Title: Tangled
Summary: Tannis Killiken's grandfather has skeletons in his closet. Tom Riddle wants to know what they are.
Rating: T(+)
Author's Notes: This is the first story I've published in a looong time, and the first on this account. Thanks for checking it out. :) Please note that there is a possible trigger warning in this chapter for self harm, although "self harm," as you understand it, is not what's being depicted. Anyway! On with the show.
Chapter One
The cellars were deathly cold, this far underground.
Tannis shivered as she looked down at the strange golden knife that sat heavy in the palm of her hand. The ring of candles she had placed meticulously around her sigil flickered in an unfelt breeze, and the chalk circle she had drawn on the cellar floor appeared to transmogrify wildly in the candlelight. Wrapping her fingers firmly around the dagger's handle, she leaned over to read in the dim light, running a finger along the words of the heavy old book she had found hidden in the locked cabinet inside her grandfather's study. When her hair touched the page, the words wiggled, as if written in something living.
Grandfather had told her that things this old had stories, lives of their own. This book must have lived many lives, she thought, given how peculiar it was. In the time she had spent poring over its pages, searching and wishing, it had begun to hum, to resonate, to call to her when she wasn't there. The closer she got, the better to read, the stronger its hum became. It seemed to pulsate with her every breath, like a heartbeat, as though it were eager to absorb her magic, to swallow her whole. When she read from it, she smelled lilies, molasses, something odd and smoky. In anticipation, or perhaps in fear, she felt her hands begin to shake.
"Aperi vulnere mors enim generandi," she whispered. "Offero refundens perdidisti, ita ut supra, possunt infra." The unfamiliar language rolled off her tongue from nights spent practicing, hidden quietly beneath the cover of her quilt.
The flames around her lengthened, tall and straight, like the trunks of soldier pines. The air became thick with something alien, and Tannis felt as though she had been submerged in temperate water. The lengths of her dark hair lifted around her head like a halo, suspended in the mounting energy her incantation had produced, and the interior of her chalk circle had turned an inky black, seemingly untouched by the light of the candles. The spell inside the grimoire was glowing.
She shook harder now; Tannis tightened her grip on the knife, breathing as deeply as she could manage in the spell's building pressure. Extending her forearm above the void she had created inside the circle, she closed her eyes. Her voice wavered as she spoke.
"Revorto," she pleaded, digging the knife into the flesh of her arm. She squeezed her eyes tight, anticipating the pain, but felt none. Reopening them, one at a time, she looked down at the wound. Though her arms had begun to shake as the pressure around her grew, and her blood, black in the darkness of the cellar, had started to flow downwards to her wrist, it was as if she had but touched her skin with a feather, the end of a quill. Her eyes, however, were full of tears. Some pains were more difficult to ignore.
"Revorto," repeated Tannis, rotating her arm. The blood dripped from her wrists to the floor—into the floor, she realized with a start. Immediately, the spell in the book ceased to glow; the candles around her burned out. She nearly cried out, overcome with dread. It didn't work, she bemused, shrouded in doubt and darkness. She shut her eyes, hot, fat tears streaming down her face.
Then, the spell worked.
Suddenly, the candles were relit—enormous pillars of bright green flame—and the floor beneath her opened. She screamed, falling into the rapidly expanding abyss, and her hands clutched desperately at the book that remained where it had been, seemingly suspended over the void her spell had created. Her crying worsened. The book was steady, as if still sat on the cellar floor, but how long could she hold on? There was a deafening roar in the air around her, like the yawn of an enormous beast awakened from its slumber. The pressure she had felt continued to intensify, and worse, now; her nose began to bleed. Tannis clamped her eyes shut once more, fading quickly, waiting for death. In the back of her mind, she could see her mother's smile, the fire that had stolen her. Praemonitus, praemunitus. She wondered what mum would think if she saw her now.
Above her head, a great white light erupted, shining bright above the abyss. The green glow of the candles strained against it, battling to defend against the intrusion, and created a dome over the chasm that blinded her. She could not see the wizard who saved her as he walked across the abysm, as if it were a ceiling made of glass, but she felt herself pulled suddenly from the depths of the void, cradled in strong, familiar arms.
"Finite," he said—strong, frightened, angry—and raised his wand. The darkness screamed, and Tannis fainted, the front of her jumper covered in blood.
August, 1943
Tannis Killiken and her grandfather lived in the same bastle house near the Bowmont Water that their family had lived in for centuries. Some summer nights, she would walk barefoot across the wold to dip her feet in the river and look up at the stars, searching for constellations. On good nights, she could make out the giant Ophiuchus, his starlight serpent languishing brightly across the sky. Sometimes, she would sit on the riverbank and think of her mother, and wonder if she, too, could ever learn to bring back the dead.
