Hermione, "Think anyone would notice if we slipped out and skipped this? I don't much want to touch that thing again."
She shook her head grimly. "Her Priestesses are at the exits."
"Of course, my kingdom for an Invisibility Cloak," Harry muttered.
"What kingdom?" Draco snorted. "Why are you so worried?"
"Instincts." Harry nodded toward Oscasia and her dirty divination stone. "That's trouble."
"Hello, and welcome back to school." Oscasia said with a wide, white-toothed smile. "We have returned to honour another student with Special Dispensation, Service to the Emperor. Come forward youngest first, and be examined."
As the first years were still off getting their supplies, that meant second years would have first feel again. Harry flowed with the line, and he was ready for the gritty stickiness of the apparently clean stone this time when he touched it. His brushed as lightly as he could, but the surface seemed to suck at his fingers, thoroughly investigating his palm before releasing it. But release him it did. Relieved to have passed through another round with Oscasia and her stone, Harry returned to his seat and watched the others file through.
Unlike last time, the stone never turned red, and Oscasia came forward again after everyone had touched her Divination stone. She frowned and shook her head sadly. "Unfortunately, we will be honoring no one from your school today. Until next time."
"You can take your honor, lady," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I like my eyes green, thank you very much."
"She took your brother, right?" Draco asked. "I take it he didn't like his honor?"
"Considering that I haven't spoken to him in nearly a year," Ron said, "it's hard to say how he feels about it. But it isn't an honor, and it isn't good, that much I'm clear on."
Sitting in her now familiar, cushioned chair across from Governor Dumbledore, Melinda waited quietly and watched the man read. She had written his series of articles, on a medical disaster that hadn't happened. No one had thought of the plague Rutilus Terminus in seven years. But Albus Dumbledore wanted it to be on people's mind. He wanted the images of the disease fresh so that when he launched his planned depopulation of the group homes, no one would question the fake plague he had procured. He wanted it predicted, expected, and he wanted every respected Healer in the empire certain that a resurgence of Rutilus Terminus had struck Europe. Melinda's articles would help assure that.
Albus set the final article aside, and smiled at Melinda. "Thank you," he said simply.
"For selling my integrity? You found my grandchildren. It's a fair trade." Melinda crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "We have done a very thorough job crying wolf. The world has been reminded of a disease seven years dead. Are you ready to launch your plague? How much longer do you expect me to wait?"
Albus smiled faintly. "The plague is ready, and I dare say, your grandchildren will likely be retrieved long before your children are home to care for them. I hope you won't mind taking them in for a few days."
"Mind?" Melinda laughed humorlessly. She had never approved of Lily's choices, had never forgiven her for letting Harry and Isobel die. Not that they were actually dead, but they had been lost for a long time. "Lily may find I'm reluctant to hand their care back over to her when all's said and done."
Albus' faint smile faded and he nodded. "Thank you again, Melinda. Your name and impeccable credibility will make this much easier."
"Yes," Melinda agreed. "If it gets my grandchildren home safely and quickly, then it was worth it."
The Dark Arts classroom was a large space with expansive windows around its entire circumference. Riddle had disillusioned the ceiling so that the room appeared completely open as though one were standing in the sky. Despite the apparent openness, the room seemed small. Two men of great power and personality filled it from wall to wall without saying a word. Dressed in simple black robes that folded neatly about his sinewy frame, Salazar regarded his last living descendent silently. After centuries of following his line, of watching them without interfering, of waiting for a true equal, fate had provided him Tom. The handsome, powerful frame of a great wizard, he sat behind his professor's desk, with a superior smirk and a cool gleam in his eye. Decades of studying this descendant left Salazar certain only that Riddle was a hollow, dangerous, creature, without a glimmer of wisdom or a hint of compassion for anyone, possibly excluding his serpent Nagini.
Tom was the first of Salazar's line to seek him out, to ask his ancestor for the secrets of Slytherin, the knowledge he had amassed over his protracted life. But Tom wasn't an equal or a true heir. He was a power-mad pretender.
