Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to J.K. Rowling.
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My Favourite Pair Of Shoes
Rules
Last resort
"Hey Lizzie," said a voice she didn't recognise, and she turned, her jaw dropping in surprise. It was Terry, but he had grown a great deal since she had seen him last and was now a good deal taller than her. He had filled out too, his shoulders appearing much bulkier than she remembered.
She tore her eyes off of him as she felt a blush spreading across her face and saw Ryan, who stood beside him, grinning happily.
"My favourite pair of shoes!" she beamed, flinging an arm around each of their necks.
Terry chuckled and hugged her back. "Good to see you too. How was your break?"
She shrugged, smiling happily. "Uneventful. How are you, Ryan?" She turned to the younger boy. "I hope your brother hasn't been treating you too badly."
"Nah. Listen guys, I'll see you after the feast alright? I'm gonna go catch up with Brad."
Ryan skittered away to find his friend, dragging his trunk behind him.
"Shall we find a compartment?" suggested Terry, and Elizabeth nodded, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and grabbing the other end of Terry's trunk to help lift onto the train.
They found an empty compartment quickly and Terry hefted his trunk up into the overhead compartment.
"Quidditch is going to be excellent this year," he commented, taking the seat across from her. "We'll need some new team members; we've lost a chaser and a beater. Ryan's going to try out for a position."
Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Actually, you've lost two chasers."
It took a moment before her comment registered with Terry. "Wha- wait! You mean you're dropping out of the team? You can't do that!"
"And why not?" she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.
"Because," exploded Terry. "You just can't! Why would you even want to?"
Elizabeth nearly laughed at his outburst, but she maintained her composure in case he erupted further. "I just think it's best that I concentrate on my studies at the moment. We're NEWT students now; it's going to be a lot harder this year."
"Lizzie!" groaned Terry in an agonised voice. "You're the smartest witch in our year; you're not going to have any trouble keeping up your marks. Besides, you need to have fun sometimes, too."
Elizabeth shrugged. "It's not just that; you know how many times I got hurt playing Quidditch last year, and my luck only seems to be getting worse. I just think it's time to stop, while I still have all my faculties intact." She smiled, trying to make a joke out of it.
Terry seemed to take her seriously though, and the argument actually seemed to sway him.
"Don't worry, though," she assured him. "I'll still come and watch you all practice."
----=[]o[]=----
She now felt extremely restricted in regards to the avenues she could pursue in search of her mother.
Over the holiday she had done an internet search at the nearest library for her mother, but as she had expected, no results were returned.
Elizabeth was quite sure her mother was still in the wizarding world; she simply couldn't imagine anyone who knew about magic turning away from it.
She began to think long and hard about how to proceed.
---=[]o[]=----
Elizabeth drew the curtains around her bed and performed a lumos. She pulled the leather bound book from under her pillow and set it upon her lap, running her fingers over the cover before running her finger down the wiggly etching on the spine and letting it fall open.
This was the first chance she had really had to take a look at it, and she was immensely interested in what she might find within its pages.
The first page was blank, the second bearing only the ancestral family name written in a beautiful curling script that snaked over the page with multiple flourishes. She traced it with her finger before turning to the next page.
The next two pages were painted with the image of a tree, but it was only very pale. In the foreground, written in a deep black ink were hundreds of names.
Unlike most family trees, which generally spread downward and outward as the family grew, hers was a distorted diamond shape, spreading from the founder and then shrinking as dozens of witches and wizards died childless.
The ancestral name died out after seven generations when a wizard name Adictus fathered only two daughters, Scarla and Merditha. She followed the lines down through half a dozen more name changes until she came to her own name, the last one in a lone, straggly branch of the tree that went back several generations before it split.
She was slightly disappointed to find her mother had had no children since Elizabeth, though she supposed it shouldn't surprise her.
She poured over the family tree, reading every name on it before she finally closed the heavy book and went to sleep.
----=[]o[]=----
Every chance she got, Elizabeth found herself pouring over her family book. It was chock full of interesting things. Her family had a rich history, and the book detailed the life and achievements of nearly every family member.
