A Curse-Breaker at Last
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Author's Note: Sorry it took me a while to update, everyone, but you can actually put the blame on my (insert your favorite applicable adjective here) computer. I had typed up a possibly lovely new chapter on a disk, and then, for some reason, after saving itself to the disk, I cannot access the chapter, so I had to rewrite it all from memory. Hopefully, this does not stink totally.
A few days later, Nekhebet returned bearing a note from Charlie in her beak. After feeding his owl and offering her a handful of treats, which she accepted gladly, Bill read his brother's scrawl:
Dear Bill,
It was a pleasure hearing from you again, although I must establish that I was miffed at your closing. For your information, I have other things, between Quidditch practice, schoolwork― sixth year is one nightmare of a year even more than the fifth was― and Tonks and my friends besides write to my ungrateful brother, namely you, and I never insert postscripts, as I loathe them.
Anyway, to answer your nosy inquiries, Percy's homework was rescued from it's imminent demise at the hands of the dreadful duo by some fifth-year prefect, who took the annual anti-bullying sermon given in the prefect carriage seriously, even if the aforementioned "bullying" was being inflicted on a third-year by two first-years, and Summoned Percy's homework over to him. After thanking the prefect in his most pompous manner, Perce retired to his dormitory in a huff of righteous indignation, declaring loudly that he required sleep to continue his stellar academic performance. (His words, by the way, not mine, in case you're interested in quoting them to somebody in the middle of your desert.)
As for Fred and George, they accept your condolence for the Howler they received from Mum. I've no doubt that you'll go into spasms of delight when you learn that the ceiling of the Great Hall did not cave under the assaults of Mum's shouts, although if we give the terror twins another year or two, I am certain that the ceiling will eventually collapse in exhaustion from these never-ceasing attacks. For detention, the dreadful duo initially were sentenced to helping Snape pour the foulest-smelling potions as yet known to mankind into flagons and shoving corks down them. However, you will be pleased to hear that they made the executive decision of taking your shampoo suggestion seriously, and replaced his hair-care solution with a fire-inducing one. The next day, a half-bald Snape prowled about terrifying the student body even more than usual. (This, I should add in case you are only have paying attention as you read this, is after half of them went into cardiac arrest, deluging Madam Promfery in the hospital wing, when they discovered that Severus Snape not only bathes, but actually employs shampoo for that mop of grease he terms as hair.) Unfortunately for Fred and George, when McGonagall got wind of the terror twins' little experiment, she altered their punishment, most likely because no teacher wants to approach them now. Now they have to clean every inch of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with toothbrushes. They are not permitted to use magic, and Filch and the awful Mrs. Norris will be hovering over them the whole time. I could almost sympathize with their situation, in fact.
School is going well enough. Quidditch is not going as well as I would like, and, to be frank, it appears that I will have to be out team's saving grace once again this year. (I'm not being arrogant, just honest.) I'd better go now. My free period is over, and it's dinner time, and Tonks is always angry when I'm late to meet her for out suppers together. If I'm lucky, and she's in a nice frame of mind, we can walk around the lake together, but only if I go now, so I won't be late, and provoke her wrath.
Your mostly affectionate brother,
Charlie
Smiling at Percy's pomposity, the dreadful duo's antics, and Charlie's love life, Bill grabbed a scroll of parchment form his nightstand, a quill which he dipped in ink, and placed the parchment on a textbook, before plopping on his bunk, and scribbling:
Dear Charlie,
I'm delighted to learn that school is going well for you. Best of luck with Quidditch as always, Captain. I can't believe that you and Tonks are still together. Good luck with that relationship, too. I hope you had a charming "walk."
As for Percy, I suppose it's a good thing that a prefect intervened to save him the agony of recopying his Potions work. By the way, tell him from me that stellar students only need like four or five hours of sleep. The rest of the energy that sleep is rumored to bring can be created by a combination of coffee, butterbear, and other sugar and caffeine laced products. That's the reason why mums aren't allowed at Hogwarts, because students consume so much junk, and, sure, your body will probably send you a check that you don't want to pay in your forties, but who cares? At least you lived once.