If the secret was hidden anywhere, Tannis used to imagine, it would be in the cellars below the house, which tunneled underground for what felt like forever, and were full of the myriad and mysterious curios her grandfather had collected over his career: dog eared books (that sometimes barked), doxy skeletons as small as her hands, looking glasses you should never look into, and a great many things she was sure she'd never seen, never dreamed of, and never would, if grandfather had his way. Years spent searching for sympathetic artifacts, experimenting, cataloguing for her grandfather, had left her with nothing more than dashed hopes and lost innocence. As she grew, her hopes had faded, replaced with the demands of her lessons, the direction of her future.
"Magic can't make the dead living again, Tan," grandfather had told her solemnly once as they sat on the roof of the house one late summer night, his face cast in the light of one of his floating fires she had been so fond of as a girl. She had just turned eleven, and asked him what sort of magic they taught at Hogwarts.
"Your mother is still here, with us," her grandfather had said. "She hasn't gone anywhere. There's nowhere to bring her back from."
But if she wasn't gone, why did she miss her so badly?
Acamar Killiken was as good a guardian as any, and better. He was the kind of man whose magic was palpable, an accomplished academic who had been in Ravenclaw himself in his own day, just like Tannis and her mother before her. But he was no replacement for mum. Her mother may have lacked the decades of experience her grandfather possessed, but she had been a remarkable witch in her own way, always experimenting, pushing limits. Still, growing up in her grandfather's care had its own unique benefits, and under his dedicated encouragement, Tannis was fast becoming a first-rate witch. He meant the world to her, for that and more.
August was a busy month for Tannis and her grandfather. For Tannis, its coming signaled that the new term was ever faster approaching. While her homework was done, and had been done for ages, she had her own projects to wrap up. Grandfather let her practice her potion craft over holidays, because it was both her passion and inherently difficult for the Ministry to trace. She had spent this summer like many before it, poring over strange old tomes that she'd wager even Slughorn hadn't seen, brewing tonics, toying with exotic ingredients. This was seductive and undeniably formative, but made for messy work. The top cellar—the only one she was allowed into on her own, anymore—was littered with open books and half-full apothecary jars, which would each need to be tidied, catalogued, and replenished when she went to London for her school shopping.
In her grandfather's case, the wizard was preparing for a long trip to South America, which meant the kitchen table was about as messy as the cellar, or worse, but instead with yellowed maps and scattered piles of curious bits of equipment. "Unfinished business," he had called the expedition, reassuring her that while he was no spring mandrake, he had lived half his life living out of a rucksack, and now that she was older, it was the perfect—and perhaps final—opportunity for him to revisit his work.
"When they write me, after you've died," she had countered, "I'd appreciate it if they did it in English."
The old man smiled at that, digging into a poached egg over breakfast one morning. "When are you going to London? You're running out of time."
"Soon, soon," she waved her hand, deflecting the question. "I don't want to go myself, and the Foxing-Lessons are still in Tasmania on holiday. Got to wait for Darley. I'd never hear the end of it if I went without her." The later, the better, as far as Tannis was concerned. This far north, they had escaped much of the dangers of the Muggle war, and the Muggle world held little mystery for her.
The morning she finally received the owl—an abominable sort of long ear she knew was called Philomena—Tannis made her final trek of the summer down to the Water, and read the note in the twilight hours on the riverbank. The stationery was a regal shade of indigo, gilded by Darletta Foxing-Lessons' signature ostentatious script, which was printed in a handsome silver ink. As always, she would meet her friend at Sugarplum's, on Wednesday at high noon, 'and you'd better have my jumper! xoxo'
She stared out at the river and listened to the sounds of late summer, reveling in the crisp August air. The sky was a haze of misty blues and ochres, and the trees and weeds were alive with a symphony of doves and crickets. The river babbled, smooth and quiet, and the grass beneath her was long and soft. She looked back over her shoulder, and saw the telltale smoke beginning to rise from the bastle chimney. Supper would be ready soon; grandfather would expect her back, before long.
For a solitary moment, she felt an immense, unnamed sadness, and could not draw her eye from it as it danced up and away to meet the brightly glowing clouds. This would be her sixth year at Hogwarts, and by the sound of things, when she returned home for Christmas, grandfather wouldn't be here to receive her. How many more Christmases would they have together, before she left home, or she lost grandfather to his studies, like she'd lost mum? What if this term was as tumultuous as the last—what if she was the one who ended up dead? She couldn't say why—probably nothing, she told herself—but somewhere deep within, she felt the unsteady pull one feels when standing on the edge of a precipice. Between what and where, she wasn't sure. There was simply something in the air, and grandfather had raised her to always put stock in things felt in the air. Perhaps she was just getting old.
