**Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
"One blade for breaking my heart,
One blade for tearing me apart,
Your six blade knife—do anything for you.
You can take away my mind like you take away the top of a tin.
When you come up from behind and lay it down cold on my skin,
Took a stone from my soul when I was lame
Just so you could make me tame."
Dire Straits
"Six-Blade Knife" (1978)
Chapter 07: Lay it Down Cold on My Skin
The ceiling of his bedroom was white. After a week of staring at it Lucius had concluded that was a terribly boring thing for a ceiling to be. Perhaps he would speak with Narcissa about it when she came back with his lunch. Maybe a powder blue would be nice?
He had experienced a whole new appreciation for his wife's boredom being trapped in this bed. Narcissa spent a good portion of the day with him, reading books from the list his father had assigned her. They were currently halfway through Dacre's Zofloya, and he was ready to rip all the pages out of the bloody thing.
After the second day, he had convinced his wife to retrieve her guitar from the cupboard where it had been stashed, and she played for him. She had been hard at work writing songs on the ballroom piano, and a good many about him, which he smugly enjoyed. She translated them easily to the guitar. Her voice was not the best, often off-key in fact, but her playing was impeccable and the tunes were rather arresting. The apparent talent of her musicianship and the warbling voice presented together, innocently, as though they were anything approaching equal, was so unintentionally charming. God how he had missed her.
She had promised to play him a song she had written about the dead swan after they ate lunch. That was a quality his wife possessed of which he would never tire: she always knew how to make him laugh.
Lucius smiled when he heard footsteps approaching because he thought it was Narcissa. Severus Snape entered instead, escorted by a House Elf.
Lucius greeted him, though with some reservation because he could see a grimness on his friend's face. Whatever the reason for the visit, it was speciously unpleasant. He dismissed the House Elf then said to Snape, "Please sit." He gestured to Narcissa's regular chair.
Clad head to toe in black, Snape removed his hat and sat. The guitar had been propped against the side of the chair and made comfort difficult, so Lucius held out his hand to take it. The instrument changed hands, and Lucius set it beside him on the bed.
"You look like a Slicing Jinx gutted your entire torso."
Lucius smiled without humor. "There may be a reason for that." Groaning more than he would like, he leveraged his hands to pull himself up to a seated position. "Are you here to tell me that I am expected back at the country house?"
An uncomfortable pause, and then Snape shook his head. "I came to warn you," he said. "Rosier has set you up to take the fall for this mission. The Dark Lord is none too pleased."
Lucius' blood turned cold. It was a moment before he could respond because he was deeply shocked. "How could it possibly be construed as my fault? The mission went fine until we arrived at the location where the safe house should have been ready with the necessary defensive charms. If that safe house had been there, the mission would have been a success, and I had nothing to do with that."
Snape was removing his gloves. "Apparently, you did." He pushed his greasy hair out of his face. "The orders to set up that safe house were in your hands and Rosier is saying that you failed to deliver them to him. He says he never received them."
"That's impossible! I have always delivered the Dark Lord's orders in a timely—" Lucius broke off. His heart began to hammer as he pictured a ballroom twirling with twits in Muggle attire, free flowing champagne, and the most meager excuse for a library in all of Britain. "Was…was this supposedly around New Year's Day, a little over a year ago?"
Snape shrugged. "I'm uncertain, but that does seem about right."
Lucius' throat was so dry he could not swallow. "Alida," he whispered. "My cousin, Alida Ackerley—I gave the note to her at Juliet Moss' New Year's Ball. She was instructed to give it directly to Rosier."
"Why ever would you do damned fool thing like that? She's not of our ranks."
His eyes narrowed as he snapped, "Precisely. Frank Longbottom was there. He was watching me like a hawk—what was I to do? If you recall, Dexter Pucey had just died because of a sloppy note delivery."
Snape's lips twisted wryly. "If you cannot fix this, you may share his fate."