Speaking of our lovely little siblings, tell the Gred and Forge monsters that I admire their audacity, and that the Snape prank is priceless, although they certainly paid for it. (I am equally confident that it also is of value to science, as it offers proof Snape utilizes some hair-care solutions, although, obviously they are not very effective ones.) Also, please inform them that it is your fault, Char, that they are doomed to deal with Myrtle and Filch while cleaning a restroom with toothbrushes, a fate worse than death, because you were meant to interpret my remark in the context in which it was intended. This of course implies that you were not supposed to share it with the dreadful duo, as they were bound to take my advice, because they never can resist a halfway decent practical joke. Gosh, sometimes I'm amazed you can breathe by yourself.
When he finished writing this, he gave Nekhebet the letter, and watched her sail away.
As the months flew by, Bill noticed that Monsieur Louis was permitting him more autonomy in the pyramids, allowing him to cast all the counter-curses, and decide the appropriate pathways, almost permitting him to take the lead in the tombs, something Bill greatly appreciated.
Before he was aware of it, it was July. One day early in that month, he, Monsieur Louis, Foulbreath, and Rottentooth entered a pyramid that resembled any other they had intruded upon the stale, sacred serenity of in the past twelve months. As generally occurred now, Louis stepped back, and let his pupil take the lead, and Bill, therefore, was the person who broke the antiquated enchantments, and the being who selected the route through which they journeyed. However, when they arrived at the end of the tomb, a bone of contention developed. Bill was utterly convinced that the left chamber housed the pharaoh, and his treasure, and the right chamber was the trick one, containing all sorts of atrocious hexes and monsters given the task of killing those who would plunder this place. On the other hand, Louis was just as implacable in his belief that the right chamber was the burial room, and the left one the fluke.
"Trust me, Monsieur Louis," Bill persisted, "I've just got a feeling about this, and my intuition is right more often than not."
"It's an excellent thing that you did not choose to become a Healer, as you would be informing patients that you suppose that a certain potion will serve as a remedy, but it is also possible that it will serve as a lethal poison," Louis shook his head in despair. "No, I'm afraid that it is you that must trust my judgment, as I've been doing this for considerably longer than you have. As such, it would be a brilliant idea for you to bow to my greater experience."
"Experience, ah that wonderful commodity that enables old men to declare a feat impossible, and then gape in astonishment as some young, spry whippersnapper accomplishes aforesaid impossible feat with outrageous ease," drawled Bill, smirking. When Louis scowled at him, not grateful for what he perceived as blatant insubordination, he demanded, "How am I ever going to get any of my own experience if you never let me test my convictions?"
As he folded his arms over his chest to indicate that he was not about to capitulate, he could hear the goblins behind him hissing to each other in rapid Gobbledegook. Obviously, they were not enjoying the battle of wills and wits that their human companions were engaged in.
For a moment, Bill was afraid that Louis would explode or implode, but in the end, he settled for commenting in an icy voice that probably brought down the temperature in the surrounding desert ten or twelve degrees, "Very well then, William Weasley, if you wish to learn the hard way, I shan't interfere with you. In fact, because I'm feeling especially charitable today, I'll even try my best to save your worthless life, although I can't make any promises."
"I'll go to the left, then," Bill determined firmly, his unwavering brown eyes fixated on his mentor, daring the older man to challenge his assertion.
"I'll go to the right." With that, Louis headed off toward the right entranceway, while Bill walked over to the left one, and the goblins, looking faintly bemused remained stationary.
After numbing a nasty spell that swore that whoever disturbed the pharaoh's must needed rest would be haunted for eternity by a pack of Inferi, Bill cast the alohomora charm on the lock, praying that his gut had not been deceiving him. Luckily, it had not been, for a mummy's golden sarcophagus was positioned in the center of the burial chamber, and chests of gems and precious metals glittered throughout the dim, dank room, every inch glistening with a treasure that Foulbreath and Rottentooth would love uncovering and holding.
It transpired that Monsieur Louis had not been so favored by fortune. A scream from the right assailed his ears, and he charged out of the chamber, in a rush to rescue the man who had once saved his own life. As he darted past the goblins, he snapped at them, "The chamber on the left is safe to enter and remove the riches from!"