Suddenly, she heard a rustling in the trees along the northern bank of the Bowmont. She clutched lightly at the end of her wand, to be safe, her eyes straining to see in the fast-approaching darkness.
A rustle and a quiet splash, and into the water from betwixt the trees came a single spotted doe, almost unearthly in its delicacy. She hadn't even heard it approach. For a moment, Tannis thought the deer hadn't seen her, either, for how still it was, how lightly it treaded. But then the doe looked directly at her, observing her calmly, and Tannis could no longer pretend she was unseen. The doe stood there, still in the water, watching Tannis watching her, for moments, minutes, a lifetime. Then, as softly as she had come, the doe turned, walking eastward along the bank of the river, its silhouette retreating quietly against the darkening horizon.
Tannis stood, still watching the animal, knowing before too long, the sky would turn completely, and the walk home would seem all the longer. Just as she did, however, the doe stopped in its path, craning its neck to give the witch a final parting appraisal, before walking on, leaving Tannis finally alone on the bank of the Bowmont. Tucking her wand into the pocket of her cardigan, she drew her sweater close around her body, and started her walk to the house, all the while thinking of spotted things and big dark eyes.
That night, she dreamt she was a deer.
She hated London.
The air was too thick, the streets were too crowded, and quiet was hard to come by. Darley always teased her for it, but she loved the north, where people were scarce and the air smelled like air. Besides, the Muggle world was inescapable here—half thanks to Darley, who liked to take in the exotic atmosphere whenever she had the opportunity—and Tannis had never felt at home in the Muggle world. It came, she supposed, from growing up with a wizard like her grandfather, who both valued and required his privacy, and who himself was so innately entrenched in the magical that the antithesis felt unnatural. Sometimes she wondered if she was destined to spend her whole life in the bastle, tending to her grandfather's collections until the end of time. When she thought of air raids and Hindenburgs, however, she conceded there were far worse fates.
Tannis dusted a bit of stray Floo powder from her skirt and stepped out into the bustling Diagon Alley high street from within the Three Broomsticks, standing for a moment on the tips of her toes to see above the scurrying crowd. Holding her satchel close to her hip, she made her way down the cobblestone streets in the direction of Sugarplum's Sweets Shop, where before long, she found a gangly blonde with big brown eyes rocking back and forth on her heels in anticipation, scanning the street anxiously.
When their eyes met, the girls raced through the crowd, embracing happily when at last they reached each other. Darley, who towered over her, picked her up in her excitement, and gave a twirl with the smaller girl in her arms.
"Have you got my jumper?" asked Darletta Foxing-Lessons as Tannis's feet landed on the ground, always one to focus on the task at hand. "I missed it all summer, you know."
"Yes, I have. You can breathe, now," replied Tannis, pulling the sweater from the depths of her enchanted bag. "How was Tasmania?"
"Dull," groaned Darletta. After a moment, she conceded, "All right, well, not dull, but I had to share a room with Orson and he's been such a little git since he received his letter."
Tannis grinned as they made their way inside the shop, bells ringing above their heads. "Best hope he's not sorted into Ravenclaw, then."
"Ha!" Darley sneered. "He's too thick for Ravenclaw. Better he ends up in Hufflepuff, for his own good. Or Slytherin."
"I take it back," Tannis smirked at her friend. "Really you'd best hope he's not sorted into Slytherin. Then he'll be a right git."
"Well," replied Darley, her ears turning the lightest tint of pink, "not all Slytherins are so bad." As they made their way toward the till, Darletta quickly placed a galleon onto the counter with a clink, pushing Tannis to the side before she could stop her. "Two pumpkin pasties, please."
"You don't have to," Tannis insisted, blushing with sickles in hand. "Grandfather's started paying me for all the cataloguing I've been doing, so—"
"Great! So you can owe me," said Darley, sticking her tongue out as she handed her friend the largest pumpkin pasty Tannis had ever seen. "Really, Tan, it's nothing. You know how father is, always throwing money around—s'pose it's his way of apologizing for never being home. Look, I even gave you the better one."
"Are you bribing me?" Tannis asked in mock suspicion. Darletta wrapped her arm around the other girl's shoulder as they turned from the counter.
"Who can say," answered Darley with a smile before the girls took their usual spot on the windowsill. Every summer, for the past four summers, she and Darley had eaten pumpkin pasties on this same ledge, trading stories and observing the madness of the alley outside. They had even carved their initials into the wood of the window pane in the summer before their second year, and even still, their amalgamated sigil of "D and T" remained untouched. Tannis liked to imagine it would remain that way forever.
After trading stories of the summer's events—of which Darley had many, and Tannis had little—Tannis noticed that Darletta's pasty had remained largely untouched. Now, that's strange, she thought. After Darley finished her tale of pushing her brother into a puddle of mud in Waratah, she asked her what was the matter, threatening to take the sweet for herself, if she refused. After a moment, Darley starting fiddling nervously with her wand, and answered.