"You're not helping," Lucius snapped.
The younger man sighed. "Then let's think rationally. Alida was enlisted as part of an exchange. Can you think of any reason why she would renege on her side of the deal?"
Lucius started to shake his head, but then froze.
"What?"
He rubbed his face and fought the urge to slam his fist into the bedside table. "Potter. James Potter. Silly bitch dated him for a year." Merlin, what if she had given the note to Potter? He had been at the party as well. Parallels to Dexter Pucey indeed!
Snape was thoughtful. "I'm not sure that adds up. Potter cheated on her and then chucked her—everyone knows that. Why would she betray you for him?" He considered further and after a moment added, "Besides, if Potter had wound up with the note, he would have tried to read it, but this was after the Dark Lord had started cursing his written communications as a precaution. If Potter had read it, he would have ended up in St. Mungo's."
Lucius was at a loss. "Then…what happened?"
"If she weren't in Azkaban, I'd say we should ask her." Snape picked a bit of green grime out from under his nails. "Word is they are checking visitors for Dark Marks—Alastor Moody's doing."
"Bloody Aurors."
"Indeed."
"Where does that leave us?" Lucius asked. "What are our options?"
"Honestly," Snape said, "I don't know."
Peter had visited Dumbledore's office excessively in his lifetime, but it was an entirely different experience now that he had left school. He was an adult—Dumbledore couldn't expel him, not anymore. And he was with his friends. They were here as guests, invited specially. A giddy energy was pulsing through Peter at that thought.
There weren't enough chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, but he conjured extras easily and they were obliged to sit. Peter took the seat to the right of Sirius and Remus sat to the left. Lily and James took the chairs on Peter's other side. They were sitting in a sort of crescent shape in front of the Headmaster's desk, dozens of portrait faces staring down at them as they took their spots. Dumbledore offered them all sweets, and Peter and Sirius accepted.
It was Lily who opened the conversation, in her polite way. She thanked Dumbledore for inviting them and then prompted the reason.
The man removed his half-moon spectacles and gave them his full attention. "I am sure you are aware that what began as a small rebellion within our society has become a full-fledged war. Extremists have taken advantage of the latent bigotry in our culture and the cumbersome bureaucracy of our government and they are preying on the population."
"Death Eaters," Sirius supplied, his mouth full of Chocolate Frog, as if there could be any confusion as to whom Dumbledore was referring.
The old man nodded. "After watching them attempt to address this threat for the past few years, I have concluded that our Ministry is too corrupt and ill equipped to handle the Death Eaters. Far too many of these scaremongers are well placed and powerful, and they are twisting the laws that are meant to protect the innocent to protect themselves." Dumbledore was grave. Peter didn't think he had ever seen the Headmaster so serious, even when he had been in this very seat awaiting punishment. "It seems that it may be required that we take matters into our own hands."
James appeared hesitant. "What do you mean?"
"Voldemort and his followers operate outside the law. It is my intention to form an organization that will do the same to fight him."
Fear was starting to overtake the excitement within Peter. It was one thing to be daring when mischief was the goal, when it was just a bit of fun. Fighting a war was another kind of bravery entirely. His eyes began darting around the room to see what his friends were thinking. Would they say yes? Would they join? If they did…then Peter would have to follow. He swallowed, terrified; he admitted to himself that he didn't want to.
Remus broke the silence. "You are inviting us to join?"
Dumbledore affirmed that with a sad smile. "I do not enjoy asking this of former students, especially ones that have so much potential, but that is, alas, what makes you desirable for the cause. I have heard how bravely you acquitted yourselves at the S.W.A.M.P. Massacre, and I saw firsthand your determination to do whatever is needed to protect others that night in the forest during your final year."
Remus looked stiff and almost offended. "I fail to see why I am here in that case."
Peter felt embarrassed for him. Not only had Remus missed the S.W.A.M.P. gala due to recovering from full moon, but he had been one of the threats in question that night in the Forbidden Forest.