Salazar had set him a task in the hopes of teaching him, molding him, fixing him. Tom was to correct the problem he had created by drinking the Elixer of life before fathering a child. He was to create a Slytherin blood-heir. In return, Salazar agreed to share the knowledge Tom hungered for.
"Why are you here?" Tom asked. "I said I would send for you when I had your heir. Have you come to needle me about my slowness again? For an immortal, you are very impatient."
"Yes, I am," Salazar said. He crossed the room and stared down at Riddle with a look of distaste on his face. "I would like to know your plan to produce a Slytherin heir."
"I don't actually have a plan yet. These things take time," Riddle said casually. Truthfully, he knew the ritual he would use to give Salazar his heir; what he needed was a child, a worthy child, powerful, cunning, and strong. Anything less was an affront to the line of Slytherin. And it had to be a child, someone Tom could mold into his own likeness, someone he could control. "This isn't just any old spell. It must be carefully researched."
"Not good enough," Salazar said. "You were foolish enough to drink the Elixer of life without bothering to father a child, and I grow tired of waiting for you to redeem yourself. You have one final year to produce a true blood-heir, after that, I see no reason to continue our association. The Gaunt branch of the family was an embarrassment for generations. It's termination with you seems unlikely to redeem it." Salazar turned and walked away without looking back.
A fresh cool breeze slipped through the open windows and followed Salazar from the room. Its chilling touch tousled Tom's thick brown hair, pushed over his strong taunt jaw, but it did nothing to cool the fury burning beneath his handsome exterior. Salazar found the Gaunt family embarrassing? He wasn't alone in that assessment. The Gaunt branch of the family tree, his branch, had been a travesty. They had taken a sick bent toward preserving the traits of Slytherin through a pattern of inbreeding that had left the line twisted, snakelike, and almost devoid of magic. His cockeyed mother's preoccupation with Muggles saved him from a likely fate hissing in the woods with Uncle Morfin.
His mother, Merope...Tom closed his eyes and remembered her. She had loved her handsome son like she loved her kept Muggle. She lived for his visits, always excited at his prowess and power. She talked of the days when they would walk the streets of London, her son a powerful Governor. But she was an embarrassment, they all were, an embarrassment that Tom could ill afford on his journey to the Third Tier.
When he killed her, he made it quick. It was his gift to her.
She had loved him after all.
"Would you hurry up, Green?" Draco snapped. "We're going to be late." The pair raced up the tower stairs, faces flushed. Tardiness was not tolerated in Dark Arts. Riddle liked to use late students for examples when demonstrating hexes and jinxes. Nothing inspired punctuality like trying to sit through a Spell Crafting lesson with cheese leaking out of your nose.
Draco pushed through the hall door, grabbing the doorjamb to help with his high speed turn and raced the last steps to class, with Harry on his heels. He opened the door and stumbled in, gasping for air. But the room was silent and empty. Riddle wasn't even there yet. "Bollocks," Draco spat. "Class starts in thirty seconds. Where the Hell is everyone?"
"Very odd, but at least we aren't late." Harry was leaned over his knees breathing deeply, but he straightened when he caught sight of the missing walls. The room had always been light and open, a stark contrast to the subject taught inside. Riddle had enchanted the walls and ceiling so that sky greeted from every angle except the floor. The drapes danced around their invisible open windows, seeming to hang on air. "Wonder why he redecorated?"
Draco smirked. "Maybe he jumped?"
"You wish." Harry took a place in the student's circle by one of the pillows. He leaned back on his elbows and watched the clouds overhead. "You should try not landing us so many detentions this year. Riddle's a good professor for the most part. You have to admit that we learn more in here than anywhere else."
"We'll see if you still feel that way after he hexes you a few good times this year." Draco plopped down and joined Harry looking up at the sky. It was a nice day, blue skies and fluffy white clouds, excellent Quidditch weather.
The rest of their class, Millicent, Neville, Seamus, and Valerie came rushing in one after the other. Judging by their ripped robes and grumblings, Ecology's first lesson was going to be interesting. They each took a place in the circle, partners sticking together.
"I see Riddle's late," Millicent announced. She scooted closer to Neville and smiled smugly at everyone in the class. Neville just looked seasick.
