Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Whee!  It's been nearly a whole year since I began this fic!  True novel length – and it is still not complete!  Enjoy, and I wish happiness to all!  (As you can tell, it's Friday and I am deliriously happy to be off school and work.)

A/N #2: Number of times this chapter has been re-written—2.  (Well, at least it's better off than Chapter 28—I rewrote that thing 5 times! :))

Chapter 29 ~ Through the Trapdoor

            They did not fall a long way; rather, it was only a few meters below that Airelle landed with a soft thud on the floor.  It was not painful; someone had put a Cushion Charm to absorb the impact.  However—

            A dark mass of limbs and robes suddenly landed on top of her, slamming her head into the ground and nearly cracking it in twain.

            "Ohh," came a groan from above her, "I know I twisted something…"

            "Black!" she hissed when her ears finally stopped ringing.  "Crikey—get off, you—"

            Her sentence remained unfinished, perhaps for the better.  There was a sudden shuffle, and in the darkness, Sirius Black gripped her arm warningly.

            "Look ahead," he whispered, and Airelle swiveled her head to where he had indicated.

            They were in a corridor of sorts, with total darkness closer to Black's side, and a light at Airelle's.  The said light was reddish-yellow, which meant torches or magic candles.  Aside from the short vertical tunnel in the ceiling leading to the trapdoor (which had closed), there was nothing of importance in the corridor itself.  It had probably been a part of the lower floors when the place was still a manor; but now, as this was a museum, the corridor was likely used for storage purposes.  Airelle squinted into the dark end, and decided to take her chances with the light.

            "C'mon," she said quietly, extricating her feet from Black's cloak and pulling her Death Eater hood up.  She held her wand under her robe, and bid him follow her towards the end of the hallway.  Only silence served as their escort; there came none of the sounds of debauchery that usually accompanied a Dark gathering.  Then again, Voldemort's presence, or impending presence, usually meant order in the ranks…

            A small question suddenly pestered her again --- was this a trap, and if so, why hadn't anyone seized them yet?

            Airelle decided to leave the matter alone until they reached the light.  But unfortunately for her, she never got the chance.

            A pair of figures emerged like shadows from the end of the corridor, and it took all of Airelle's willpower not to stop walking.  Her hand left Black's sleeve and she stiffened her step to a rigid march; there was no way to go but forward, and she'd come too far to give herself away now.  Her breath slowed, though her heart seemed to be trying very hard to fulfill its threat to burst.  She began to sweat under the hood; if they discovered her, it meant instant death --- or worse.

            The pair of Death Eaters (for of course, they both wore garments identical to Airelle's) stopped in front of her and Sirius, but made no move for their wands.  Apparently, the trapdoor was a regular entrance for them, which explained the Cushion Charm.  Otherwise, there would have been suspicions concerning how two people had ended up in a corridor below street level…

            One of the Death Eaters shifted his hood slightly from side to side, which meant he was surveying them both carefully.  Airelle's throat constricted.

            "Do you have the Auror?" he finally asked in a voice that sounded raspy, as if he'd been struck with a severe case of laryngitis.  Airelle thought hard.  If she replied in the affirmative, he'd demand proof, and if not, he'd demand an explanation.  Neither sounded pleasing.

            She decided to stall, and used her deepest voice to sound male.  Luckily, the thrashing her neck had received at the hands of the Death Eater in the woods had left her voice throaty and fluctuating even now.  She could have tried her normal tone, but it was too dangerous; Voldemort did not have many female Death Eaters in his fold, she'd guessed.

            "I was not aware that I should report to you," she said slowly, her hand clenching her wand so tightly it could have cut off blood flow.

            The Death Eater and his shorter companion did not even twitch at this proclamation.  But Airelle knew better, and regretted uttering such words of challenge.  Anything could be grounds for a wizarding duel, and somehow, Airelle regarded the prospect of sparring with a Death Eater as less than stimulating.