Dumbledore did not blink, however. "Because I know you to be a brave man of integrity, and because I know your friends are stronger with you than without you." He addressed the group. "It is dangerous work, but I also believe it is necessary."
Peter was surprised when Lily was the first to speak. "Yes, it is. I'm in."
James looked as though someone had poured a glass of pumpkin juice over his head. "Whoa! Wait, we need to talk about this."
"What is there to talk about? Just a couple of months ago, you were going to sign up for the Auror Academy. We both know this is a war that needs to be fought."
He glanced at the company uncomfortably, then brought his gaze back to his girlfriend and lowered his voice. Peter could still hear him. "A couple of months ago we weren't engaged. We make decisions together now, as a team."
"He's right," Sirius mumbled. It seemed Peter wasn't the only one who could still catch their words.
It was awkward, and Peter felt himself blushing vicariously.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Of course, this conversation is just the proposition. I am not expecting an answer from anyone at this time. You'll need time to think this over." He withdrew a parchment from his drawer that was a glowing blue. "I am having a gathering at the Hog's Head three days from now at two in the morning. If you decide that you would like to join, I shall be glad to see you there. In the meantime, I ask that all of you sign this parchment."
"Why?" Sirius asked bluntly, and Dumbledore's answer was just as direct.
"It is enchanted to keep you from speaking about my organization with anyone who was not invited to join. Security, you understand."
"Of course," Lily agreed crisply, and she shot James an annoyed look before she signed.
The boys all followed suit, and the five of them left Dumbledore's office a few minutes later. They walked toward the Great Hall in relative silence. When they reached the doors leading outside, Sirius held James back. Peter hung close enough to eavesdrop.
"For what it's worth, Prongs, no matter what anyone else decides, I'm going to sign up."
Peter's heart sank, and he was so overcome that he missed James' response. But it didn't matter. If Sirius was going to fight and Lily wanted to, James would as well.
It looked like Peter was going to be fighting a war.
"Who are you?" Alida Ackerley asked.
"Family," Narcissa answered. She sat down in the uncomfortable metal chair across from the cell. Her blue cloak was stylish but damp from the flurries outside. She held her kid skin gloves in her hands. "We've never met, but my husband is your cousin, Lucius Malfoy."
Alida did not look pleased to hear the name. The girl's white blonde hair was matted to her skull, and she made eye-contact for unnervingly long periods of time as she stared through the bars of her cell, but Narcissa did not allow herself to show anything but regal composure. The haughty demeanor was at least as much for the benefit of the Dementors behind her as the girl before her. No happy memories or thoughts were allowed into her mind, she pushed them down inside her, far down. If she started to think of why she was doing this—her beloved Lucius—she would instead change purposes immediately. The humiliation brought upon her family by her sister Andromeda; a party when she was fifteen and an older boy attempted to force himself on her; her first pet, a dog called Wendy, dead and mangled in her lap after having been trampled by a horse: these were her thoughts.
And still the room was cold, still her hands trembled.
"Why are you here?" the girl asked.
"I would like to ask you about a note from Uncle." Their voices echoed off the stone walls, and Narcissa continued calmly, willing a girl she had never met to talk in a code that each of them barely knew. "My husband gave it to you during a party last year. Our dear friend Juliet throws the best balls, does she not?"
Alida eyed her as though she was unsure what to make of her. "I wore blue," she said. "And fur that wasn't real fur. But the dog heart, that was real."
Fantastic. The girl was insane. "Do you remember the note Lucius gave you?"
The grubby face nodded.
"What did you do with that note?"
Alida's brows knit as though this was a particularly absurd question. "I gave it to Evan."
Narcissa's breath hitched a bit. "Rosier?"
Again, a nod.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, he was cheating at snooker and he glared at me because I gave it to him in front of his friends."
