~Reverberation~
Shadows of despair
The qualms of magic;
Vile laughter
The poisoned heart;
An empty field
The forfeit of will…
Evil laughter pounded mercilessly through her groggy mind, pulsing with each beat of her hollow heart, too rhythmic and fanatic. She attempted to make a sound through the pressing darkness, but it muffled through the rolling waves of thick water. Her lungs, shriveling from the burning sensation, silently screamed for release…
Merope.
A heaven sent blessing, squeezing through all the rusted torments and perverse pain. Her own name, a beacon, a swirling blue star, pulling her out of the melancholic reverie.
Merope.
Her sticky eyes fought to open, and streams of flickering light filtered into the tiny crevices under the lids of her eyes. Fire. Like a pulsating star.
Lucky.
Snippets of sentences breached the laughter, melodious to her deprived ears. Something warm and velvety cushioned her back, better than anything she had ever lain on. It reminded her of rich, fluffy cream and silky garments that she had seen in the passing store windows. It reminded her of the green cloth wrapped on the tree branch… Malfoy. She began to struggle, yearning to be awake, to understand. Something strong held her fast, and after a few fruitless wrestling movements, she quieted, the effort nearly draining her of energy. She almost succumbed to the vile blackness again.
Nasty.
More snatches. They didn’t connect to one another, weaving in and out in garbled tones.
Time.
Time. Time. Time travel. Time travel! The potion, the ruin, the forest, the rocky mountains…
Instinctively, her body rolled over and heaved. Soft hands immediately grasped her; something cool and moist touched her forehead. In that instant, her cheeks began to flush and sear from some unknown source of heat.
Disgusting.
Shh. Terrible… Surprising… Delicate…
A moan at last escaped through her glued lips. Bile rose in her throat, but she suppressed the urge. Her bones tingled and ached wearily, as though rattled from slamming into an unforgiving rock wall. Her dull, almost brackish eyes finally creaked open.
She was staring at a wooden ceiling. A ceiling! She was indoors, finally. She turned her head a slight fraction and found that near her bed stood a young man and an elderly woman, both dressed in the oddest assortment of clothing, even by wizard and Muggle standards.
The man noticed she was awake, and he beamed at her. It was none other than Abraxas Malfoy. Her jaw dropped as far as it could go in her weakened state, and she uttered a gasp that almost made her vomit again.
–Merope! You actually drank that potion! I can’t believe it. I thought you would have just left when I didn’t show up. Thanks for bringing my papers. Now I can create the antidote.â€
The elderly woman glared at him reprovingly and wrung out a cloth in her hands. –Dear girl, you will be well again. No lasting damage. If this young man hadn’t found you, the hawk’s poison would have dragged your soul down to the fiery depths of hell.â€
–Hawk?†Merope managed to choke out. The talking gave her a dizzying spell.
–Yes, the tarantula hawks are fairly common around here. Nasty insects. They sometimes actually hunt down unfortunate stranded folks. Venom worse than vipers’. At least with the vipers’ poison, you die almost immediately. Less suffering. Now the hawk - best leave it to the Pantheon to sort out. I’m sure that the hawks will be wiped out soon. They aren’t useful for anything. I hope that the intelligent professor who bred that particular insect is hanged. I’ve seen five hundred cases alone in the last month or so.†The woman shuddered, dipped the cloth into a wooden bucket, and brought it to Merope’s sweating face. Merope frowned in confusion at Malfoy, but a quick shake of his head kept her quiet.
The next few hours consisted of her drinking some sour soup, and having to sit through a painful detoxing. The woman’s wand drained the poison out slowly, the liquid coming out in vibrant green wisps. The process seemed to take forever, but the nurse explained that the longer the poison stayed in the body, the more it increased in quantity. It would take a few days before she was fully detoxed.
When the woman left her bedside, Malfoy sometimes took up post. Merope idly wondered if the sympathetic faces he gave her were all for show. He didn’t seem at all troubled by the fact that he had gone back in time.