The book seemed to have been written by a good many authors over the years, each one ensuring that the details of their generation were recorded. The handwriting changed every now and then, though each author had excellent penmanship, the writing always neat and elegant. She was pleased to find that several scripts resembled her own, and marvelled at the fact that such things were hereditary.
Several charms and potions she had heard of seemed to have been invented by long dead relatives, their study and development of their respective magics documented in the thick pages of the book.
It was a shame that the family was all but gone; such brilliance lost from the world.
At one point, Elizabeth flipped through the book until she came to blank pages, and found on the last one her name written. It appeared that the book automatically added a new chapter whenever a child was born, or perhaps her name was written there because she was the person currently in possession of the book.
She had done nothing of merit yet, but she was only young and she hoped that one day she might be able to fill pages with words about her life.
Another section that interested her was one that came just after the family tree. It was a list of rules by which the family was to abide. Elizabeth recalled what Terry had said in their second year; about how some of the old pureblood families denounced children who did not fulfil certain criteria.
It appeared that her family was no different, and she poured over the rules that dictated whether one was considered worthy or not.
One must attain a significant level of education. Should one fail to do so, one will not be entitled to receive an inheritance, though the inheritance can be passed on to one's children if they are to gain a significant level of education.
----=[]o[]=----
"So, Lizzie."
Elizabeth looked up from her assignment to see Terry leaning casually against a bookshelf, his hands in his pockets and his legs crossed at the ankles. She raised an eyebrow. "So what, Terry?"
"Want to go out with me?"
Against her will, a shy grin spread over her face, and she felt her cheeks redden.
"Alright," she replied and Terry's face split into an ecstatic grin.
----=[]o[]=----
One must not be indebted or dependent on a muggle; to do so is a dishonour to the family name and while one is in such a position, one cannot attain one's inheritance.
----=[]o[]=----
Elizabeth walked down the main street of Hogsmeade with Terry. It was their first 'date' and she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. Usually, she came with the girls from her house and merely listened to their conversation, only having input when directly asked a question.
Now however, there were only two of them, and if there was to be a conversation, then she was going to have to be a part of it.
She felt extremely awkward and had no idea what to say. Thankfully, Terry seemed to know exactly what to do and kept up a fairly constant stream of conversation so that she only had to make the occasional remark, which suited her just fine.
They turned down a small lane that was far less crowded. She recognised it as a lane she had travelled down on her way to visit the jeweller, Dimitri. She remembered there was a cafe down the a little further, and she suggested they go there.
Terry agreed and they headed towards the destination. To her alarm, halfway there Terry tentatively slipped his hand into hers. Except for the occasional friendly hug when she saw her friends after the holidays, physical contact with others was not something Elizabeth was used to and the move made Elizabeth feel subconscious and far out of her depth.
She was tense as they walked along; she wanted nothing more than to yank her sweating hand out of Terry's grasp, but he seemed blithely unaware and was chatting happily as they walked, seemingly reassured that holding her hand was an acceptable move.
She was relieved when they arrived at the cafe, and she pulled her hand from his, pointing out a table. They took seats and both ordered drinks, Elizabeth keeping her hands firmly out of his reach by hiding them in her lap.
----=[]o[]=----
One may not receive an inheritance if one is to engage in marital relations with one of impure blood.
----=[]o[]=----
Over the next few weeks, Elizabeth tried to learn to be comfortable with being closer to Terry.
Things weren't moving too fast, for which she was glad. She and Terry still had the same old arguments they always had, so there were some weeks where she barely talked to him for days on end. In a way she was glad; when they were talking, they were spending all of their time together, and it could be a bit stifling.
One day after about a month of dating, Terry pulled her into a quiet courtyard and wrapped her in a close embrace, and to Elizabeth's surprise it wasn't an entirely foreign feeling anymore. It was actually quite pleasant.
