Every Death Eater Deserves Chocolate Pie
Never in a million years did she, Mae Mobley Leefolt, ever think this would happen. Not to her, not when she been so careful with whom she trusted. Her old maid's tales about her own troubled life had always instilled a sense of caution within Mae. 'Don't talk to strangers' Abileen Clark would say, 'never trust someone with your last name or address'. Even Abileen's best friend – Minny Jackson, another housekeeper - had made sure Mae knew how to keep safe. Despite all this, however, Mae had not been cautious enough; for if she had, she would not currently be scrubbing dungeon floors in a manor run by a cult of magic-fanatic freaks.
"Put your back into it, girl!"
One of the cloaked men that were holding her captive sneered down at her, kicking at the bucket of ice-cold water by her side. The water sloshed about, tipping over the bucket's rim and dripping onto the floor she had not long dried.
Another of the men let out a short bark of laughter and, mimicking his peer's actions, kicked the bucket harder. This time the bucket tipped over, flooding a small indent in the floor. Mae scuttled back to prevent the water from soaking into her dirty dress, but it was too late; already, she could feel the liquid begin to seep into her knees as the thin material clung to her skin. Looking up, she saw the man grin at her, not having bothered to hide his face with a hood or one of those silly silver masks some of them wore. His grey eyes sparkled with mischief, and as Mae adjusted her dress, she saw them rake over her body.
Biting her tongue to keep from cussing at him, Mae glared down at the floor. She concentrated her hatred on removing a stubborn, crimson stain on the grey stone, pushing her arms back and forth, imagining it was the man's face.
"You'd think the filthy Muggle would know her place by now, wouldn't you?" the blond wondered aloud, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.
"They'll all learn soon enough," the first man who had spoken replied. As Mae turned the bucket upright again, he sent another kick at it, barely missing her hand. "Muggles everywhere will be where they belong; with the house-elves and vermin."
There was that word again – Muggle. Up until last week, when she had been brought to this horrid place, she had never even heard of such a term. In itself, the word wasn't all that bad; in fact, it sounded rather funny. The first time she had heard it, she had simply believed it must have been some British slang for 'slut' or some other such negative connotation. She had been called worse over the years – though she was as pure as they came – so it hadn't bothered her then. As the days passed on, however, she grew to loathe it. The word was never used with endearment but was spat through the men's teeth with utter disgust. The more they used it, the more it made her feel dirty; unworthy like she was mud beneath their shoes.
Mae wondered if it was how her old maid, Abileen and her friend, Minny, had felt when they were just a little older than herself. Being Negro, Abileen and Minny had been considered 'lucky' to find work in the small town of Jackson, Missipi back in the United States. They had moved from family to family, employed on a minimum wage to cook, clean, wash, shop, garden, child-rear and, most importantly of all, put up with their spoilt, white employer's racist and snide gossip. Minny wasn't even allowed to use the house toilet and was provided a separate out-house for use by 'her kind'.
Right now, Mae was being treated more or less the same way, with a small pit behind a sheet allocated to her for her toilet use and a round, metal bowl of scraps to eat from. She had learnt that if she didn't follow their orders, she wouldn't eat. If she spoke back, she was tortured by some strange, futuristic, stick-like device the men all carried.
It was a cult Mae vowed to expose to the world if – when – she got out.
"Not going to cry are you, sweetheart?" the blond snickered, drawing Mae out of her thoughts.
She sighed, sucking in her breath. Her knuckles were turning white from the way she clenched too tightly onto the rag but she pushed her aching muscles to keep going. Hopefully, the men would soon tire of their taunts and back upstairs and leave her alone.
"I believe Rosier asked you a question, rat."
Mae gritted her teeth and glared up into the deep brown eyes of John Wilkes- the man who was responsible for bringing her here; the very man who she had thought she would be marrying later that spring.
"What do you think?" she hissed under her breath.
"I beg your pardon, Muggle?" John stepped forward, raising his hand.
Mae shrank back from his sheer height, moving her fingers from the reach of his feet. Turning her head away, and feeling all her resolved disappear, all she could do was whisper softly, "Nothing."
"That's what I thought."
"You sure can pick the obedient ones," Rosier chuckled, spitting on the floor.
