~Ethereal~
Hushed silence
The devilish depths of hell;
Breath of lies
The dismal battlefield;
Mists of truth
The deadly sword exposed...
Perhaps she realized that she would never return home and might as well make the most of what she was given. Maybe she noticed - to her utmost surprise - a crowd of young children beginning to converge among the outside courts. Her heart ached at the sight, so desperately did she want to belong and be a part of that magical learning. It didn't help that she also thought it might be nice to have a little child herself, and see to it that she raised him so he would be the happiest babe on earth.
Or she might have noticed that the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon, and was beginning to panic because she didn't know her way back to Hogsmeade.
Whatever her reason, she found herself actually slipping into the castle, the list lying forgotten, glaring at her retreating back.
If the enormous front of the castle caused her to tremble and feel insignificant, the inside extended on forever in every which way, causing her to mind to balk. She could not even decipher a ceiling above, and found herself staring at millions of staircases and billions of portraits - the most terrifying of all these things was that she had only seen the Entrance Hall. The castle seemed a different world in its own right.
It occurred to her then that she would not be able to blend in. All the people she saw wore lengthy black robes, some sporting traditional black hats, conversing cheerfully about upcoming events. She wore a ragged grey dress that barely hit her knees, and she was also barefoot. Every inch of her was conspicuous.
Just to prove it, she had barely entered the castle when she caught a child staring at her in astonishment.
Merope did what felt natural - flee. She scuttled down the long hall, glancing back to see if anyone was following her. She rounded a corner sharply and-
Smack! Oof! She crumpled to the cold ground.
After what seemed an eternity, she lifted her fearful face and noticed a pair of leather boots directly in her path. She didn't dare look further, but she didn't need to. The person wearing the boots squatted down to her level.
It was an older man, perhaps in his early forties, with thick black hair, and a scruffy beard that connected to a thin mustache. His eyes were dark and large, and his lips were upturned into a mischievous smile.
"And what brings you here, into my castle?" His voice was quiet, with a slight hissing.
Shaking, she bit her lip and let her greasy hair occupy the front of her face.
"Maiden, I asked you a question. I demand an answer." The force reminded her of her father, and the memory caused hot tears to well up in her eyes - not from homesickness, but from awful fear.
With a sigh, the man hoisted her off the ground, surprisingly gentle. He brushed the lank ropes of hair out of her face, and presented her with his best glare. "No need to cry, miss. I have simply asked why you are in the castle. You are not a student, nor a professor, and I'm sure you are not a parent. For what purpose, then, are you here?"
She shook her head, too afraid to open her mouth.
Growing impatient, he began to steer her down the hall, passing large double doors that concealed a grandly lit room milling with more students. Past rows of shining new armor, one of which actually waved a salute to the man. Past stone columns thousands of feet high. Finally, they came to a smaller door, glittering with emeralds and flecks of silver - very similar colors to what the man wore upon his robes.
"Open," he hissed, but not in human tongue. This startled her further- he had used Parseltongue. It dawned on her then who this must be.
"Slytherin," she gasped.
He paused in the act of pushing the door open and gave a scrutinizing glance back at her. She stood a little straighter under the gaze.
"Yes? I was wondering whether you knew of me."
She gulped, but forced herself to speak, albeit in a tiny voice. "Yes, master, I know of thee."
She swept him a clumsy curtsy.
He looked taken aback, but recovered with booming laughter. "Thee? Master? My, I have never been treated with such respect!"
He strutted into the room, still laughing, and she quickly followed.
"Maiden, what is your name?" He began to pour her a cup of an unknown beverage, nothing remotely resembling tea or water.
She was reminded strongly of the day she met Abraxas. "Merope, sir."
The name caught his attention sharply, but he didn't comment. "Please, sit down. Have a drink. You must be thirsty."
He waved a grand gesture to an intricately carved chair, not even noticing her stiffening at the prospect of actually sitting. Instead, he strolled to his fireplace and threw in some powder - not even recognizable powder. The flames in the fireplace turned a vibrant purple.
"Godric, come to my office," Slytherin shouted into the fire.
He then turned back to see Merope still standing. "Please, sit."
She gave her head the tiniest of shakes. She greatly feared what would happen if she sat.
His eyebrows rose in a curious manner, but he didn't press her further. Instead, he handed her the beverage and then promptly sat down. Seconds later, the fire roared, and another man came walking through, roughly the same in age as Slytherin, with dark brown hair and pleasant brown eyes, dressed in robes shining with rubies and strips of gold.
"What do you want, Salazar? I was entertaining a guest."
"As am I. Please, sit, and stay awhile."
Godric sat and then saw her, despondent and grey. "This is the company you keep?"