----=[]o[]=----
The end of term was nearing when Elizabeth's worst accident yet occurred. She was going up one of the staircases when she tripped on the top step, banging her knee hard on the sharp edge of the stair.
She let out a sharp gasp at the pain and with a frustrated cry picked herself up and stepped off of the stair, turning around to pick up her books. All would have been well were it not for a stone that jutted up a bare centimetre above the rest.
Her foot caught on it and her weak knee gave way.
The staircase began to move at that moment, and she wobbled wildly on the edge.
She gave a surprised gasp as her balance tipped and she began to fall, her arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to find some purchase. She found none, and began to plummet towards the hard ground.
The last thing Elizabeth saw was the stone floor rapidly approaching.
----=[]o[]=----
Elizabeth woke up to the familiar sights and smells of the hospital wing, remembering in a shocking rush how she had ended up here this time. The memory of the floor rushing up at her caused a strangled gasp to escape her, and there was a sudden movement to the side of her bed.
"Lizzie!"
"Terry," she croaked, relieved that someone was there. She tried to turn her head, but a sharp pain at the base of her neck made her remain still.
"Don't move! Madam Pomfrey's coming now."
She was; Elizabeth could hear the familiar clock of her heels on the stone floor and moments later the medi-witch was holding a vial to her lips. The potion was not one she had ever had before.
"What's wrong with me," whispered Elizabeth, because she just didn't feel right at all.
"You had quite a fall-"
"Yes, I remember thank you," snapped Elizabeth, immediately regretting it. The witch however, seemed not to have noticed her rudeness, and continued on in the same simple tone.
"You've done quite a bit of damage, I'm afraid, and you won't be able to move for at least ten days, I should say. You broke your neck when you fell. The bad news is that we don't know if you'll regain full movement."
Elizabeth didn't know what to say, so she simply closed her eyes and ignored everything, focussing solely on not letting the tears that burned the back of her throat fall.
This was far worse that the paralysis she had suffered when the Clinging Gravillea had attacked her. This time, there was no sensation whatsoever; no strange tingling to let her know her body was actually there.
An hour later, she heard the medi-witch order Terry to leave. Elizabeth had not known it, but he had been sitting the whole time with her hand in his,
Terry laid a soft kiss on her forehead, brushing her cheek softly with his thumb. Suddenly she wished she could reach out and hold him and kiss him properly. They hadn't yet; Terry seemed to understand her hesitancy to get too close, and had kept his distance in that regard, though he did often kiss her cheek goodnight.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, anger coursing through her inanimate body as he left the infirmary. Her luck was going to run out, and she would be dead, if she didn't find her mother. But she had searched through the muggle directories and the wizarding directories, and found no trace. She was at a loss for what to do next.
She knew she needed help, needed someone who was in a better position to find out what she needed.
As soon as she regained the ability to actually move, then she would act.
----=[]o[]=----
One may not receive an inheritance if one is not of pure blood, except if one is the last heir in a line and there are no other lines. Should a pureblood heir be born thereafter, the inheritance will revert to the one of pure blood.
----=[]o[]=----
Terry came to get her from the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey finally released her. She still did not have all the feeling in her legs back, and though she was a little unsteady on her feet she could walk well enough and she didn't want to be in the hospital wing any longer.
Instead of returning straight to the Common Room, Terry took her out through the Entrance Hall and down the grassy slopes in front of the school, her hand firmly in his grasp.
They found a quiet spot beside the lake, sheltered by a tree behind them and bushes and rocks to their sides.
They sat together without talking, she leaning against his chest and his arm around her.
"You're quiet," murmured Terry after a while, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her waist as they gazed out over the placid waters of the Black Lake.
"Just thinking," she relied softly.
"Mm? What about?"
She shrugged lightly and turned her face up to his. "Nothing important."
She pressed her lips against his lightly, and he bought his other hand up to cup her face. She was pleased to realise that being so close to another person no longer caused her to feel insecure or unsettled or strange. Now, being held by Terry was familiar, and... nice.