This was good: possible witnesses who were not crazy. "Do you remember which friends?"
Alida's face became thoughtful and she chewed on her dirty fingernails. "Well, Festus Wilkes was there, and Robin Mulciber."
Narcissa drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're certain of this? You didn't just make it up in your head?"
At this the girl glared as though she were offended. "It happened exactly like that. I'm not mad, you know."
Narcissa begged to differ. Insanity had a fairly wide streak in her family and she knew the look of it. Nevertheless, the girl's story made sense. It was likely true. Now it was just a matter of planning their next move.
Lily was feeling slightly sullen as she climbed the stairs to Marlene's flat, a box of fritters in her hands.
She hated it when she and James were not getting on. Unfortunately, disagreeing was something they were good at; the two of them had spent more than six years of their acquaintanceship at odds despite a deep attraction toward one another. Old habits died hard.
It didn't help that she knew this time she had been in the wrong. James had every right to be annoyed; a marriage was a partnership, and decisions that significant should be made together. They would join Dumbledore's organization and they both knew it. Sure, James was feeling a little gun-shy and circumspect following his torture, and Lily was feeling particularly hotheaded, still raw with a fury that bordered on bloodlust from the same experience and the gruesome death of her friend—but they both knew they would fight. The point was, they should have talked it through, should have decided together.
Now she needed to figure out how to apologize.
The flat was quiet when she entered, and Lily checked the kitchen and peered down the stairs to the garage looking for Marlene and Sirius. The two of them had spent the afternoon rebuilding that motorbike engine and Lily had been sent to get a much needed snack.
As she wandered through the flat, she froze in place at the sight of a door beside the rocking chair propped wide. It was a door Lily had not seen open before, a door that was usually padlocked. She approached Finlay McKinnon's lab and satisfied her curiosity by peering inside, hesitantly at first.
It was a well ordered brewing lab—one of the cleanest Lily had ever seen and certainly more so than her own corner that she used for brewing in the flat she shared with James. There was a desk with neatly stacked brewing notes in color-coded cubbies beside a row of inkwells and quills. Shelves hung above the desk with alphabetized reference books. More shelves lined the rest of the room, but these cataloged ingredients in jars, rare and mundane. Dried florae hung from the ceiling in bunches above a scrubbed wood prep table. Cauldrons of various materials and sizes were stacked in a corner beside the fireplace, which at present was cold and contained only ashes.
Benjy Fenwick was sitting in the wooden chair beside the fireplace, reading a parchment roll. He was a rather handsome man that reminded Lily of the swashbuckling films her mother had liked so much. His hair was a golden blond and he wore a full mustache and goatee. There was something in the way he moved and dressed that bespoke a deep vanity, and his blue eyes were prone to winking.
"Hello," Lily greeted shyly.
He didn't seem particularly surprised to see her there. He studied her a moment before rising and extending his hand. "Lily Evans, I presume?"
She nodded and returned the handshake.
"I read your thesis," he told her, and her eyes went wide with alarm. "Your project was quite ambitious. Very intriguing. I voted in favor of your admission into the Society."
Lily thought she may have swallowed her tongue. She knew he sat on the board, but…. He smiled and Lily admitted to herself that she may in fact be a little star-struck. Fenwick wasn't a celebrity by the standards of the wider wizarding world, but the wider wizarding world didn't idolize potion makers the way she did.
"Thank you," she stammered. She belatedly let go of his hand and scrambled for a new subject. "You look well considering…."
"Considering the injuries I sustained in the attack?" he filled in kindly. "Yes, I was very lucky. I believe they were trying to capture me rather than kill me. Of course, you would know more about that than I. How is your boyfriend, by the way?"
Lily held up her left hand reflexively and flashed her ring. "Fiancé. He's doing very well, no longer taking potions and back to his full strength."
"That's good news." Fenwick gestured to the parchment in his hand. "I'm trying to get myself back to work."
"Oh."