When strength began to return to her legs, she took short walks outside. She was surprised to learn that she was in Hogsmeade, a wizarding village she had dreamed about visiting for years. It did seem rather odd to her that all the buildings were simple and made of wood, but she figured that the village must be that way. After all, it didn’t seem likely that she had traveled back in time too far. And if she had, she wouldn’t know, having never really studied the history of architecture.
And then he dropped the bomb.
Malfoy had assured her that they had indeed traveled back in time, though he refused to be approached on the subject, especially when she wanted to know when the antidote would be ready. She desperately wanted to return home. Her memories of Tom were disappearing faster than she liked. But Malfoy let it slip that they weren't just a couple years in the past. More like hundreds upon hundreds of years. Around a millennium ago. One thousand years.
The staggering figure haunted her. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be stuck a thousand years in the past. It didn't even occur to her in those moments of stark fear that she was in the same general era as her ancestor - Salazar Slytherin. She only brooded on returning home.
Even after the poison no longer pulsed in her veins, the bouts of nausea and the maniacal laughter continued to rent her body. She stayed quiet on the matter, though, afraid it would delay the trip home.
Having lost the sense of time passing, she found herself one morning by the old window, staring at the rising sun, recalling the agony she had experienced with the poison. Her name had saved her. She knew it was the name of a distant star. Not as grand as the sun now painting the dawning sky, but a star, nonetheless.
In her family, names meant everything. At least, the name of Slytherin did. And Peverell. She didn’t remember her mother, but she figured that her mother must have named her. Perhaps her mother had tried to name her Stella, after the sun, but her father had settled for a lesser star. No matter which way she had gotten her name, she was eternally grateful for it. True, it didn’t have much glory, and was a rather weak glowing entity, but it had pulled her from the depths of despair.
Abraxas cut across her thoughts as he gallantly sat in the chair near the window. –How fares the lonely maiden?â€
Silence was her only weapon.
–I suppose you are curious about several things. Indulge me, if you will.â€
She thought about walking away, but this morning was a lazy one. So she decided on the one question that bothered her more than anything else. –Why did you help me?â€
Abraxas raised a curious eyebrow. –A maiden in distress is always in need of rescuing.â€
–No,†she muttered, already tiring of the talk. –Why did you decide to make the potion?"
A shadow flitted across Malfoy’s brow, but his smile stayed plastered on. –How better to serve a maiden in need?â€
The chivalry didn’t fool her. But she didn’t press the question any further. Instead, she immersed herself in gazing out the window, ignoring the impatient Malfoy, the irritating laughter still echoing in her bleeding ears.
---
Later that same day, Abraxas attempted to strike up another conversation with her. She was still by the window, a deep sense of loss coursing through her. To think that she was so close to home, yet so far away.
"I have some bad news," Abraxas stated roughly.
Her heart plummeted at his tone, expecting the worse. Was it possible to have all the bad karma in the world?
"What?" she replied breathlessly. It amazed her that she talked more readily now, though in truth, talking kept her attention elsewhere instead of focusing on the wretched laughter that still haunted her. The last night had been one of the worst, the red gleaming eyes of the skeletal figure leering at her from daunting nightmares. Talking gave her momentary distraction. She found that it actually helped to keep her sane.
The Adam’s apple on Abraxas throbbed nervously. "I had a look at my notes you brought me, and a piece of parchment is missing."
The laughter mocked her. A painful prickly branch twisted in her soul. It could not be. Please, Merlin, no! Home. Home! Please, don't do this.
He sensed the depression and agony rippling off her. "It's not your fault. I didn't bind them together. You couldn't have done a better job!"
Her breathing was leaden, laborious and wrenching. Guilt. No, please, God, no!
–It’s going to take a bit of time to rework the antidote,†Abraxas confided in her. –But if I did it once…†His voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought.