            A moment later, she wished he had taken the bait.  His next sentence drove an iron wedge into her skull and stuck there, like the ill-fated Laocoön's spear.

            "Whom do you serve?"

            Airelle recognized the greeting at once – it was a test, to see if she really was who she said she was.  Only a follower of Lord Voldemort knew the precise answer, and not to reply would be disastrous.  There existed several such codes, and the Ministry knew the replies to many of them; but Fudge, in his blunt conviction that the Dark Lord was truly gone, did not promote the project of discovering new Death Eater greetings.  Airelle scowled under her hood and prepared to strike quietly.

            But before she could even think of a useful curse, Sirius Black suddenly spoke from behind her, the echo of his voice monotonous and dull on the walls.

            "We serve one master alone, purveyor of the eternal Mark," he said, "and the one who lays all claim on us."

            Airelle's shock was barely present when it was sliced by the Death Eater's immediate response.  "And who is your Mistress?"

            Once again, Sirius was ready.  "Our Mistress is Power herself; our hands act on her behalf."

            The Death Eater did not reply, but from his body language, the inference was obvious – they had passed the test.  Airelle's insides melted back in a welcomed rush.

            "The Dark Lord shall expect a report from you in the antechamber," said the short Death Eater, walking past them.  "We'll fetch the prisoners… he has something in store for them…"

            They headed off, without a single backward glance, to the other end of the corridor away from the light; Airelle stared, thunderstruck and unblinking, and almost forgetting that Sirius had just saved her bum.

            "Prisoners," she whispered when the figures had vanished from view.  "They're here--- we must follow."

            Sirius didn't answer, and Airelle turned.  He was walking towards the lit end of the hallway cautiously, examining the walls and looking for passages.  Airelle gazed after him, and suddenly remembered.

            "How'd you know?" she asked in barely more than a murmur under the hood.  She could not see his face, but knew he'd heard her; even out of canine form, Black's auditory senses were heightened in times of stress.

            "Azkaban," he whispered back, touching the wall.  "My fellow inmates, the Lestranges, often said things in their sleep… I escaped with more than a few secrets."

            Airelle mentally thanked every higher power in existence for providing her with a fugitive at this moment.  She definitely owed Sirius Black one; Snape would be furious to learn this – that is, if they all made it out alive and intact tonight.

            She paused in her step, and again looked back the way the Death Eaters had gone.  What to do?  If she attempted a rescue, they might still escape through the trapdoor unnoticed… but then again, Voldemort was expecting someone to show up and describe the events in the woods.  And if he suspected anything ---

            Clenching her teeth, she gripped the wall as if it would support her.  Her black eyes roamed over a crack in it, under a small cobweb hanging on the ceiling, but it told her nothing.

            Which way…?

            "It is too quiet," said Black suddenly and very quietly, tightening his cloak closer to himself.  "I think they know."

            Airelle's head snapped towards him as if she'd been burned.  "So why didn't they take us now?  What're they waiting for?"

            "Never trust the Greeks bearing gifts," he muttered, and she had to smile.  They were certainly walking headlong into something stupid – and, worst of all, walking into it willingly.

            But she had to try.

            "Let's move," she said, snatching her suicidal tendencies out of the air and striding back to the dark side of the corridor.  They had wavered too long already, and now every second counted.

            Sirius did not follow this time, and Airelle turned, her puzzled and impatient face concealed by the hood.

            "Well?" she asked softly.  Black merely stood there, and she understood his position.  He'd gone this far, but here was their last chance at a safe escape.  All they had to do was open the trapdoor, run their way back into the forest, and Apparate to London.  It was practical --- and yet, Airelle found her feet glued to the floor.  Black did not understand what facing Death Eaters once more meant to her… it was her job, her destiny, and to ignore it was completely pointless.  Something inside her said, If you leave now, and close the eyes to your duty, Voldemort will know… and he'll kill your friends.  What did you come here for, then?