"Fin and I were working on a project together. It's been hard to pick it back up, but I have to. It's my life's work."
"Potential uses of aconite," Lily supplied. She had read his work, as well. It was fairly groundbreaking.
"Curing lycanthropy," he clarified, and Lily's jaw dropped. He chuckled at her reaction. "I know, I know—it's a long stretch, but I really think I may be onto something. This plant…it holds the key, I'm sure of it."
"Wow," was all that she could manage.
Finlay McKinnon had been much more concerned with innocuous matters in his brewing, albeit important. His crowning achievement was making children safe from household cleaners for Merlin's sake. Never mind that it was far more ambitious from a brewing standpoint, coming up with a cure for lycanthropy was a sticky matter politically no matter how you approached it. Many werewolves were proud of their status as such, felt that it was a transcendent state of being, and would be insulted by the very idea of a "cure", not to mention that the wizard world at large feared and mistrusted these individuals on principle. They had no idea how to treat or classify werewolves as it was, and a cure was unlikely to simplify things.
Lily thought of Remus. If there was a way to free him of the curse he would take it in a heartbeat, but she had to remind herself that he was not necessarily representative of the population. What if the brewing research was successful and some didn't want to drink the result? What if the Ministry tried to force them to?
Fenwick was studying her. "You don't approve," he surmised.
"I think it's a worthy goal," Lily hedged.
He laughed. "How diplomatic you are, Lily. Yes, I am aware of the controversies. There is a reason I have not disclosed my true purposes to the Ministry. Our government is far more interested in keeping these people out of polite society by pushing them into the margins and stripping them of their rights than helping them. At this very moment, there is a proposed law awaiting ratification that would make it illegal for a werewolf to carry a wand. Can you imagine? It's ludicrous. If the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures found out what I am actually up to, I would lose my funding."
Lily grinned at him with admiration. "Yet you continue."
"Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't shout it from the rooftops. It's all very hush, hush."
She rolled her eyes. "If it's so secret, why tell me at all?"
"Because I know that you have someone close to you who struggles with lycanthropy."
That sobered her right up.
"I'm a friend of Dumbledore," Fenwick elaborated. "He didn't give me any details or violate your privacy, but he did say that you may be sympathetic to my work." He manipulated his eyebrows into looking slightly vulnerable and gave his best winning smile. "This is really just my elaborate way of offering you a job, in all truth. It's why I'm here. Mar said you'd be visiting, and I thought I'd ask at least. I need a partner to continue my work, and you come highly recommended. Both Dumbledore and Slughorn praise your brewing aptitude and your work ethic. The money's not bad either."
Lily's eyes were wide and her heart was racing. A job? Experimental brewing with Benjamin Fenwick—one of the premier Potions Masters in the world? Oh Merlin, she was nearly breathless with excitement and bursting to say yes. So…why hadn't she? It was certainly better than picking up odd hours at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary in Diagon Alley as she had been doing since leaving Hogwarts.
Perhaps it was because Fenwick was so smarmy. She'd built up a high tolerance to the stuff since beginning her association with the Marauders, but she was still wary of unknown rakehells she supposed.
"Tell me why," she said.
He blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Tell me why lycanthropy. Is it the challenge?"
Fenwick's smile was gone and he shook his head. "It's personal."
Lily raised her brows expectantly, and he seemed to give in.
"My mother," he admitted. "She was a werewolf. And she killed herself when I was thirteen."
Lily felt like a heel. "I'm sorry," she whispered. However, as she studied him, she realized that the detail had in fact made a difference in the way she saw him. So she gave her answer, "Yes, I'll work with you."
He looked so relieved. "Thank you. Honestly, I wasn't sure where I'd ever find someone sympathetic to my goal who was also qualified to do the work."
Lily nodded. "I understand."
Fenwick clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "All right, first task is to gather all the notes on aconite so that we can take them back to my lab."