----=[]o[]=----
Elizabeth stepped out of the shadows, startling the approaching figure. "Flint. Let's talk."
----=[]o[]=----
One may have their inheritance stripped from them should they fail to abide by the rules set forth in this book. Inheritance may be reinstated at such a time as one returns to the standards deemed acceptable.
----=[]o[]=----
It was Saturday night, and she was tramping though a dark forest after allowing Flint to side-along apparate her there.
Gradually they came upon a small cluster of people, one of whom Elizabeth recognised.
"Bishop! What on Earth are you doing here?" asked Snape, an inscrutable look on his face.
"I wish to speak with the Dark Lord," she replied tonelessly, before eyeing his Death Eater robes and adding, "I never believed the rumours."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Perhaps it is wise, then, to determine your own answers instead of relying on the inane ramblings of idiot friends. What, may I ask, do you wish to speak to the Dark Lord for?" Elizabeth scowled at his sarcastic tone.
"It's really nothing to do with you, sir."
"I warn you, then," whispered Snape in a deadly voice, "Turn back now, Miss Bishop, for if you proceed, I fear you will not return to the castle alive."
Her blood ran cold at his words, but she gave no outward sign that she had heard, not answering or turning to look at him. If I turn back, I will be dead.
They began to walk and presently they came upon a clearing lit brightly by the moon. Dark, robe-clad figures were gathered in a circle, spaces left here and there for people yet to come.
Flint jerked her to a halt just outside of the circle. "Stay behind me and don't move until I tell you."
She nodded wordlessly, chafing at his tone but doing as he said.
Eventually the circle was filled but for one space, and the clearing became utterly silent. When no one had spoken for several minutes, a tall figure materialised out of the air, conjured a high backed chair that was almost a throne, and settled himself in it, staring coldly around the circle with a raking gaze. The moment he lowered himself below the level of the others, the circle dropped as one to their knees, and Elizabeth quickly followed suit, though she did not bow her head like the others did.
Elizabeth was struck by his eyes, which burned a vivid red in his impossibly pale face. He sat regally, looking down upon his followers and it was a while before he spoke.
"Mr. Flint, I see you have a visitor hiding behind you. Pray tell, who is this?"
Elizabeth was surprise; she did not think he had seen her; certainly, his eyes had not met hers.
Flint shuffled forward. "My Lord, her name is Elizabeth Bishop. A mudblood. Sixth year Gryffindor. She insisted on meeting you. She swears it is her desire to serve you."
Liz rolled her eyes at Flint's lie, trying not to let her nervousness show.
"Indeed," murmured Voldemort, running a brief eye over her and then fixing Flint with his blood red gaze. When he spoke, his voice was like ice. "Tell me, Marcus. If an army of aurors swore their allegiance to me, would you bring them, too? Crucio."
Liz jerked at the beam of red light that collided with Flint, her breathing quickening as she heard his pained screams. The curse was brief, but she was in on doubt that the intended effect had been had. Ignoring the whimpering boy who scrambled backwards to his place in the circle, Voldemort turned his crimson eyes on her.
She swallowed, undeniably nervous surrounded as she was by faceless, black robed Death Eaters and the most evil of wizards in front of her. I must do this, she reminded herself, and squared her shoulders.
"Is this true? You, a muggleborn and friend of Harry Potter wish to serve me?"
"No. I have no wish to serve you." She said it quickly, but surely. She wanted no misunderstandings here, and she thought too that Voldemort would have little patience for her. Whispers sprang up around her.
"Silence!" barked Voldemort, and all noise stopped. "Is that so? Then what reason have you for desiring to speak with me? Has someone sent you with a message, perhaps?"
"I er -"She swallowed nervously once again, the words catching in her throat. "I need help," she finished weakly, cursing the hairs that were raised on the back of her neck and her arms. She was not someone easily scared, but standing completely defenceless as she was brought to the surface some instinctual and primitive sense of fear.
The wizard laughed, as if enjoying some funny joke. "You request the help of Lord Voldemort?" He laughed again, harshly, this time joined in by some of the surrounding Death Eaters. She wondered briefly how often he referred to himself in the third person.