As Louis' terrified shouts faded, a turn of events that did not soothe Bill's overactive nerves, he distinctly heard Foulbreath and Rottentooth mutter in their native tongue, "To work," and be rolled his eyes in a gesture of exasperation. When he glanced at the inscription above the doorway, which promised that the ghost of the pharaoh would plague whoever disturbed his slumber, and realized that it had been broken, he employed the alohomora charm to open the door, but he did not step inside. He did not need to. In fact, if he had, it would have been the death of him.
A sea of pythons writhed on the floor. One had squeezed itself about Louis in a grotesque parody of a caring embrace. For his part, Louis was doing his best to maintain his composure, as wizards were instructed to do in perilous circumstances such as this, although his wand had been squelched out of his hand, and his face was transforming into a massive blueberry, as he was asphyxiated by the serpent.
"Immobulous," mumbled Bill, pointing his wand at the gigantic, curling snake. Suddenly, it went limp, even though the coils around Louis remained fixed. With a further flick of his wand, Bill Vanished the python and its deadly companions.
Since he was familiar with Louis' abrasive personality, Bill had not been anticipating a grand thank-you speech or a warm hug, but a grudging acknowledgment of gratitude certainly would have been appropriate. However, this was not to be, for when the younger man knelt beside him to offer him water from his own thermos, Louis snarled, "Are you insane? What processed you to come after me?"
"If I am insane, you needn't worry," Bill replied, more than a little miffed, as he pulled back his water bottle, deciding that if the jaded Curse-Breaker wanted to rant at him, he could stop using Bill's blessed water supply, "as it was only a temporary insanity."
"Humph," grumbled the other, pushing himself upright with the aid of the sandstone wall of the tomb, "it always is that way when you save a life, you know."
"Just because you'll eventually die, that's no reason not to value your life," Bill reminded him coolly. Still more coldly, he added, "However, since you don't, I won't bother to rescue you in the future. I'll just go on and look at the treasure, like your friends, Foulbreath and Rottentooth did, if that's what you want. I aim to please." With that last bitter remark, he pivoted on his heel, and marched out of the chamber before Louis could answer.
Fifteen minutes later, Louis entered the tent he shared with Bill to see the younger man sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a steaming mug of tea he apparently had just finished making for himself. As the older Curse-Breaker plopped down in the seat across from him, Bill scrutinized the spoon he was using to convey his tea from his cup to his mouth with far more interest than he would generally have displayed, determined not to acknowledge his co-worker unless absolutely necessary, which it was not at the moment.
In the end, it was Louis who shattered the awkward, taut silence that pervaded the tent's atmosphere. "Don't be cross at what you might perceive as the betrayal of the goblins. You must understand by now that they are a different breed of being than we are. As such, their definitions of repayment, friendship, loyalty, and betrayal are different from ours, although this by no means suggests that they are inferior."
"It's not them I'm angry at, thanks for your concern," Bill responded, his tone short, as he swallowed a spoonful of tea.
"You're mad at me, then, I gather," sighed Louis. There was quiet between the two men again, before he mumbled, "Well, you won't have to put up with me for much longer."
"I'm not going back to England any time in the near future, if that's what you're implying." Bill stiffened, feeling that his relationship with Louis was a dull circle full of the repetition of basic concepts, such as this one. Scratch that, especially this one.
"That's not what I meant," Louis answered. "What I was trying to say is that, you've been in Egypt a year now, so Gringotts considers you to be a full-fledged Curse-Breaker as of now. Therefore, you can work alone, if you so desire, or…" He trailed off, flushing.
"Or?" Bill's eyebrows arched.
"Or, well, some Curse-Breakers work in pairs, and, it can get lonesome in the desert sometimes without another human. I mean, the goblins are great, but they aren't like people, and they have no desire to be, just as we have no desire to be like goblins. What I'm trying to say is― if you wanted, you could work with me. I― I think we make a good team."
For a moment, Bill stared at him, and then he smiled. "I do, too, Monsieur Louis, and so I'll stay with you, even if you are a cynical old grouch."
"And you're an impudent optimist, who may now call me Louis." As he established as much, Louis held out his hand for Bill to shake.
Bill took it, and shook it firmly. Smiling, he returned, "Then you must start referring to me as Bill, it's what all my friends and family call me."
"Alright, then, Bill, what will it be: éclairs, truffles, tiramisu, or napoleons."
"You always ask the toughest questions, you know, Louis," Bill teased, frowning thoughtfully, before he declared, "Napoleons."