Harry frowned at Millicent and Neville then leaned close to whisper to Draco. "What's got into them?"
Draco shrugged his disinterest. "He hexes with as much skill as my neighbor's cat. I'd look nervous too if I were him."
"He's not that bad," Harry said.
"No he is. If it doesn't involve Ecology, he's useless as a lump, and if you don't admit it, you're a liar."
Millicent sniffed loudly and scooted closer to Neville again. "I can't believe Professor Riddle is this late! We're missing our education."
"Who cares?" Forest said. "I'm all for missing my education."
The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up and he carefully drew his wand. Something wasn't right. He scanned the room, looking for a shadow where something might be hiding, but the room was so open that there really wasn't anywhere to hide. He elbowed Draco, certain that something was watching them.
Without warning, a jet of bright red light shot across the room and struck Millicent, toppling her. Another bolt followed quickly freezing Neville.
Harry let his instincts guide him. First casting an Expelliarimus vaguely toward the direction the light had come from, he grabbed Draco by the arm and dove under the professor's desk. They made it to cover in time to watch the rapid stunning of Valerie and Forest. Val had at least gotten her wand out. Forest was frozen with a comical frown of puzzlement creasing his brow.
"Riddle?" Harry hissed.
"Probably." Draco threw a couple of hexes they'd learned first year at the wall across the room. Not that he thought his Jelly Legs jinx was likely to penetrate Riddle's defenses. "He's testing us."
"Think we can make the door?" Harry asked. But the red light found Draco, freezing him with his wand extended. Making a last ditch scramble for the door, Harry was frozen in motion. He felt his body turn tight as iron, and he dropped like a stone.
The soft tapping of leather-soled shoes on stone traveled to the center of the room, where an Invisibility Cloak appeared as it revealed Professor Riddle. "You walked into a strange environment, where you knew the very walls and ceiling had been concealed, yet you didn't consider what else might be hiding from your eyes. Six students disabled and not a decent defense mounted by anyone. To say I'm disappointed would be a stark understatement." One at a time, he unfroze his students and motioned for them to return to the teaching circle. Groaning and grumbling could be heard as they stretched their abused muscles. Once they were seated and quiet, Riddle pointed to Millicent and she rose. "Please explain your incompetence."
"We're students. This is a class. You aren't supposed to ambush us!" She straightened her still-disheveled robes, a furious blush on her face. "It isn't fair."
"It isn't fair?" Professor Riddle mocked. "Try that excuse with a Troll that catches you wool-gathering in the woods." He turned to Neville. "What about you? Did you surrender from the unfairness of it all?"
Neville stood nervously as Millicent sat. "No, professor, I was just surprised".
"Better than your partner, but the troll will still be having Wizard stew for dinner," Riddle said. He leveled Valerie and Forest with a disgusted sneer. "There's no excuse for your incompetence. I gave you precious moments between the incapacitation of your classmates, and you sat around with your mouths open. It was disgraceful."
Draco was up next, but he didn't meekly shuffle to his feet to accept Riddle's judgment on his performance. He stood, angry and flushed.
"You had the common sense to follow where Green led you, though dragging dead weight isn't a practice I recommend. That mistake was Green's." Riddle stared dispassionately at Draco. "Any excuse for your inadequate response?"
"You want an excuse? Lording your sneak attack over us as though you did something great. How amazing you are, disabling tiny twelve-year-olds. Are we supposed to be impressed? You're the dis..." Draco might have said more, but Riddle silenced him by replacing the hex. Riddle placed an index finger on Draco's forehead and pushed him over like a domino.
"Your turn, Green," he said.
Harry stood quietly, already criticizing himself in his head, wondering what Riddle would say, trying to think of a better way he should have handled the situation.
"Casting a weak Expelliarimus and diving under my desk wasn't the best defense strategy." Riddle looked around the room at the other students. "But it was far from the worst in the class. If you could do it again, how would you handle things differently?"
How should he have handled it? "I don't know." Harry glanced at Draco, still frozen in the unnatural rictus. "Reviving my classmates might have been a good idea? I might have made it to the door while you were re-stunning them."
