The Amulet Of Salazar
Lucius Malfoy sat fidgeting nervously in his high-backed gilded chair. The light from the low burning fire flickered over his agitated face and the rest of the lavishly decorated room. Outside, a storm thundered, as if it weren't already late in May, and the sounds of it ruined the tense silence of his study.
Lucius barely noticed the strong gale however, his own thoughts a tempest themselves. They centered mostly on the night before, when his worst fears had come to life: the reappearance of the Dark Lord. When the Dark Mark had painfully begun to darken on his arm, he could only brush it off as coincidence for an hour or so before it became excruciatingly raw. He then realized what that meant: his Master had returned.
When the rest of the former Death Eaters had grouped together, his Master had greeted him well enough. He didn't seem ready to kill him, but with the Dark Lord, you never knew when he would strike next. Lucius admitted that it had been enjoyable to be at the side of the most powerful Dark wizard ever to come upon the earth when He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named had first risen. He could instill terror in whom ever he chose, whether they were a simple Muggle, piteous Mudblood, or a Wizard he had gone to school with. He had power and respect, attributes he always strove to keep.
That was why he did not wish for his Master's return. After his downfall, Lucius had taken serious measures to maintain his good name. He told those altruistic wizards that he had been under the control of the Imperius Curse, and that the thousands of murders he had committed were not from the workings of his mind. He had pleaded, momentarily forgetting his Malfoy dignity, endeavoring that he would never associate with the Death Eaters or anyone of that kind again. He told them anything that would keep him out of Azkaban. Azkaban, and the fools had believed him, restoring his mansion and riches to him immediately.
He stood up, bringing an amber bottle with him towards the fireplace. Leaning heavily on the mantle, he watched as a cool liquid the same color as the bottle poured into a small glass. He pressed it against his perspiring forehead, droplets of chilled water mingling with that of warm ones. Taking a sip, he sighed, remembering how his fellow Death Eaters, the ones who were still free at least, had attempted to kill him after hearing he had repented of his Dark ways. Their Master had made it clear that should he be defeated they were to never renounce their ways, but to die with their pride. Lucius had explained to them that by keeping out of Azkaban, he was not turning his back on them. The Dark Lord had left in Lucius' possession many useful Dark items and tools, such as a Self-Hanging Noose, the Never-Bloody Knife, poisons, and other torturous items. He intended to keep them and perhaps use them, he had assured them, as a sign that he was still a supporter of their Master, whenever he came back to power. They had left him alone after that, satisfied with his answer.
He had been at the pinnacle of power then. Not only had he controlled the Death Eaters and associates, but he had won the favor of the Light Side as well. No one dared to question the authority of Lucius Malfoy, and that was what he had wanted from the very beginning: all-encompassing power and the utmost respect of everyone.
But now his Master had returned and Lucius knew what he would be seeking. Wormtail's potion the other night had restored a body to the Dark Lord, but little else. To be able to regain his full powers he would need something from his own master, Salazar Slytherin. Being as Salazar lived quite a long time ago, there was not much left of his possessions, but he had managed to ensure that his heir would be able to reclaim something of his, should his powers need be regenerated. That something was the Amulet of Salazar, a powerful talisman that once touching the true heir of Slytherin, would restore all of Salazar's power to him. The Dark Lord might be able to achieve his former glory, but Lucius knew that if he indeed failed a second time, Lucius would never be able to convince the Light Side of his supposed innocence once again and he would be sent to Azkaban.
The thought had terrified Lucius since he had come into possession of the Amulet of Salazar over 13 years ago, and he knew if the Dark Lord were to rise again the person he would think to come for first was Lucius himself. He had highly doubted that this would happen, but, just in case, he wanted to get rid of it. Then if the Dark Lord did come back without regaining his powers, he could die off and Lucius' position in the Wizarding world would remain secure. He had tried to destroy it using every curse and spell he knew, but nothing would break it. He had tried to give it to other Death Eaters, but they were afraid of the power it held, thinking that they were not responsible enough to take it. He had eventually given it to Draco as a present for his 11th birthday (and for receiving his acceptance letter from Hogwarts), telling him that if he wore it, it would protect him and his family. This was not untrue since if anyone but Lucius had it, he and the world would be safe from the possibility of the Dark Lord's wrath. He had counted on Draco to lose it or give it to someone else, since the boy didn't tend to care for his possessions, but, surprisingly enough, Draco had worn it faithfully for the past 4 years, never seeming to take it off. It was only now, with the return of his Master, that Lucius realized the danger his only son was in. The students' last day of school would be tomorrow, he remembered, and once Draco returned to the Manor, Lucius would ask Draco to remove the amulet, and then place it in some unknowing Muggle's bag or something- anything to get it away from his family.