Slytherin chuckled. "Hardly. I found this running into me outside the Entrance Hall. Called me master."
If she were a stronger woman, being referred to as "this" would have infuriated her. As it was, it degraded her and made her feel even more worthless. But she didn't speak up. She took a small swallow from her drink. It tasted nutty and bitter, and some heavy burden suddenly lifted off her shoulders, her mind now filled with a blissful fog.
"Master?" Godric squinted his eyes and stared at Merope. "Girl, where are you from?"
Did she have a choice? Abraxas hadn't told her to not reveal they were from the future. He had probably assumed she wouldn't.
She didn't want to be berated anymore. Her tongue loosened and she found herself spilling every secret, every fear, every minute of her journey.
A hushed silence struck the other two men. When she mentioned the basilisk fang, Salazar paled and and threw a glance at his friend. But Godric couldn't take his eyes off her.
She began to feel weary, and her tongue slowed down, eventually clamming up. Horror came over her as she realized she had just told them everything. Everything, including her infatuation with a Muggle. A hot swooping sickness boiled inside her.
Salazar spoke up when she had quieted. "I know this Abraxas you speak of. He came to me for money."
Godric cut him off. "Time travel? How likely is that, Salazar? If man could travel through time, the world would be turned upside down, for every man would be hopping between eras. Since that hasn't happened, how can we be sure she is telling the truth?"
Slytherin glared at him, and made an inconspicuous gesture to his friend. A light overcame Gryffindor's eyes, and he suddenly gave her a horrific stare.
"The future..." he said in awe.
Slytherin turned on his charm, and smiled at Merope. "Lady, you must be starving. How about Godric takes you to the Great Hall for supper, and I will find your misplaced list and gather the items you seek. I'm sure you miss your own time terribly."
She nodded, but Godric looked furious at the task he had been set. It was clear that he wanted to find these items, too. A glare from Salazar quelled his desires, and he stood up.
"Very well. Merope, kindly follow me to the dining hall. I'm sure you will enjoy the meal immensely." He swept out of the room without another word. She hesitated, but after a reassuring glance from Slytherin, she followed Godric out the door.
Hurrying down the corridor, she caught up to the swift strides of the bristling Founder. He didn't speak any further to her, just swept along until they reached the large double doors she had passed earlier. With aplomb, he pushed them wide open.
The Great Hall was grandly lit with an abundance of floating candles, and loud chatter echoed off the sparkling walls. The tables were stocked with several students and laden down by dishes of rich food. Merope was aware of how out-of-place she appeared. Dismal and ragged compared to cheery and grandiose.
Despite the scrumptious new food she'd never eaten before, she hardly noticed it passing into her mouth. She could only stare out at the boisterous hall, and wonder just what was going to happen to her.
After ten minutes, she could take the noise and company no longer. With a sideways glance at Gryffindor to see if he was paying attention (he was drinking and laughing with a pale woman sitting next to him), she quietly slipped out a side door near the table. It wasn't hard to do, considering she had been kneeling at the feast table, not sitting on one of the golden chairs.
Once in the corridor, she battled with herself on which direction to take. She was liable to get lost, and she didn't think any shepherd would come looking for a weak, skinny runt like her.
It seemed more comfortable to turn left, so she did so, her bare feet complaining about the cold stone floor and all the walking she'd already done.
It was nice, at least, to be walking inside a grand building. But after various twists and turns, she knew she wouldn't be able to find her way back. It didn't help that she was suspicious of the staircases and doors, for they hummed with mysterious magic.
She took a route that led her downwards into an area that chilled her insides. It was bleak and gloomy down here - something she was quite familiar with. A door to her right stood ajar, decorated with black iron, a little window square in the center wrought with thick bars.
Curious, she slipped inside, and saw a wooden table covered in the strangest assortment of items- evilly smiling clay jars, surrounded by sharp curved clay objects that hung on twine fastened to a marble wall inlaid with silver veins and radiating a powerful aura. And off to the side, thick parchment lay in a scattered pattern, depicting two awful words in recognizable calligraphy - time travel.
Heavily conflicted, Merope took the chance to fully take in the room she had entered. It was rather dark, with a few candles lit here and there, slowly melting away. But the warmth cast from the tiny flames did nothing to ward off the sinister chill permeating throughout the small space.
She glanced back at the table, unsure of what was going to happen. Cautiously, she picked up one of the jars and peered inside to see a thick green paste smelling of frog spawn and lemongrass. With a shudder, she quickly placed it down.
A bright flicker on the wall caught her eye. Silver veins reflected the shining candles, and when she peered closer, it began to swirl with faint starry purples. Remembering her experience with the marble ruin not too long ago, she swiftly stumbled backwards, not wishing to repeat the experience. She landed in sturdy arms.