"I spent some time with Bry—Avery over the summer," Darley said, staring into her lap.
"Avery?" replied Tannis. "The seventh year?"
"That's the one," Darletta confirmed. "His mum 'n mine go back, and she had them 'round for dinner before we left… He lives just over the way. You know, I remember him from when we were little, and I hated him then. He was always telling me I looked like a stork."
Tannis gave her a knowing look, green eyes darting from the pink tips of her ears to the increasingly rosy quality of her cheeks. "And what's he think now?" she asked.
Darley smiled mistily, seemingly despite herself. "Differently."
"Darley."
"He's charming!" Darletta insisted, swatting the brunette lightly on the leg. "It must be all that time he spends with Tom Riddle—you know what he's like. And he's tall, Tan. Do you know how hard it is for a girl like me? I'm lucky people don't spread rumors I'm half-giant."
"You're too skinny to be half giant," teased Tannis. "I'd sooner believe you're part stork."
"Tan," Darletta groaned. "I'm nervous. He…he kissed me, but who knows how he'll act, once term starts? How do I know he even likes me?"
"Well, did he say he did?"
"He didn't say all that much, to tell the truth," Darley answered. "But he's tall, and he's a beater, so he's got those arms, and mum would just die, you know?"
After a moment of quick deliberation, Tannis stood up with a smile, offering the other girl her hand. "We'll go to that Muggle shop you like so much, then. Get you something fetching. You may look like a stork most of the time, but…"
Darley laughed and gave her hand a squeeze, tittering excitedly on the edge of the sill. The pasty was gone in a manner of seconds.
When Tannis arrived home, it was already well after dark. Her grandfather was sat at the kitchen table, poring over a sun-bleached bit of parchment covered in runes, and pot of stew bubbled dutifully over the fire, awaiting her return. As she stepped over the threshold of the fireplace, tired and covered in soot, her grandfather looked up at her with a look that was as much a smile as it appeared he could manage. He looked older to her lately, somehow. Probably tired, she thought—this was a familiar sight to her of late, her grandfather huddled over a table of scrolls and maps, scribbling endlessly in his journal. Preparing for the trip was seemingly all he did, but that was comforting, in its own way.
"How was London?" he asked. "Did you get everything? Was it enough?"
Tannis produced a purple coin purse from her bag and dropped it in front of him on the tabletop. "More than," she answered with a beleaguered little smile. "There's change in there. Should I leave it for you?"
He pushed the purse away. "You keep it," he replied. "A bonus, for all your help this summer; I have what I need, and then some. It'll be better off in your pocket than mine."
Her smile widened a little. "Thanks, grandfather."
The wizard rose from his seat. He stretched for a good long while, and she wondered how long he'd been sitting there. From inside a lopsided cabinet, he produced two wooden bowls, and ladled into them two generous portions of stew. Tannis sat, pushing aside some rolled maps and bits of parchment, and accepted the bowl with gusto, slumping into her chair. The girls had spent all their time—and most of their money—shopping for school supplies, treats, and a new shirtwaist dress for Darley at a shop called Elizabeth's in downtown London. They hadn't stopped to eat, or anything else, for that matter, and the day's excitement had worn on her.
After he had sat, the old man asked, "How is Darley?"
"Same as ever," Tannis replied, shoveling stew into her mouth. "She's got herself a boyfriend."
"You don't say?" replied her grandfather.
Tannis nodded. "It's true. Brycus Avery. Seventh year."
"Avery?" the wizard asked. She wondered if he knew the name, but he said nothing of it, if he did. "What house is the boy in?"
Tannis gave him a pointed look and said, "Slytherin. I don't know why she couldn't have picked some nice Ravenclaw. She's not as hardened as that lot."
Tannis's grandfather paused for a moment. "You're not worried, are you?" he asked.
She looked at him, not understanding. "No. Should I be?"
The wizard waved his hand. "No, no. I only meant that the two of you are attached to one another like a stubborn old sticking charm. I had thought you might be nervous, now that Darley has someone new to run her mouth to."
Tannis paused; she hadn't thought of that. It was true that girls had spent nearly every waking minute together since the day they met. They had shared a dormitory all five years; they had identical schedules; until very recently, they had been nearly identical people, as much as two girls could be. Would Darley really replace her with a pair of strong arms, strong Slytherin arms? Thinking on it, she wasn't sure. She had no history to look back on.
"I don't know," she mused, staring into her lap. "You don't suppose I ought to be?"
"Of course not," her grandfather answered. "Don't fret, Tan. Boys come and go. The only thing you ought to worry about is what terrible company she'll be until the fever breaks."
"Or worse," Tannis joked, leaning back in her chair, "that she'll pass it on to me."