Lily's participation in this task was primarily one of holding out her arms so that he could pile the research into them. As they were leaving the lab and reaffixing the padlock, Fenwick looked around the quiet flat.
"Where's Mar? The kid?" He had the box of fritters tucked under his arm as he turned the key.
"Lachlan's at the cinema with his grandfather. Not sure about Marlene. She and Sirius sent me for the fritters, but the place was like this when I got back."
At this, Fenwick seemed to stiffen. The expression that overtook his face was not a pleasant one. He dropped the box of fritters to the ground and then stalked to Marlene's bedroom door and opened it without knocking.
"Oh my god!" Lily whipped around after getting an eyeful she hadn't wanted or expected. Sirius and Marlene were in bed, and they were…right in the thick of it.
"Hey! Close the door," Sirius demanded.
Fenwick didn't even acknowledge him. "Four months. Fin's only been gone four months and your bed's open for business, is it?"
Lily was still facing away from the bedroom, but she heard Marlene make an ugly noise. "None of your concern, Ben."
"Like hell. It's my best mate you're disrespecting."
"Don't you dare look at me like that, Fenwick! You're not is a position to judge anybody about anything." There were shuffling noises as Marlene spoke.
Fenwick snarled in return. "I can judge whether or not Fin deserves better. I can't believe this!" He spun on his heel and stormed toward the door.
Sirius was saying, "Ignore him."
But Marlene followed Fenwick, pushing past Lily. "Oh, no you don't," she fired at her friend when he reached the door in the kitchen. "You hypocrite! You serial philanderer! You do not get the last word in this!" She was tying her dressing gown closed as she walked.
"Marlene!" came Sirius' voice. But she did not reply.
Lily heard him approach from behind her, raised voices echoing in the garage below.
"Well," he said. "That was bloody awful."
Lily wanted to look at him, to comfort him, but there was something she needed to know first. "Padfoot?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you wearing pants?"
Silence. Then, "Give me a second."
There was rustling of clothing and possibly bedding, as though he had to dig through the pile.
Finally, Sirius said, "All right, you can turn around."
Lily did, and what she saw was Sirius pulling on his boots without lacing them, his long hair hanging loose over his bare chest, but his trousers were on. He started routing through the lump of linens on the bed again.
"What are you looking for?" Lily asked shifting the pile of research in her arms.
"My shirt."
She pointed at a glimpse of black material peeking through the pile. "Is that it?"
"No," Sirius snapped. "It's not mine. It's hers. It's all sodding hers!" Lily blinked and took a step back. "Fuck it," he growled as he picked up his leather jacket from the floor and put it on over his unclothed torso.
He led the way to the door, the main one that led to the outdoor stairs, not following the arguing friends that they could still hear yelling at each other below. Lily trailed after him.
It was snowing outside as they descended the concrete stairs and approached the street. Lily fumbled for her wand to cast a protective charm over the brewing notes so that they wouldn't be ruined by the weather.
Sirius' expression was a new one to her: blank, empty. Yet there was a turbulent energy about him that told her that below the surface was a different story.
She held out her hand for him to take, for side-along Apparation. "Let's go home."
He didn't reach for it. "I need a minute," was all he said, and he sat on the sidewalk, into a puddle of wet and cold, his eyes focused on nothing in particular.
Author's Note: A large part of this chapter deals with wrapping up some loose ends from BT&T. If you found yourself confused about the storyline involving the Malfoys, I would go back and read chapter 17 (the New Year's party) to fill in the blanks. Also a disclaimer: the views of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy regarding eighteenth century gothic literature do not reflect the views of the author of this fic. (Just to be clear—Zofloya is awesome.)
For those that didn't remember/know, aconite = Wolf's bane; they are different names for the same plant. And for those of you wondering if all this werewolf stuff means more Remus in the story (finally!), yes. Yes, it means that. : )
Hope you liked the chapter. Please review!