"Yes, I do," she whispered, unsure how to act in the face of his amusement.
The man broke off his laughter abruptly, and the Death Eaters quickly followed suit at his menacing glare. "You are brave, to ask such a thing of me, but alas, I do not help others, much less muggleborn school students who have little, if nothing, to offer me. It was a mistake for you to come here."
He withdrew his wand.
All at once, she felt as if all the Death Eaters surrounding her had moved in, though she hadn't seen them move and knew she was just giving in to the fear that crawled over her skin. "No, wait! You must listen to me!"
Voldemort's nostrils flared in anger. "How dare you presume to tell me what I must do!" he hissed.
"Perhaps I do have something to offer you. Information you might find -" she pause a brief second, contemplating a suitable word, "Interesting."
"Information, really?" he sneered. "Not a minute ago, you were adamant that you had no desire to serve me, and now you claim to have information that will assist me?"
Liz took a deep breath. "I have no idea if it will help you. In fact, I sincerely hope it does not, though I know there are ways it may. What I said is that it may interest you."
Mutters ran around the circle at the way she spoke to him, but she held his gaze as if it did not scare her.
"I tire of your attitude," he said slowly, and she sensed danger.
"Will you listen to my request?"
It was a moment before he replied. "I will hear your information first. If I deem it, as you say, interesting, then perhaps I will," he smirked cruelly, "help you."
The Death Eaters chuckled. "I do however, doubt it." He smirked evilly. "You are lucky I have few pressing matters to deal with tonight, or you would be quite dead by now."
"I would prefer to talk privately, where your Death Eaters cannot hear us," she said. If she had to, she would reveal who she was, but she knew it would not be good for her if people found out.
"I'm sure it will be fine for you to talk here," he replied lazily, arrogantly. The way he spoke angered her; he was condescending to say the least. He obviously believed she had nothing of worth to offer.
"My information concerns you, your mother, and your inheritance." She paused and smirked. "Or lack thereof. Are you sure you wish others to hear this? Merope Gaunt is alive, I have no doubt you know this. But that is all you know."
She waited, and the clearing was deathly silent. She knew she had surprised Voldemort, for his look of arrogant dismissal had been replaced by a blank stare, and he blinked slowly.
It was as if everyone in the clearing held their breath in anticipation of his answer, for not a finger twitched or a chest moved.
After an interminable and agonising moment, he tilted his head, the blank look still on his face. Slowly he raised his hand off the arm of his throne, and she steeled herself. However, he merely raised it several centimetres and then dropped it. "You may speak," he said, and she realised he must have cast silencio around them.
She spoke quickly, hoping he would hear her out. "I seek my mother. When I was born she placed a Death Curse on me. Only she can lift it, willingly or by her death. I have done all I can on my own to find her. I'm quite sure your resources are far greater."
The glare returned to his face. "I do not wish to hear your plea! You will tell me what you know of my... of Merope Gaunt," he said, and he spat the word as if it tasted bad in his mouth. I told you already, if I had more pressing matters, you would be dead by now. If you continue to waste my time then I will kill you."
He said it with easy contempt, and she knew he meant it. When she replied, her voice was as cold as his and her gaze unflinching. "And you will have killed the only remaining pureblood heir of Slytherin."
----=[]o[]=----
Well, the next chapter is the last chapter and I will hopefully post it within two weeks.
I would really appreciate any constructive criticism/ improvements/ suggestions or other comments you have about the story, so please review and tell me what you think.
Thanks to Trust and Junky for reviewing.
Apparently my summary isn't particularly good, so if anyone wants to write one for me, feel free to do so and I'll consider putting some or all of it as the summary.
I'm not really happy with this chapter at all; I think it needs a lot of work, but if I spent time planning it I'd always be planning and never writing, so I'm just posting and then going to come back when I've finished the story and worked out what I want to do to improve it. It's easier to see problems and such now when I've actually written it.