Lucius sat down wearily behind his study's desk, pressing his head back into the black leather of his chair. He raised his fingers to massage his throbbing temples and breathed deeply, trying to relax. It seemed to work after a few minutes and he was almost asleep when the touch of a cold hand on his shoulder startled him. He raised his gray eyes to a familiar black pair. His mouth dropped open and his already pale face lost all color.
"Lucius," a raspy voice called softly, "My trusted servant. It is so good to see you again. I see from your exquisite estate that you have had it much easier than some of my other followers." The figure stood in front of him holding out an ashen, smooth hand.
Lucius bowed his head and kissed the Dark Lord's hand, trembling slightly. He immediately stood up, giving up his leather chair for his Master, and after whispering an almost silent "Accio"; he sat down in the light green dais that had zoomed across the room to rest behind him.
"I suppose you know why I am here," the dark figure drawled, as if he were torturing Lucius instead of simply conversing with him, "I've come for the final ingredient to complete my resurrection. Where is it?"
"The.er.amulet?" Lucius realized that he sounded like a quivering fool, something he never strove to appear as, but he needed to stall. He had no excuses for the absence of his Master's property. "Ah yes, it's. er. in the basement, with the rest of the.items you left me." He finished lamely.
The dark eyes studied him. "Why are you lying to me, Lucius?" Lucius felt a prick of steadily growing pain in the middle of his forehead. The Dark Lord did not need his wand to cause pain to his victims.
The searing anguish brought Lucius to his knees, clutching his head. His Master loomed above him, peering down at him with cold fury rising in his eyes. " Where is it?" He ground out.
Lucius raised his terror-stricken face, "I.I sold it." With a sudden lurch, Lucius was thrown against the cobblestone wall, his head hitting a particularly salient rock. Blood gushed from the wound, and Lucius held a shaking hand to it.
Voldemort walked with deliberate steps to the crumpled figure. "You cannot lie to me Lucius; I will always know when you do. Now tell me, where is the amulet?" He said this slowly, making each word more menacing and terrifying than the next.
"Draco has it." Lucius gave up trying to lie or stall. He gave up on everything. "I gave it to him."
Voldemort tsked disapprovingly, as if Lucius were a child who had done something to upset his parents. "You disappoint me Lucius." Then he cruelly whispered the last two words Lucius would ever hear.
"Avada Kedavra."
Narcissa Malfoy sat in front of her sapphire and emerald encrusted vanity, brushing an antique comb through her platinum hair thoughtfully. The spaced teeth of the comb slid into her hair, searching for tangles that would never be found in the long, silken tresses. Her dark blue eyes took in the reflection of her beautiful bedroom, decorated in expensive silks of powder and midnight blue. The room was filled with illustrious gifts from her husband, whether they were a new set of finely sewn robes or an 11th century Chinese vase. Narcissa's room was as fine and grand as a Queen's. Yet, nothing could replace the empty feeling she often felt when in the cold room.
Her life as the wife of Lucius Malfoy was not as she had hoped it would be. At just 17 years of age she had married him, doing her father's persistent bidding and saving her family's good name. She smiled frailly at the nostalgic memories as they returned to her. Narcissa had wanted to study abroad and see the world outside her carefully protected affluent home. But her father had spent all their money; they had nothing to keep them in their world of money and supercilious wizardry friends but their renowned name. Now, as Narcissa's father had told her, it was her duty to save their name. Lucius, who had been besotted with Narcissa since her earlier schooling, was the choice advocate. If she did not acquiesce to his demands, within a month her family would be out on the streets, fighting to stay alive. Narcissa had obediently complied.
