Part Two
Recollections
It's one of the first I've planned out the entire plot for,
but, since it's the end of the school year, and I've
also been working on some other projects unrelated
to Harry Potter. Anyway, enjoy, and don't forget to review...
~Sparkle~
"There's something about that Achenar fellow that worries me."
Madame Prewett was making her rounds, Amelia at her heels. They had just begun to tidy up a snoozing patient's room when the elder Healer had spoken.
"What do you mean?" Amelia asked, straightening the contents of a polished bureau.
Madame Prewett shook her head, and moved to look in on the invalid. "I can't put my finger on it." Amelia watched her practiced hands move swiftly above the patient, never quite touching him, but checking his pulse and carefully tucking in the loose sheet.
"Well." Kathleen Prewett straightened up. "You did a fine job on him, at any rate. He was looking much better this afternoon."
"It was difficult," Amelia mused, following her mentor down a corridor. "I've worked on people with worse injuries, but it was something else...his spirit, his being was weak..."
"Excellent," said Madame Prewett, proudly. "You're learning quickly, Amelia; you'll make an great Healer."
Amelia persisted, although Madame Prewett's praise (valuable, when directed towards an apprentice) was well-accepted. "What's happened to him, anyhow?"
"The Ministry's been quite secretive," Madame Prewett whispered. "Even Dumbledore doesn't want to tell us anything, not yet, at any rate. I think Mr. Anser was kept prisoner somewhere...maybe even in one of You-Know-Who's holding cells."
Amelia felt increased respect for the dark-haired man in the room down the hall. "How awful," she said softly.
"There's also an interesting side of this memory case...it appears that the effects of his ordeal weren't permanent."
"Expelliarmus!"
"No, deeper. And hold your wand like this..."
"Expelliarmus!"
Amelia's wand shot out of her hand and clattered to the floor. She clapped her hands. "That's excellent!" Then, checking her watch, "Oh, dear...I've got to run. I'm not supposed to be teaching you, anyhow!" She picked up her wand and waved before dashing down the hall.
Achenar rearranged his fingers on his own wand. It had been given to him a short time ago, and the pulsing warmth of the wood felt comfortable in his hands. "Expelliarmus," he murmured, waving his arm about. Then he tucked his wand into his belt and walked out the door.
After nearly a month at the Healers', Achenar had been granted free reign of Diagon Alley. He attracted less attention in the streets, now that his skin had lost its garish tint and he was not as hideously thin.
And his mind felt open...clearer, not confused, and he went about his simple life happily. It was comforting to wander about his tidy bedroom, and he often stared wonderingly into the sun...until Madame Prewett insisted that he would ruin his eyesight.
Walking down Diagon Alley, in itself, was soothing. Sometimes he would be overcome with recollection while passing a cart of ice cream, a crowded street corner...remembered the taste of almond-fudge strawberry, or waiting for a time at a lamp-post.
But then, as he would turn to stroll toward the Ministry Headquarters, an odd shiver would run down his spine, and he would turn away.
Today, Achenar strolled down the street. Suddenly, he stopped. A narrow alleyway, which led between Trenton Trinket's Odds and Ends and an apothecary's, lay before him.
Achenar stepped under a low stone arch, and the bustle of Diagon Alley faded away. The alley was strangely silent. He could almost hear dust settling on the loose cobblestones that were sticking up about this street.
A hand-lettered sign proclaiming Knockturn Alley hung precariously from its withered post. The street was shady and dim, and dirty windows leered from sidewalks like so many wary pairs of eyes. Shabbily dressed wizards walked quickly down the street. It was not the hustled walk of an irritated Diagon Alley witch; it was cold and efficient. A feeling of unease crept along the sidewalks like spreading fog.
Achenar hurried on, having half a mind to turn around and start back towards the noisy brightness of Diagon Alley. However, something propelled him, and he continued down the dark street.
He was peering into the window of Borgin and Burkes, at a display of what looked like dried entrails, when he heard the voice.
"Achenar...Achenar..."
It was scarcely a whisper, and, if not for the quiet of the street, Achenar couldn't have heard it.
The speaker was a wizened old wizard, crouched on the cracked sidewalk. Graying hair spilled over his shoulders, and his eyes were pale; cloudy.
Achenar swallowed. "W-what?"
"Almost didn't recognize you," the old man croaked, "you've returned...He will be angry..."
Achenar took a step backward. "Who?"
"He will be angry," the wizard hissed, "you failed, you have returned..."
He stumbled over the curb in his haste to escape. The wizard cackled maniacally as Achenar broke into a run, hurtling back to Diagon Alley.
"He's coming along nicely," said Madame Prewett. "Ready to leave us soon, you know."
Fudge nodded, tapping his fingers on the polished desk. "We have one of our professors working with him...hopefully, it won't be long until he regains most of his magical ability."
Madame Prewett swallowed. She knew now that Achenar had been in a prison, somewhere, for more than ten years, and all that Cornelius Fudge cared about was his 'magical ability.' But who could argue with the Minister?
"My apologies, Minister; I have a patient. Good day to you." Madame Prewett bowed herself from the room.
Achenar had rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron, a tiny niche that provided a mediocre view of Diagon Alley. He moved about the neat flat, straightening the few possessions he had accumulated at the House of Healing. Then he pulled open the curtains, and watched the fading sunlight spill across the floor. After he had, by habit, moved his chair into the patch of warmth, Achenar settled his gaze on a nearby rooftop and sunk deep into his thoughts.