–Hello, Merope. Fancy seeing you here. Did you get all the ingredients?â€
It was Abraxas, smiling that insincere smile, as though she would become putty and do his will. A spark of anger exploded in her heart.
–No,†she responded defiantly, surprising even herself. Abraxas immediately stopped smiling.
–No? NO? Then what are you doing here? How do you expect to get home to your precious filthy mudboy if you fail on the job?â€
Mudboy. The comment stung more than any previous ones she’d encountered. Mudboy. Tom didn’t live in the mud! He was just as rich as Abraxas was, and more handsome. Mudboy. And then, it occurred to her that she had never told Abraxas about Tom.
–How did you-–
He cut her off angrily. –How did I know that a pureblood like you wants to slovel around with pigs? I talk to people, that’s how. Thought your brother would keep it quiet? He’s a raving lunatic in Azkaban, spouting all kinds of spew. And then you mention a love potion - it had to be true.â€
Merope could feel the world shrinking, suffocating her, crushing her belittled soul. –Why’d you help me, Malfoy? Why’d you help?†Her words had venom in it that she never knew she could muster.
–I didn’t help you. Did I make a love potion? No. Did I think you would follow me back in time? No.†Each word slashed into her being, a heavy stone in her gut.
–Then why did you come find me? Why did you save me from that hawk thing?â€
There was no compassion in Abraxas’ eyes. They burned with cold fury. –Because of the stupid prophecy! When word reached me that you had come along into the Ruin of Delphi, I kicked myself. Of course you had been foolish enough to touch the marble. Of course it chose at that time to open your mind to the future.â€
–Prophecy?†Her throat closed up, and she instinctively backed away from the angry Malfoy, her back to the marbled wall.
–I knew then that I had to get you out of here, how else would you fulfill your role? At first, I tried to fight it. When the seer told me, I laughed and laughed and didn’t believe a word. But of course doubt crept in, and I dragged all the information I could out of the crazy woman.â€
–My role?†she repeated faintly.
–I was doomed unless I found you. Luckily, you weren’t so far away from the village, and to top it off, you had the notes with you. But the paper I needed was missing. Inevitable, I suppose. Providence saw fit to grant me my memory, at least, so it was only a matter of time before I finally had the antidote drawn up.â€
The words continued to crash into her. The revelations didn’t make sense. Her brain almost shut down, wanting to keep the last bit of sanity she had.
–But I needed the basilisk fang. And there was no way to black market it in this time period like I did before. I went to the only person who could help - the great snake master himself. I told him of my need, but I was wary to tell him everything. He assured me a basilisk fang was nearby, but that I would have to drive him a bargain he couldn’t refuse. So I sent him you, instead, hoping that he would help out a woman.â€
Her grey eyes could open no further in shock, and she weakly pressed against the wall, sliding to the floor.
–But here you are, without any success! And now even I can’t return to the twentieth century if needs be. You are pathetic! Even the drive for you to go home wasn’t enough. You spent most of your time sick and weak and depressed. How can you be Slytherin’s descendent?â€
–That’s enough,†a soft voice interrupted from the shadows. Abraxas whipped around to see Slytherin, leaning against a dark wall.
Salazar Slytherin stepped forward, menacing even in the calm state he exuded, while Merope struggled to take in his sudden appearance.
–I won’t have you beleaguering this lady any further. She’s been through an enormous ordeal, something I think even you would collapse under.†His tone dared Malfoy to argue with him, but Abraxas remained silent for once.
She couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much for her to bear. In vain, she attempted to stand up, but as she did so, her hand slipped onto the marbled stone behind her. Immediately, her mind filled with vibrant blues and greens and reds, power surging into her veins. With a cry, she fell forward.
Slytherin rushed to her side at once. He gently pushed her into a sitting position as she abandoned the fight to not sob hysterically. Tears coursed down her heavy face, each drop containing miniscule castles and maniac skeletal figures. The laughter erupted inside of her as though it had never truly left her. It was so strong that she soon realized that the laughter was pouring out her mouth, high and cold.
Salazar whipped out his wand and waved it with a complicated movement. A black cauldron full of a deep red liquid appeared by his side. A block of what appeared to be dry ice was submerged in the thick potion, giving off a slight mist. With great effort, Slytherin pulled out a cup and poured the liquid into Merope’s mouth. She choked and sputtered, the laughter dying out. But everything else became hazy. Purple streaks began to stream past her, little lights buzzing her as they flicked past. And then all she knew was blackness.
---
Slytherin and Malfoy watched the last sparks of her fizz out, the red liquid hissing on the floor. When even her imprint had faded, Slytherin turned a disgruntled face to Malfoy.