And yet, Narcissa thought as she turned on the round white cushion that was seated near her vanity, her marriage hadn't been too bad the first few months. Lucius had adored her, rarely leaving her alone in the manor, and always spending time with her. Narcissa had even allowed herself to care for him too, something that she would have never expected to happen. He had been sweet, caring, and, yes, loving then. How could you not begin to have feelings for someone who was so devoted to you?
His affection gave way with the appearance of the Dark Lord however. She went from being his favorite toy to a lovely ornament, one that could be admired from far away. He spent many days, sometimes weeks, away from the mansion, and treated her coolly when he was around. Narcissa simply devoted herself to her son, Draco, once he was born; the love that grew for her son was not forced. She had spoiled him shamelessly, but it was all so that he could forget about his father's coolness and strictness toward him and his mother. Lucius often tried to instill in Draco the ideals of his own austere upbringing, and Narcissa could do nothing but watch as the boy easily complied. She had wanted to break the standards of the distinguished side of the Wizardry world and teach her son to look at the heart of people, not their bloodlines or wealth, but Narcissa's requests fell on deaf ears.
She lifted her pain-filled eyes to the high-arched window in acknowledgement of the ear-splitting thunder and cracking lightening for the first time. Pulling her lavender satin dressing gown closer to her thin form, she walked over to the window, staring intently at the shadowed landscape. Her fine features contracted together in an expression of deep resolve. "I will not let you turn into your father Draco," she said aloud, her voice disquieting the empty silence that developed between rolls of thunder. She would not allow him to carry on the Malfoy's notoriously officious manners.
Narcissa lay down on her bed, her blonde head sinking into the deep pillows. She was nearly asleep when a burning smell brought her fully awake. A golden blaze covered the left corner and was spreading through out her room quickly, the flames licking at her curtains and vanity. She ran to the door, pounding against it with her delicate fists- it would not budge. Tears from the increasing smoke and her overpowering fear spilled from her eyes. The flames seemed to engulf her and she could not find a way out. Crouching in one corner of the room and holding her knees to her chest, she waited for a husband that would not come.
Thomas Wimbledon stoically trudged up the steep hill near Malfoy Manor, squinting through the sheets of rain that were pouring mercilessly on him. The heavy wooden cart the 52-year- old man pushed up the grassy knoll made the work twice as long and hard. He was sure by the time he reached the dreary mansion and put the cart laden with gardening tools away, he would be dead. He glared at the establishment whose owner had caused him many broken bones and strained muscles in the time that he had worked there. He grunted and pressed harder at the cart, forcing its wheels to turn slowly in the mud but not sending it any further. If he could somehow obtain the courage he so desperately needed, he would tell Mr. Malfoy that he would be quitting his job as caretaker tonight.
Twenty minutes later he had reached the top of the hill, the wind and rain seeming to grow stronger. He smiled grimly at the thought of returning to the small hut Mr. Malfoy had given him as a residence, knowing that in a few minutes he would be warm and dry. This served as a further incentive to push the cart with the last of his strength toward the dark manor. Just as he reached the back of the dwelling and placed the cart against a stonewall; a bright orange flash from the north window caught his eye. He stepped back, trying to get a better view. It was coming from Mrs. Malfoy's room, and as he saw the orange light spread from one window to the next, he knew what it was: fire.
He ran to the front of the house, trying to break in through the large front door, but it was to no avail. He knew he had not locked it before and yet the thick wooden slabs would not open. He could hear muffled screams coming from the manor, and lunged against the door with more force. Still, the doors stayed stationary.
Flames could now be seen in every window in his sight. Thomas knew he had to get help, but there was not a single other home around for miles. Still, he could not just sit back and let the house burn no matter how much he hated the houses' occupants. He turned to run, but hit something solid in his path, falling down face-first into the soggy mud. Wiping the mud from his face, he looked up at a dark-cloaked figure. He could only stare at the long, thin branch that was pointed at him before a flash of green light blinded him, sending him into a final, dark oblivion.