Riddle's mouth turned up in the faintest hint of a smile. "Millicent, Neville, Forest, and Valerie. Gather your things and head back downstairs. You'll find Ms. Noyce in room 106. She'll be teaching your Dark Arts Lessons from now on."
The students took a moment to digest his order, but gradually they gathered their things. On her way out the door, Milicent hissed angrily under her breath, "It's not fair. He's our only third tier professor. He can't throw us out. Can he?"
Harry watch them go, feeling strangely elated and terrified. Riddle had culled his class and Harry had made the cut. Draco had too it seemed, though he was frozen and toppled on the floor. Once they were alone, Riddle's smile widened. "Don't worry about your partner. He can hear the lesson fine. Now, what hex did I use to freeze you?"
Remembering the feeling of his locked muscles, Harry mentally ran through stunning spelling from their summer reading. "I think it was Petrificus Totalis?"
"Same family, but no." Riddle smirked toward Draco. "If you guess it, I'll let you try to unfreeze your partner."
The hospital Anok in Nottingham specialized in long term care for spell damage of a psychiatric variety. From Walter Covey, who thought he should be migrating south with the Geese, to Evan Weed, who thought it was his mission to eradicate dragons, the mentally unbalanced filled the first seven floors of the hospital. But beneath those seven floors, a sublevel held another type of patient. The doors to the sublevel read simply Quarantine, and almost none of the staff ever entered there. Gossip flourished at the assistant healer station about what terrible disease was sealed away below. But only those who entered had a clue. And they never spoke of it.
All conversation at the brightly lit Assistant Healer station died when a short plump Muggle, Celia, passed by, pushing a loaded meal trolley forward to the heavy door marked Quarantine. She left her load and inserted an ornate, rusty key into the door. A resonating creak spread through the workings of the door, and it swung slowly open. She reclaimed her key, pushed her cart through the door, and padded slowly down the gently sloping ramp. Quarantine was remarkably quiet compared to the rest of the hospital. Of course, the patients here weren't crazy.
Celia stopped at each door and peered inside to see the patients and make sure they appeared well. Then she slid a change of clothes through the slot in the door and a plate of food in after that.
Some doors she usually lingered at longer than others, but tonight she lingered with no one. There was one patient, 1943-E, all the way at the back, who was her favorite. She hurried there tonight. First she slid his change of clothes through, then his tray of food. Celia then arched her feet and pressed her eyes to the spy window. Patient 1943-E was a handsome one, long black hair and fierce dark eyes. He looked like a hero from a romance novel with his flat stomach and his wide strong hands. Tonight he was sitting on the bed. He turned toward the door and his supplies. It wasn't the supplies he looked at, but the grey eyes at the door. For the first few weeks he had screamed to her for help, for information, for anything. But she hadn't spoken, couldn't speak, as the master wizard had bound her tongue. And no one had ever taught her to read or write.
He watched her as he crossed the room and took his clean clothes. Only breaking eye contact when his shirt obstructed his face, 1437-E stripped away his soiled shirt and stood bare-chested. He had never been so bold before, never voluntarily acknowledged her and exposed himself thus. Celia stared, unblinking, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Then he spat at the spy window, obstructing her view with heavy yellow phlegm. Celia jumped back as though the spit hadn't stopped at the glass, but had hit her. Her face contorted into an annoyed frown she stepped slowly back to her food trolley and finished her rounds.
Inside the room, Sirius stared at the place where the voyer's eyes had watched and contemplated his situation. He was a prisoner. There was no doubt in his mind about that. But why was he imprisoned? This wasn't an imperial prison. A wanted man like himself commanded larger punishments than a padded cell. If the empire had Sirius Black he'd be cooling his heels somewhere slightly less cushioned like Siberia or the Sahara, or even the Field.
Logic translated that he was being held by another group, organized enough to have a prison to put him in. Not many groups fit that bill, and Sirius found himself contemplating why the Rebellion, why Albus Dumbledore, had locked him away.
None of the possible implications tasted well in his mouth. Hadn't they got the message about Peter? Didn't they understand what the lying rat had done? Were they punishing him for torturing Peter? Or maybe Albus wasn't the Rebel leader, gone slightly daft as Sirius had long feared, but a traitor like Peter? What if Albus was protecting the empire's secrets?