Mae's cheeks burned and she shuffled even further away from the men. They laughed at her discomfort, punching each other's forearms and pointing. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, but she squeezed them shut.
How many other women had been tricked by John's charm? How many other girls, beginning their university careers and feeling like the world could only be theirs, were stupid enough to let him carry their textbooks? How many other girls were given the power of confidence when he looked upon their larger figures with a graceful smile? How many other girls were now trapped in this medieval-like cult of men who carried around sticks and wore matching tattoos?
Mae blocked out their sneers. She knew she was better than them. What was it that Abileen used to say to her? That's right – 'You is kind. You is smart. You is important.' A single tear slid down her face, creating a gritty trail along her cheek as Abileen's soothing words echoed through her mind.
As a lump caught in her throat, Mae began to repeat the words. "I am kind. I am smart. I am important. I am kind. I am smart. I am important."
She continued to chant this over and over again, almost shouting it in her head as the men's jeers became more prominent and she waited for them to finally leave the room.
Then, hearing the door slam behind them and lock, shutting out any hope she had held of getting out, she rolled over to her back. Bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly, she allowed the remaining tears to fall freely.
No one knew where she was; no one. Her mother was still furious at her for leaving the United States, claiming that she had less hope of finding a man here with her voluminous figure than she did back in their small home-town. As far as she knew, Mae was stuck in a little dormitory room without any friends. She wouldn't have called the police to check on her. The only other person who even cared about her was Abileen, and it would more than likely be too late for her by the time Abi realised Mae's letters were not coming.
"I am kind. I am smart. I am important."
How had her maid survived moments like these? How had Minny?
A small, desperate bubble of laughter escaped Mae's lips as she remembered the stories Abileen would share with her about her time as a house-keeper. Mae's mother had forbidden Abileen from retelling these tales, but one or two had slipped her mother's attention as soon as Mae had been old enough to seek out Abileen's company again.
One of her favourites was the time Minny had made her famous chocolate pie for Mae's dreadful aunt after being fired from service. Minny had allegedly waited until Mae's aunt had taken a bite out of the pie before revealing that the chocolate she used wasn't exactly of the edible variety. Remembering the way Abileen had retold the end, crying out with a wicked glint in her dark eyes, 'You ate Minny's shit!' made fresh tears spring to Mae's eyes. She didn't know if the story was true, for she knew the very act would have been a death wish on Minny's part, but it was hilarious all the same.
Her happiness did not last long, however, as Mae looked around her surroundings. Blinking back the water, she saw that she was still in the dank, cold stone room. Somewhere to her left, big, fat plops of water fell to the floor in echoing drips. Burying her head further into her knees, Mae allowed more tears to fall freely.
Would she ever get out of here?
The police weren't coming. Any shred of hope Mae had held onto, any little faith that her mother, somehow, cared enough for her well being and was looking for her, had disappeared long ago. She no longer held her breath that John would wake up to the cruel ways of his brethren, or better yet, that he was simply playing some cruel joke. Her tears had all dried up, leaving nothing but grimy gunk along her rims that she no longer bothered to wipe away.
Pressing her back against the wall, Mae folded her arms tightly across her chest. Let them punish her for not polishing the silver ware. Let them torture her with those stupid sticks for not doing their washing. She was going to rest, and that was all there was to it.
Unfortunately, she couldn't help flinching as her ears picked up on footsteps sounding from the stairs. Someone was coming down for her, and judging by the fast slapping of their shoes on the stone, they were excited – or angry. The lock on the large, wooden door jangled as they fumbled with the lock and shouted the now-familiar password, 'Alohomora!'.
Ducking her head and folding her arms even tighter, Mae tried to still the flopping of her stomach. She was kind, she was smart, and she sure as hell was not going to let them get the better of her.
"Maeeeeeeee… oh Maeeeeeee..."
Mae's stomach did another somersault as John came waltzing into the room. Her body shuddered involuntarily at the happy tone of his voice.
"Oh Mae, I have something for you..."
The footsteps stopped just in front of her, and as she glared determinedly at the polished black toes of the shoes as they tapped impatiently, she felt her resolve begin to waver. Clenching her fists, she gave a wary sigh and looked up.
John was clutching a small, creamy envelope. He waved it back and forth in front of his face, smirking as he saw Mae's eyes follow it hungrily.