Lucius Malfoy sat fidgeting nervously in his high-backed gilded chair. The light from the low burning fire flickered over his agitated face and the rest of the lavishly decorated room. Outside, a storm thundered, as if it weren't already late in May, and the sounds of it ruined the tense silence of his study.
Lucius barely noticed the strong gale however, his own thoughts a tempest themselves. They centered mostly on the night before, when his worst fears had come to life: the reappearance of the Dark Lord. When the Dark Mark had painfully begun to darken on his arm, he could only brush it off as coincidence for an hour or so before it became excruciatingly raw. He then realized what that meant: his Master had returned.
When the rest of the former Death Eaters had grouped together, his Master had greeted him well enough. He didn't seem ready to kill him, but with the Dark Lord, you never knew when he would strike next. Lucius admitted that it had been enjoyable to be at the side of the most powerful Dark wizard ever to come upon the earth when He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named had first risen. He could instill terror in whom ever he chose, whether they were a simple Muggle, piteous Mudblood, or a Wizard he had gone to school with. He had power and respect, attributes he always strove to keep.
That was why he did not wish for his Master's return. After his downfall, Lucius had taken serious measures to maintain his good name. He told those altruistic wizards that he had been under the control of the Imperius Curse, and that the thousands of murders he had committed were not from the workings of his mind. He had pleaded, momentarily forgetting his Malfoy dignity, endeavoring that he would never associate with the Death Eaters or anyone of that kind again. He told them anything that would keep him out of Azkaban. Azkaban, and the fools had believed him, restoring his mansion and riches to him immediately.
He stood up, bringing an amber bottle with him towards the fireplace. Leaning heavily on the mantle, he watched as a cool liquid the same color as the bottle poured into a small glass. He pressed it against his perspiring forehead, droplets of chilled water mingling with that of warm ones. Taking a sip, he sighed, remembering how his fellow Death Eaters, the ones who were still free at least, had attempted to kill him after hearing he had repented of his Dark ways. Their Master had made it clear that should he be defeated they were to never renounce their ways, but to die with their pride. Lucius had explained to them that by keeping out of Azkaban, he was not turning his back on them. The Dark Lord had left in Lucius' possession many useful Dark items and tools, such as a Self-Hanging Noose, the Never-Bloody Knife, poisons, and other torturous items. He intended to keep them and perhaps use them, he had assured them, as a sign that he was still a supporter of their Master, whenever he came back to power. They had left him alone after that, satisfied with his answer.
He had been at the pinnacle of power then. Not only had he controlled the Death Eaters and associates, but he had won the favor of the Light Side as well. No one dared to question the authority of Lucius Malfoy, and that was what he had wanted from the very beginning: all-encompassing power and the utmost respect of everyone.
But now his Master had returned and Lucius knew what he would be seeking. Wormtail's potion the other night had restored a body to the Dark Lord, but little else. To be able to regain his full powers he would need something from his own master, Salazar Slytherin. Being as Salazar lived quite a long time ago, there was not much left of his possessions, but he had managed to ensure that his heir would be able to reclaim something of his, should his powers need be regenerated. That something was the Amulet of Salazar, a powerful talisman that once touching the true heir of Slytherin, would restore all of Salazar's power to him. The Dark Lord might be able to achieve his former glory, but Lucius knew that if he indeed failed a second time, Lucius would never be able to convince the Light Side of his supposed innocence once again and he would be sent to Azkaban.
The thought had terrified Lucius since he had come into possession of the Amulet of Salazar over 13 years ago, and he knew if the Dark Lord were to rise again the person he would think to come for first was Lucius himself. He had highly doubted that this would happen, but, just in case, he wanted to get rid of it. Then if the Dark Lord did come back without regaining his powers, he could die off and Lucius' position in the Wizarding world would remain secure. He had tried to destroy it using every curse and spell he knew, but nothing would break it. He had tried to give it to other Death Eaters, but they were afraid of the power it held, thinking that they were not responsible enough to take it. He had eventually given it to Draco as a present for his 11th birthday (and for receiving his acceptance letter from Hogwarts), telling him that if he wore it, it would protect him and his family. This was not untrue since if anyone but Lucius had it, he and the world would be safe from the possibility of the Dark Lord's wrath. He had counted on Draco to lose it or give it to someone else, since the boy didn't tend to care for his possessions, but, surprisingly enough, Draco had worn it faithfully for the past 4 years, never seeming to take it off. It was only now, with the return of his Master, that Lucius realized the danger his only son was in. The students' last day of school would be tomorrow, he remembered, and once Draco returned to the Manor, Lucius would ask Draco to remove the amulet, and then place it in some unknowing Muggle's bag or something- anything to get it away from his family.