Sirius punched the padded wall grimly and wished for a wand, a file, anything to get him free. Instead of filing his way through the wall, he resigned himself to pacing and contemplating.
Lisa sat at the center of her usual flock of admirers. Amidst them, sitting to Draco's right, Harry seemed unphased by the crowd. Hermione and Ron were sitting just across from them, though Hermione seemed less than thrilled to be in close proximity to so many giggling girls.
"Dark Arts was the funniest thing I've ever seen," Lisa announced. "I knew something was going on when Hermione and Ron arrived ten minutes late and Riddle still hadn't arrived. He hit Ron first, while he was sitting down. I didn't linger to watch him topple like a tree. I ran for the door, while Hermione." - at this point Lisa started laughing so hard she couldn't continue for several seconds - "Hermione charged toward the direction the spell came from, screaming like a warrior Muggle. It was almost enough distraction to get me out the door." The girls around Lisa followed her lead and laughed heartily at the story. "Riddle kept me and Hermione, but discarded the rest."
Hermione seemed to be studiously ignoring Lisa, but was clenching her fork rather tightly.
"He split the class pairs," Draco crowed. "I told you it wasn't your coat tails that got me into his class."
"Maybe you didn't ride his coat tails," Hermione said without a trace of humor. "But I doubt Riddle kept you around for merit. He enjoys torturing you. Why would he send you away?"
Harry knew Hermione had touched the wrong raw spot with Draco when his friend's hand moved toward his wand. Harry purposefully reached across Draco to get a drumstick, and elbowed him soundly along the way. "Riddle is too annoyed with Draco's presence to keep him around for enjoyment, really." Harry shook his head warningly. Draco rolled his eyes and didn't draw his wand, but the look he shot Hermione hinted that he wasn't forgiving her insinuation.
Ron shrugged, oblivious to the byplay between Harry and Draco. "I'm glad to be shut of that class. Riddle's just scary, and Professor Noyce is much more interesting."
"Noyce is interesting?" Lisa asked. "You mean pretty."
"Hey," Harry said. He looked down the table where Milicent and Neville had been eating with a couple of other second years. Milicent had risen to leave, and she was waiting for Neville to come though it was obvious that he hadn't finished dinner. After a few moments he realized she wasn't leaving and with a terrified final swallow, he rose to follow her from the room. "What is up with those two? He's either scared of the raspberry puddling or something has to be." Harry said.
"You haven't heard?" Ron looked at least as terrified as Neville. "Milicent took him aside first day back and told him he was her boyfriend."
"And he just said okay?" Draco asked. "Completely spineless."
"What would you do? She's his class partner. He doesn't want to make her so mad on the first day that they aren't speaking. He can't say no," Ron moaned. "Girls can be bloody terrifying."
"Statistically," Hermione said. "Class pairs are ten times more likely to end up romantically involved because of close proximity. I've read some essays about it."
"Watch out, Ronald," Draco sniggered. "You're next, but this time the savage won't tell you you're her boyfriend, she'll just club you on the head and drag you back to her lair."
Harry laughed at the image before he could stop himself. Hermione's cheeks had gone pink, and the looks she and Draco were exchanging made Harry's stomach drop. They didn't just dislike each other. There was enough animosity in those glares to fuel a war. The fact that Hermione hadn't dived across the table to throttle Draco said a lot about how far she'd come controlling her impulses and her anger, but with a nervous wrench, Harry wondered what a smart and potentially vicious girl might do with stored anger that she allowed to cool.
Hermione rose smoothly and patted Ron roughly on the shoulder. "If I were going to club someone on the head, it wouldn't be Ron."
"You really shouldn't antagonize her," Ron said as soon as Hermione was out of the hall. "Girls are scary, but she's a bloody maniac."
"The savage doesn't scare me," Draco said.
"You know." Harry smiled wickedly. "If romance among class pairs is more likely, what does that mean for us?" He elbowed Draco and made a mocking kiss-me face.