She couldn't help herself from smiling back at him as a rush of curiosity and, dare she think it, hope, coursed through her body again. She knew her mind was as tired as her body, but she could've sworn his eyes were no longer filled with disgust as they were with fondness. Was he holding a letter from Abileen? Had she somehow, in that mysterious little way of hers, known that Mae needed her? Had John collected the envelope from the apartment they had shared before he brought her to this place?
"You're so pretty, Mae. I had forgotten just how blue your eyes were," John murmured, leaning down and reaching for a lock of blonde hair.
Mae blinked quickly, snapping out of her reverie. Her breath caught in her throat as John twirled her hair between his fingers and closed his eyes, taking in its scent. His voice had taken on a husky quality, one Mae had previously admired. His eyes sparkled and she could see the hints of gold and copper swirling within them, reminding her of the sparkle she once admired in them.
With a smile upon his face, John re-opened his eyes and stood up.
"Well? Wouldn't you like to know what I have?"
Nodding her head slowly, lips unable to form a word, Mae extended her hand for the envelope. She half expected him to draw back and so was surprised when he easily let go of it.
Her heart fluttered as she slipped her finger underneath the seal and tore it open. Her eyes continued to dart back and forth cautiously from the letter to John, who was now staring at a spot on the wall behind her and bouncing on his feet. Carefully, she pulled out a crumple piece of paper and smoothed it out. Her eyes scanned the fine, cursive script written in black ink, trying to make out the words. It was difficult given the way her hands shook slightly, rattling the paper.
"You see Mae, I knew you were special from the day we met. You may be a filthy Muggle, but I have been quite impressed with your resolve so far. In fact, I'm so impressed that I've decided to help you."
He leaned in closer than before, pointing to the paper in Mae's trembling hands. She could smell his breath as it tickled her neck. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the familiar musk mixed with the smell of cigar that wafted over her. Her eyes narrowed as she forced the paper still and looked to where he was pointing. There, in large letters, was the word 'Desserts'. Her lips formed the word over and over again, not sure she was reading it right. Had he gotten the wrong letter?
Tilting her head and raising her eyebrows, Mae looked up at John questioningly. His grin was wider than before as he beamed at her.
"You see, the Dark Lord has requested a feast tonight to celebrate his uprising. He feels he is ready to showcase his beliefs to the world. Rather than have a lousy house elf prepare tonight's meals, I thought it would be grand to give you the honour of doing it."
Mae blinked slowly, not sure she was hearing his words correctly. Then, realising that he was not joking, she looked back at the paper. Swallowing thickly, she stammered, "what is a house-elf and how- how is this supposed to help me? Where's Abi's letter? Where- what?"
John frowned, mimicking Mae's confusion. His cheeks grew red and, narrowing his eyes at her, he shook his head.
"Abi's letter? What are you talking about?"
"I thought-"
"I see. You thought, did you? Muggles always try to think, don't they? Never works out well for them, does it?" John's frown deepened as his voice rose.
Mae shuffled back a little, clutching onto the letter tightly. John had risen his hand and she watched with wide eyes as his chest heaved up and down. Then, almost as though a light flicked on inside him, he sighed. Winking at her, his smile returned.
"I suppose I can't blame you for not understanding- Muggles aren't all that bright, are they? The boys don't think you're capable of making anything edible. In fact, they're looking forward to seeing you fail. Jugson especially cannot wait to help you improve your skills," Mae shivered as he winked at her again. "I thought, given that I've taken to you, that I'd give you a little helping hand. There's the recipe, and so now you have a heads up of what to expect. If I were you I'd get started now- you only have few hours."
He stood in front of Mae expectantly, watching as she looked back and forth from the letter to him. She was blinking rapidly, lips moving soundlessly as still, she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Various pots, pans and other cooking equipment had appeared against the far wall, making her marvel at how she had not seen this coming before.
"Aren't you going to thank me?"
Looking up through blurry eyes, Mae watched as John looked down upon her. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage and she found she could no longer control her shaking hands. Her head was spinning and her ears were filled with a dull humming. Clamming her jaw shut, she found that she wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his smug, arrogant face.
Sighing irritably, John shook his head. Bending towards her ear again, he whispered, "you're welcome," before standing up and strolling towards the door.