Lucius sat down wearily behind his study's desk, pressing his head back into the black leather of his chair. He raised his fingers to massage his throbbing temples and breathed deeply, trying to relax. It seemed to work after a few minutes and he was almost asleep when the touch of a cold hand on his shoulder startled him. He raised his gray eyes to a familiar black pair. His mouth dropped open and his already pale face lost all color.
"Lucius," a raspy voice called softly, "My trusted servant. It is so good to see you again. I see from your exquisite estate that you have had it much easier than some of my other followers." The figure stood in front of him holding out an ashen, smooth hand.
Lucius bowed his head and kissed the Dark Lord's hand, trembling slightly. He immediately stood up, giving up his leather chair for his Master, and after whispering an almost silent "Accio"; he sat down in the light green dais that had zoomed across the room to rest behind him.
"I suppose you know why I am here," the dark figure drawled, as if he were torturing Lucius instead of simply conversing with him, "I've come for the final ingredient to complete my resurrection. Where is it?"
"The.er.amulet?" Lucius realized that he sounded like a quivering fool, something he never strove to appear as, but he needed to stall. He had no excuses for the absence of his Master's property. "Ah yes, it's. er. in the basement, with the rest of the.items you left me." He finished lamely.
The dark eyes studied him. "Why are you lying to me, Lucius?" Lucius felt a prick of steadily growing pain in the middle of his forehead. The Dark Lord did not need his wand to cause pain to his victims.
The searing anguish brought Lucius to his knees, clutching his head. His Master loomed above him, peering down at him with cold fury rising in his eyes. " Where is it?" He ground out.
Lucius raised his terror-stricken face, "I.I sold it." With a sudden lurch, Lucius was thrown against the cobblestone wall, his head hitting a particularly salient rock. Blood gushed from the wound, and Lucius held a shaking hand to it.
Voldemort walked with deliberate steps to the crumpled figure. "You cannot lie to me Lucius; I will always know when you do. Now tell me, where is the amulet?" He said this slowly, making each word more menacing and terrifying than the next.
"Draco has it." Lucius gave up trying to lie or stall. He gave up on everything. "I gave it to him."
Voldemort tsked disapprovingly, as if Lucius were a child who had done something to upset his parents. "You disappoint me Lucius." Then he cruelly whispered the last two words Lucius would ever hear.
"Avada Kedavra."
Narcissa Malfoy sat in front of her sapphire and emerald encrusted vanity, brushing an antique comb through her platinum hair thoughtfully. The spaced teeth of the comb slid into her hair, searching for tangles that would never be found in the long, silken tresses. Her dark blue eyes took in the reflection of her beautiful bedroom, decorated in expensive silks of powder and midnight blue. The room was filled with illustrious gifts from her husband, whether they were a new set of finely sewn robes or an 11th century Chinese vase. Narcissa's room was as fine and grand as a Queen's. Yet, nothing could replace the empty feeling she often felt when in the cold room.
Her life as the wife of Lucius Malfoy was not as she had hoped it would be. At just 17 years of age she had married him, doing her father's persistent bidding and saving her family's good name. She smiled frailly at the nostalgic memories as they returned to her. Narcissa had wanted to study abroad and see the world outside her carefully protected affluent home. But her father had spent all their money; they had nothing to keep them in their world of money and supercilious wizardry friends but their renowned name. Now, as Narcissa's father had told her, it was her duty to save their name. Lucius, who had been besotted with Narcissa since her earlier schooling, was the choice advocate. If she did not acquiesce to his demands, within a month her family would be out on the streets, fighting to stay alive. Narcissa had obediently complied.