Ron coughed and gasped, choking on his dinner, but Draco just smirked. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Green, but you aren't pretty enough for me."
James hadn't actually set foot in his London home in nearly two years when he returned home looking for Lily. Her smell should have lingered on the air, hinting that she could be in the next room or just upstairs. But the house was closed, empty and cold. He hadn't really thought she would have come back to London, to their home. If she could make it home, she would have found a way to send word. She wouldn't be missing.
His footsteps on the stone of the foyer did little to fill the silent space, and James settled onto the sofa without bother to remove the furniture cover. He didn't light a fire. Staring into the empty fireplace, he reviewed what he knew. The Reapers came to the Red Fan hunting Sirius. Lily made sure that James and the other Animagi would be safe, and supposedly she went home.
His Lily was in a building with the Reapers, the same creatures that set a tea party of corpses into an intricate curse that killed hundreds. Lily was missing. She could be dead. God, what if she was trapped in the fire? What if she didn't have her wand or was unconscious? James buried his face in his hands and tried to deny the facts pointing to her likely death. He wouldn't accept it.
He couldn't.
James wasn't sure how much time had passed as he must have slipped into a tired sleep, but he awoke to a crackling fire, a warm orange glow, and a patchwork blanket tucked around him. Across the room curled into an overstuffed chair and wrapped in her own blanket, a vision greeted him. Lily. The week had been hard on her too. She was thinner and her red hair was gone, all except for a skullcap of red fuzz.
James didn't ask what was done to her, where she had been. He didn't say a word. Throwing back the covers Lily had draped over him he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. His face nuzzled into her neck, he just breathed her. He kissed her neck, her forehead, the tears flowing over her cheeks. Finally, he kissed her mouth with all the ferocious energy of terror turned to joy.
She wasn't dead.
She wasn't gone.
Thank you, God.
She kissed him back with the same energy -- passion driven by fear. Lily needed James to love her, and the wordless desperate motions of his embrace burned her skin, convincing her that she was really human, really still Lily. She needed this moment and she took it.
The logs on the fire had burned down to faintly glowing embers, and Lily lay awake in James arms. She was safe, wrapped into a cocoon of warmth, in her lovers arms. His sweet breath tickled her ear and warmed her neck. She was home.
But Lily couldn't stay in the safe cocoon. She rubbed her fingers together testing for slime. Morning approached, and she could not afford to sleep in. Lily slipped away from James, careful to fold him back into the covers. The chilly morning air was not pleasant on her skin, and she dressed quickly in her discarded robes. Her bag from Heiko's apothecary awaited in the kitchen. She extricated the precious vial of white potion and took a generous swig. She was a few hours early, but the thought of accidentally being late terrified her.
Inside the pantry, Lily selected a place for her potion carefully. After some thought she settled it behind the expensive oils that James never touched. She made her way back to the living room where the fire was now blazing brightly again. James must have missed her. He was padding around the room in his bare feet, replenishing the fire. Her tousled, handsome husband, smiled at her with a kind concerned expression, and her heart thudded painfully.
I have to tell him.
I was cursed.
I am cursed.
"What happened, Lily? Where have you been?" James asked. "I was terrified."
"I'm sorry for scaring you." Lily smiled through a new crop of tears. But she couldn't make the words come. A terrible wrenching shame seemed to have sealed her throat. She couldn't tell James what she had been transfigured into, the future that awaited one slip with Heiko's potion. She couldn't say the words Bog Golem to him. "I was hexed by a Reaper, and I was with a Healer. But I'm okay now."
James went pale as a ghost. He crossed the room and pulled Lily into his arms. He held her close, rocking her gently. He wanted her to tell him every detail of what she'd gone through, but he didn't want to hurt her or make her relive anything so obviously painful. She was alive, and that was a gift. "You have to let me protect you," James whispered. "Please, please just let me keep you safe."
For the first time in her life, Lily didn't argue with James' arcane desire to protect her from the world. "I love you."
Author's Note:
I'm posting again and it hasn't even been a month. Yay! Hope things are still making sense. Everything feels like it's juggling steady at the moment, but I'm not objective, as I can read my own mind.
And my beta, Jan, is love. :D