He felt as though he was living in a dream...part of him was still huddled in a cold, dark, Azkaban cell; the other, clean-shaven and bright-eyed, sat bathed in sunshine. Sometimes, Achenar was afraid of awakening and being transported back to prison, afraid that his new life was only another wishful fantasy.
But no; he could feel the smooth wood of his wand, which he now carried everywhere, and the soft carpet beneath his feet. When he was outside, the wind cooled his face, and the moon glowed faintly at night. His fingers on his arm were real. He had a life.
However, even now he was pantomiming a normal man, playing a practiced role. He smiled and nodded at those who greeted him in the streets, chatted politely with Fudge - who Achenar suspected despised him no matter what he tried to pretend - when he had paid visits to the Healers'.
Most irritating of all was the way nurses and Ministry officials calmly avoided his questions. Achenar was remembering more as each week passed, but there were still blanks in his clouded history...parts he wanted to fill in, moments he couldn't - or wouldn't - remember.
"You'll have to be patient," Madame Prewett had said, on more than one account. "Memory is both a fragile and powerful thing. You must wait for it to return to you."
Still, Achenar was tired of having his thoughts controlled.
Achenar picked up the book he was supposed to be reading: A Complete History of Magic. To make Professor Lepid - his teacher - happy, he had begun to summarize chapters as he read them. It was tedious, but the history itself was fascinating.
"Then, T.M. Riddle disappeared from the area for nearly ten years...he was later spotted in Germany, and then in Norway, before finally coming to rest in Wales. Out of nowhere, Riddle reappeared in London, now calling himself the Dark Lord, and began his reign of terror with a horrifying display of power at a social gathering in Diagon Alley."
Achenar flipped through the chapter, skimmed a few paragraphs. They didn't tell him much, other than that the Dark Lord was the most feared leader in the wizarding world; he had remained dormant for nearly a year, but many people were afraid he would return soon, and more powerful than ever.
Achenar shivered and closed the book. He looked out at the sun, which was sinking lower in the coral-pink sky.
It was cold. Cold fire, green flames surrounded him.
"It was You-Know-Who, of course..."
"There are the wizards..."
"Two nearly killed..."
It was a vision that had returned to haunt him again; first as a dream, now bordering on reality.
There was a sudden rapping at the door.
Achenar came close to jumping out of his chair. Once he had recovered, he crossed to the door and opened it; Professor Lepid's thin face looked into his.
"Good evening," he said, cheerfully, as he deposited an enormous stack of books and papers into Achenar's arms. "Did you finish the twelfth chapter? I want to start on Transfiguration soon, and you'll need some background information."
Achenar watched, fascinated, as always, at Professor Lepid's enthusiasm. He flicked through the pages of Transfiguration Tomorrow, shook his head, and reached for another book. Then he marked a few passages with his quill, and passed the book to Achenar.
"Study this," he said. "I want to work a bit more on defenses, now, all right?"
Achenar nodded and took out his wand. Lepid readied himself, raised his own, and fired a bundle of blue sparks at Achenar.
Achenar knew the incantation, knew the proper defense, knew the words that would send Lepid's attack sputtering harmlessly to the floor. This was why he couldn't explain the words that rose to his lips, and the blazing green flames that shot from his wand, missing Lepid's face by inches.
It was a stroke of luck, the way Lepid had fallen backwards onto the floor from shock.
"It's quite normal," said Madame Prewett. "When we learn, we do it gradually, moving along at our own pace. Achenar is remembering things he learned before, so he moves along in fits and starts. Sometimes he'll jump ahead, and use a spell that's more advanced...sometimes he'll fall backward, remembering something that happened long ago."
Fudge nodded. "We can't do anything about it?"
"I'm afraid not. We'll all have to be patient. I suggest that Achenar be given a week or so to rest...after all, he's learning twice as fast as usual."
"But we've already wasted so much time..."
"It will not be healthy if he's forced to advance at a faster pace. What do you expect of Achenar, Minister?"
Fudge leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I suppose I should start at the beginning...it's a rather long story."
One that was never exactly supposed to be told, he thought begrudgingly. But we can't move on without the Healers hearing...
"Fifteen years ago, there was an attack on the Ministry building...yes, the one here, in Diagon Alley. It was an immensely complex curse, you'll have to ask Albus for the full details...one that any decent wizard would not get the least idea of...three Ministry officers were killed."
"Oh, my, yes, I do remember that..."
Fudge allowed himself a knowing nod. "One of You-Know-Who's supporters, no doubt. He was imprisoned in Azkaban, as you can imagine." Fudge paused, then carefully continued. "Just this year, a few of our Ministry's officers fell ill. We investigated; it looks to be the same curse that was used years before. Anyhow, that's what Achenar will help us lift."
"You can't be serious...I mean, the man does have the endurance, but it's only been a matter of months..."
"It's a dire situation, Madame Prewett. We can't wait much longer."
Achenar paced angrily back and forth across the floor of his flat, examining and reexamining his wand. He had apologized profusely to Professor Lepid, but the young teacher had still looked distinctly shaken upon leaving.
When he tried, Achenar could easily perform the proper defense spell that had been his demise hours earlier...but he could not explain the strange effects his wand had actually produced.
With a deep sigh, Achenar collapsed onto his bed. He soon sunk into a dreamless sleep, punctuated only by a recurring dream...
'That's Casseopia,' she said, pointing up into the velvet sky. 'And there's Castor, and Pollux, too.'
Achenar looked up towards the sparkling stars that seemed to hang only inches from his grasp. '
Mars,' she added, and then looked at Achenar, quizzically.
'Er...the moon,' he supplied, with a grin. She laughed.