And yet, Narcissa thought as she turned on the round white cushion that was seated near her vanity, her marriage hadn't been too bad the first few months. Lucius had adored her, rarely leaving her alone in the manor, and always spending time with her. Narcissa had even allowed herself to care for him too, something that she would have never expected to happen. He had been sweet, caring, and, yes, loving then. How could you not begin to have feelings for someone who was so devoted to you?
His affection gave way with the appearance of the Dark Lord however. She went from being his favorite toy to a lovely ornament, one that could be admired from far away. He spent many days, sometimes weeks, away from the mansion, and treated her coolly when he was around. Narcissa simply devoted herself to her son, Draco, once he was born; the love that grew for her son was not forced. She had spoiled him shamelessly, but it was all so that he could forget about his father's coolness and strictness toward him and his mother. Lucius often tried to instill in Draco the ideals of his own austere upbringing, and Narcissa could do nothing but watch as the boy easily complied. She had wanted to break the standards of the distinguished side of the Wizardry world and teach her son to look at the heart of people, not their bloodlines or wealth, but Narcissa's requests fell on deaf ears.
She lifted her pain-filled eyes to the high-arched window in acknowledgement of the ear-splitting thunder and cracking lightening for the first time. Pulling her lavender satin dressing gown closer to her thin form, she walked over to the window, staring intently at the shadowed landscape. Her fine features contracted together in an expression of deep resolve. "I will not let you turn into your father Draco," she said aloud, her voice disquieting the empty silence that developed between rolls of thunder. She would not allow him to carry on the Malfoy's notoriously officious manners.
Narcissa lay down on her bed, her blonde head sinking into the deep pillows. She was nearly asleep when a burning smell brought her fully awake. A golden blaze covered the left corner and was spreading through out her room quickly, the flames licking at her curtains and vanity. She ran to the door, pounding against it with her delicate fists- it would not budge. Tears from the increasing smoke and her overpowering fear spilled from her eyes. The flames seemed to engulf her and she could not find a way out. Crouching in one corner of the room and holding her knees to her chest, she waited for a husband that would not come.
Thomas Wimbledon stoically trudged up the steep hill near Malfoy Manor, squinting through the sheets of rain that were pouring mercilessly on him. The heavy wooden cart the 52-year- old man pushed up the grassy knoll made the work twice as long and hard. He was sure by the time he reached the dreary mansion and put the cart laden with gardening tools away, he would be dead. He glared at the establishment whose owner had caused him many broken bones and strained muscles in the time that he had worked there. He grunted and pressed harder at the cart, forcing its wheels to turn slowly in the mud but not sending it any further. If he could somehow obtain the courage he so desperately needed, he would tell Mr. Malfoy that he would be quitting his job as caretaker tonight.
Twenty minutes later he had reached the top of the hill, the wind and rain seeming to grow stronger. He smiled grimly at the thought of returning to the small hut Mr. Malfoy had given him as a residence, knowing that in a few minutes he would be warm and dry. This served as a further incentive to push the cart with the last of his strength toward the dark manor. Just as he reached the back of the dwelling and placed the cart against a stonewall; a bright orange flash from the north window caught his eye. He stepped back, trying to get a better view. It was coming from Mrs. Malfoy's room, and as he saw the orange light spread from one window to the next, he knew what it was: fire.
He ran to the front of the house, trying to break in through the large front door, but it was to no avail. He knew he had not locked it before and yet the thick wooden slabs would not open. He could hear muffled screams coming from the manor, and lunged against the door with more force. Still, the doors stayed stationary.
Flames could now be seen in every window in his sight. Thomas knew he had to get help, but there was not a single other home around for miles. Still, he could not just sit back and let the house burn no matter how much he hated the houses' occupants. He turned to run, but hit something solid in his path, falling down face-first into the soggy mud. Wiping the mud from his face, he looked up at a dark-cloaked figure. He could only stare at the long, thin branch that was pointed at him before a flash of green light blinded him, sending him into a final, dark oblivion.