–You brought the wrong girl. There is no way she would father my heir to finish my work when I am gone.â€
Abraxas hung his head in shame, trying to retain some dignity, but knowing it was a lost cause. –She’s a living descendent. Your only living descendent, unless you count her brother and father.â€
Slytherin stroked the short beard on his chin. –There must be someone else.â€
Abraxas shook his head. –I scrolled through all the family histories, sir.â€
Slytherin threw him a sharp look. –You’re young. Three years of searching is not enough. I want you to return to your time, and make a reference of every descendent. Don’t come back until you think you have found the right one.†He motioned for Malfoy to lean in closer. –I expect the task to take more than another five years, if you get my meaning.â€
Malfoy paled. –Sir, are you sure Merope wasn’t the one? She touched the marbled stone and saw the future. Is it not possible? Did you not say that those who do your work would be compelled to drink the potion?â€
The older man threw back his head and laughed. –A coincidence, nothing more. Perhaps she does some trivial work for me in her time, but it is not what I seek. Besides, there are many people who have the ability to see some future events, but aren’t true seers or chosen ones. My heir is not coming from that slovenly wench who hasn’t the courage to even profess love to a common creature like a Muggle. My heir will be pure-blood, not some half-blood just because the father happens to be handsome or the mother is some ravishing beauty.â€
Abraxas nodded. His life would have to be put on hold, but what did he expect when choosing to serve the master?
Slytherin chuckled, the ever-warm host. –Remember the reward, Malfoy. Remember the reward.â€
The blood-like potion continued to steam, wafting over Malfoy’s young features.
–So this is goodbye?â€
Salazar cocked his head in thought. –More of a promise from you to return. If you don’t, I know your family, and I know where you live. And when.â€
Malfoy nodded, and he picked up the cup that had fallen to the floor.
–By the way,†Slytherin added. –Nice acting. The silly chit will not suspect a thing about our plan. And it’s a good thing she is quiet.â€
–Should I wipe her mind? It would not do for her to run into another intelligent wizard and give up your secrets.â€
Slytherin shook his head. –No, the wench won’t give it up. She’ll be thinking it merely a nightmare. I know the type.â€
Malfoy wrestled with himself, not wanting to quite leave just yet. –Sir, what of your friend? I saw him with the girl. Surely he won’t keep quiet.â€
Annoyance flitted across Salazar’s mischievous features. –Godric wasn’t meant to hear the entire story. I was a fool to drag him into this. But he had to be there out of necessity.â€
–Necessity? What for?†Abraxas lifted a curious brow to his master.
He was met with a glare. It was obvious that Slytherin did not intend to reveal his plan further. Malfoy hung his head in shame at not being trusted.
–It’s time for you to go. You’ve overstayed your welcome.†The words were cold and piercing.
–Until the next communion,†Malfoy said bitterly, raising the cup in a toast to Slytherin. He drank deeply, allowing the spell to take hold of his being. And then, he faded from the past.
---
A blanket of grey
The abandonment of hope;
A harrowed soul
The echoes of lost love;
Phantasmic memories
The daunting ghosts that follow...
Merope grunted as she got up from the bed, weak sunlight streaming in through the tattered window. Her belly protruded out quite far, giving her the appearance of a pregnant stick. Her heart still ached from Tom’s abandonment, something she knew she would carry to her grave and beyond.
A newspaper lay across the bedside table of the inn room (which she had gotten for one Sickle that night) bearing a picture of AbraxasMalfoy arguing with the Minister. The article below stated that Abraxas had tried to make off with some private records and been caught red-handed.
It seemed a distant haunting dream that followed her wherever she went, and sometimes it was easier to believe it never happened. But there were those nights when she awoke screaming, tears cascading down her hollowing cheeks, maniacal laughter ringing in her bleeding ears.
When she allowed herself to believe it, she often doubted the allowance. She never understood why Malfoy had agreed to the potion making in the first place. And the prophecy pounded against her belief. It seemed all too fantastical. She often thought that she had probably hit her head and imagined that horrific experience.
Yet still, it followed her, a fading ghost that twisted in her mind, stretching her will out thin.
The day was still young, but she, Merope, felt eons old. As she stepped out of the inn, ready to begin that day’s begging walk, she sighed heavily at her life. As she did so, a part of her heart detached to remain behind, leaving a ghostly trail that followed her dejected gait down the cobblestone allies.
The Ghosts That Follow by Nagini Riddle
Chapter Endnotes: Whew! The end of the gauntlet. I have to admit, it pushed me to some limits. :) Again, I would love to thank Karaley Dargen and MapleandPhoenixFeather for their wonderful beta work. And of course, Natalie/hestiajones must be given credit for her great guide work and the inspiration she gives me daily. And I would like to thank all my readers. It is you that made this possible. :)