Making a strangled sound as she tried to come up with a word to express herself, Mae flexed her fingers in the air and clawed out at him, intent on slapping his face. Unfortunately, John was already out the door, whistling happily. Settling instead for scrunching up the paper in her hands, she threw the crumpled ball of paper at the door as it clanged shut.
How could he?
Leaping up, she kicked her legs and stomped her feet, trying to decide whether to try and follow him or swear her lungs out. Running over to the table with the equipment, she began to upturn everything and throw it about. Pots, pans, plates and spoons fell to the floor with loud clangs, but she did not care at how loud it was.
She wouldn't do it; she wouldn't make them dessert. Let them come and torture her, let them check up on her to see what was going on. She wasn't a servant; she wasn't their slave.
"What's going on down there, Muggle?" One of the men shouted from behind the door, rattling the handle.
Breathing heavily, Mae picked up a slab of dark chocolate, intent on throwing it at the door. Her hands were still trembling as were her legs, yet her energy had dissolved. The floor spun as she looked around at the chaos she had caused, only to find another wave of anger, followed quickly by disappointment, course through her body. What was the point? She hadn't managed to cause any damage to John, nor had she she had managed to do was give herself an enormous headache and a mess to clean up when the men inevitable discovered it. With slumped shoulders, Mae closed her eyes and tried to calm down.
The door rattled again as one of the men pounded on its heavy, wooden surface. "You better not be trying anything funny down there, Muggle. What's going on?"
"Nothing," she sighed.
"Good. Hurry up with that dessert or you can bet I'll come down there and make you do it."
Working on softening her breathing, Mae opened her eyes and looked at the chocolate in her hand. She stared down at it for a minute, trying to stop herself from getting worked up again. As she did so, however, her mind began to slow down and the cogs clicked back into quite sure if she might have finally cracked, she soon found a smile rising upon her face. As before, it seemed quite out of place given her awry circumstances. Nevertheless, it began to grow as she continued staring at the glorious, brown substance.
If these men really wanted dessert, than maybe she should make it after all.
Looking towards the dirty sheet hanging in the corner behind her, Mae thought quickly. The door rattled again, though Mae knew they were only doing it this time to scare her into faster work. Just in case they did decide to come down, however, she began picking up the few items that had escaped her wrath and set to work fixing together the ingredients that she would need to make Minny's famous chocolate pie. With quick hands, she cleaned up her workstation as best she could and got the pastry ready. Then, with another glance at the sheeted area, she breathed in deeply. It was now or never. Picking up the bowl, she set off towards the dank corner, determined to make this dessert.
If Mae couldn't benefit from being cautious, then perhaps following one of Abileen's other lessons would pay off instead.
A/N: This is unbeta'd and crap, but right now, I've given up on writing. Like art and modelling and every other relevant subject, the saying of 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder' rings true - at the end of the day, you either enjoyed or disliked the story, but more importantly, the author is happy with what they want to share with the world and that's all that matters. Yes, SPaG and flow issues can occur, so simply don't read. I just needed to get that out there, and no, I don't mind concrit, nor is this aimed at the judge/s who inevitably will read this- I understand your job is to judge :) (a general note to any readers). But when it stems from someone who is simply biased or doesn't like a particular character/ pairing/ idea, then I will not be happy with my work being trashed, etc. Many authors put their all into their works, so please keep that in mind.
On a politer note, thank you for taking the time to read this. Again, it isn't one of my better works, but with computer issues (ff net logging me out and no computer battery for starters), work and the stress of moving out, I have no choice but to submit something. So, without further ado, here is my movie crossover between Harry Potter and The Help. I have used a grown up Mae (the little girl Abileen took care of) and used quite a few little pieces from the movie to make the connection smoother. For those who haven't watched The Help, I'd highly recommend it. This fic does not do it justice (and if I had more time I'd probably reword it), but the movie is very well done. To make it fit in, this fic is set during the First Wizarding War.
Prompts:
(word) letter
(word) rush
(phrase) now or never
P.S. I do hope my use of the term 'Negro' does not cause any offence. The use of the word was not intended to do so (in this day and age, I am not sure what is politically correct), and was merely used as a reflection of the time the characters lived and what they would have used. My sincerest apologies if any offense was caused.