The room was spinning, Tom fleeing from her memories, blackness creeping into her focus, the sinister laughter amplified...
"Wake up! Merope! Are you okay?" He gently tapped her flushed cheeks. Miserable and exhausted, she attempted to sit up. Waves of nausea washed over her, and rusted nails stabbed at her heart.
"Merope?" She realized then that her eyes had drooped, and she tried to steady herself - a difficult feat when her head felt extremely heavy.
"M'okay." The words tasted salty and sour, like hot blood.
"Listen, I know that you aren't feeling well, but I need someone - well, you - to do me a little favor. The missing page won't set me back, as long as I have a couple things." All said with a calculated soothing tone and persuasiveness.
"What things?" she spat out, her tongue more rough than sandpaper. She could still feel her heart racing, her treacherous breathing, and the laughter. She felt the laughter within her own cleaved soul.
"I made a list. You can find it all in the Forbidden Forest, except for the fang. That will be found at Hogwarts." The statement sunk into every tissue of her body. Hogwarts. Forbidden Forest.
–Forbidden?â€
Abraxas waved the question aside. –Only to the students. You should be fine. Listen,†he stated, straightening her head to stare at him. –I can’t go with you to get the items. Not if you want to go home soon. I suggest you begin your search after dinner, so you have plenty of time before the sun sets. I’ll have the nurse pack you a small supper, just in case you’re not back before dark.â€
He gently clasped her hand onto a thick parchment. –This is the list. I have to leave now, but make sure that you have rested before going off.â€
And with those words, he stalked out of the room, leaving her in the worst state of confusion.
It seemed rather odd that he had so quickly left. She also felt that the compassion in his tone was fake. No man could ever be that nice to her. Granted, she was gathering this from her own experience with menfrom her own family.
The paper wrinkled easily in her hand, the ink on it not quite dry. She fervently wished that the paper was blank, because the first few items caught her off guard: hair from a centaur, bark from a wiggentree, the stalk of a shrivelfig, and the petals from a moly plant. How she was she to find all this?
Utterly hopeless, she sunk in despair against the window. It was a while before she realized she was staring at a patch of white flowers with black stems. The moly plant!
Hopping to her feet, she dashed out of the wooden building into the moly patch. Her hands grasped the first flower and at once the evil laughter ceased, and even her nausea dissipated. Serenity infused her being, and for once, she didn't feel as hampered at being so far away from home. A new strength imbibed her, and she found herself thinking that it wasn't hopeless. She could do this! After gathering a few moly flowers, she quickly prepared for the trip into the Forbidden Forest. Dinner was hastily eaten, and she bounded out the door, the prospect of home charging her onward. She walked along the roads to the forest, a moly petal inserted between her fingers for luck.
The forest was pitch black, even during the day. Unsure of what to expect, she slowly pulled out her wand. It didn't offer much protection, but for some reason, it helped her feel more secure, like a child's blanket would do.
She hadn't ventured into the forest yet when she saw, through the outer trees, a large magnificent castle. If she had known anything about Hogwarts, she would have realized only magical beings could see the castle. As it was, she was filled with a sense of awe and wonder. If only she could have attended the school!
She could have gazed in that direction for hours, but for some reason, the handsome Tom floated into her conscience. No time to brood over what could have been. She had to focus on what could happen if she didn't succeed in fixing the set back. And what could happen definitely terrified her all the way down into her bones.
---
She found herself wanting the laughter back in her head as she cautiously poked around the foreboding forest. The eerie silences interrupted by hair-raising wails caused her to tremble and sweat, despite the icy darkness.
The trees stood gigantic and gnarly, twisting into unsettling images. Several of them were petrified and ashy, the wrinkles of age penetrating the ghostly bark. And if the leaves had any pigment, the blackness swallowed it.
Roots and prickly branches intertwined monstrously, often snagging her clothing, hair, or feet. The snags caused her to bleed, especially when a particular nasty sharp thorn slashed her cheek. If there had been light to walk by, everything would have been different. As it was, she didn’t even have the courage to lift her wand and light it. The tiny beam would be tantamount to her shouting out for all vile dark creatures to converge on her. So in evil shadows, she strolled, eyes seeing but not truly seeing.
It was as she feared- fruitless. The gloom offered no dramatic sign posts of what to pick out from among the thousands of other dangerous plants and animals. Just variances in the deepening blacks surrounding her. She tried not to imagine the horrors that could be lying in wait for her around each bend or bush she came across.
Something rusted overhead, and she froze, her heart stopping for a beat. Nothing. Just nothing.
Flushed, she hastened forward, clutching the moly flower for dear life. The sinister air entrenched her pores, causing her more distress. It was worse than when she had traveled the unending trail full of blankness. This was full of nightmares.
She frantically searched for the items on her list, but to no avail. Surely there was an easier way to accomplish this daunting task! Guiltily, she glanced down at the folds in her clothes that hid her wand. Hadn't she made the rash decision to drink that time potion so she could perhaps learn magic? Hone the skills that had been suppressed by pain and fear? Yet here she was again, rejecting it.
The image of her enraged father drifted into her musings. The memory of his filthy hands and sour breath wrenching her halfway across the house, bellowing the entire time of purity, shoving her to the weakening floor like a heavy sack of potatoes. Screaming his rage at having a Squib for a daughter, wildly swinging his drunken fists.
A sound like dead leaves crinkling interrupted her thoughts. Accompanying the sound came a slippery voice from the shadows- "Blood. Ssss... Ssslither to me, my sssssavory friend..."
A rather large snake wound its way around the trunk of the tree nearest her, its forked tongue tasting the scents in the bitter air. It paused as it noticed her, standing stock still, and lifted its smooth head.
"Kill... KILL!"
She reacted swiftly, turning on her heel and sprinting as fast as she could from the creature. Never mind that she was a Parselmouth; she had no desire to tangle up with a beast known for its devilish trickery.
The hissing words followed her, haunting her. Without looking back, she continued to run, the flee response too strong to be overcome by reason. In fact, her ears filled with the sound of scales rustling against wood and leaves, chasing her. Terribly frightened, she spied light in the distance.
In haste, she wended her way to the patch of daylight that soon expanded until she was scampering across an empty lawn and onto cobblestone floors paving the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. Once the sun's rays hit her, her breathing eased up. Safe. She was safe.
The enormity of the castle pressed down upon her, the parapets reaching proudly into the heavens to the point that they vanished among the few scattered clouds. She was a seedling to the gigantic towers, barely discernible among the scaling walls.
She glanced back at the impossible list. Hadn't Abraxas told her one item would be found at Hogwarts?
In tiny dark green letters, the object jumped out at her, and she quailed at the task. There was no way she was going to risk everything for that!
In frustration, she tossed the list on the ground and leaned against the wall, head in hands. The parchment landed gently on the ground, but it might as well have slammed to it for the heavy weight it shifted onto her weak shoulders.
And in perfect forest green calligraphy, the ink shone out under the sun:
Basilisk Fang.
The Ghosts That Follow by Nagini Riddle
Chapter Endnotes: Okay- I have two things to point out that will not come up in the story again, so Merope won't look into them.
1. How can people one thousand years apart talk to each other in the same language? Simply put, Abraxas added a translation component to the potion. He really needed it to be there, as you will see later... :)
2. Pantheon???? What's that? Karaley suggested I not have a ministry exist, so I instead borrowed the idea of a Pantheon from the Greek gods and goddesses. In the wizarding world, the Pantheon is made up of extremely rich and/or extremely powerful wizards and witches. Later on, they are replaced by the Ministry because the people felt the Pantheon was too much in control and diidn't help them meet their needs. Quite a battle ensued, but that won't be mentioned in this story.
Any thoughts or questions? Don't be afraid to leave them behind!