            Airelle stood there, and wanted to apologize for bringing Sirius this far.  She'd been meant to come here alone, on Voldemort's instructions, to witness things not every wizard could handle.  But now, Black just had to follow her here, and she'd let him.  He, with his Gryffindor bravery, would get himself killed, and Airelle could not handle the prospect, not ever again…

            She felt cold and sick at Elsa Gibbon's funeral.  Her feet had dragged behind the coffin all the way to the cemetery on a gray Saturday morning, along with dozens of sunken-faced, hollow-eyed Aurors.  As the squad leader, Airelle had the privilege of supporting the back of the coffin with Omar Fauks and the other ushers – a privilege she felt unworthy of possessing.  It was no use denying the looks of distaste some of those assembled Aurors had thrown at her back.  Elsa was the second to die this month, a statistic topped only in Voldemort's time.  It should not have occurred now, after the Dark Lord's fall, with his followers largely scattered and desperate ---

            Desperate.  That word ate deep into Airelle's brooding, tainted conscience and festered malevolently.  All it had taken was one slipshod move, one hasty decision – and Elsa, the tiny, bespectacled, studious girl who'd saved the squad by Apparating for help in a clearing years ago, had paid the ultimate price.

            Airelle cringed throughout the final rites over the coffin, and all throughout its final journey to the nook two meters below ground level.  The last of the roses left on top were quickly covered with earth, spattering the lily-white lid with brown.  Most of the guests had turned away and left soon afterwards.  Airelle, however, stayed put, watching the gravediggers pat the ground down gently, and suddenly thought how good it was for Elsa to be buried with her glasses and her wand.  After all, she'd need them to know where she was going---

            Someplace, a clock struck noon, and a cold breeze wafted through the grass.  The gravediggers left Airelle alone with the piles upon piles of funeral flowers at the headstone; but she would not be by herself for long.

            An enormous, friendly hand descended on her shoulder, and she fought every instinct in her body – fought not to break down and cry like a child.

            "I saw off her parents just now," said Omar Fauks from above her, and Airelle did not need to look up to know he was scrutinizing her carefully.

            Her lungs heaved a sigh without her permission.  She did not even want to remember that Elsa's family consisted entirely of Muggles… just like her family…

            "Two of my charges dead," she whispered, but it was more of a sickened hurl in the face of the world rather than anything else.  "First Edgar Bannett, and now this."

            Omar's hand stroked her back protectively.  "They died heroes," he said quietly.

            "Valiancy will only keep one alive for so long in this trade," she replied scathingly, staring at Elsa's epitaph.  "Heroes or not, Omar, I have failed them.  And I'll answer for it at one point in my life."

            "There was nothing you could have done."

            She suddenly found her voice rising uncontrollably, and clenched her hand over the bouquet she was holding.  "I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE!  I COULD HAVE PROTECTED THEM!" she bellowed up at him, her dark eyes shining with fury and her chest heaving.

            Omar merely looked at her, and the kindness in his handsome, noble face was strong enough to melt ice.  Airelle stared at him for only another second before turning away in embarrassment and grief.

            "Forgive me," she murmured hastily, choking back a sob.  "It's not… you aren't…"

            "Elsa would be honored," he said gently as Airelle knelt by the grave yet again, "to be immortalized by such a cause."

            "But no one deserved to die this way," she answered, and the truth was clear in her voice.  "You were not there, Omar, when Elsa'd been brought to St. Mungo's, still alive.  You didn't see—" A shudder passed through her, reopening a wound that had just begun to heal.  "—what he… what they had done to her.  But I did."

            There was a rustle of robes, and her fellow Auror joined her on the damp grass.  "All the more reason why," he began sternly, "you should not let this drag you to the bottomless pit.  Everyone makes mistakes, sometimes fatal ones… but if we do not learn from them and pass on that knowledge, then our suffering is worthless."

            Airelle closed her eyes and inhaled the pungent scent of the flowers, as if sneezing would purge her of guilt.  It did not work.

            "Use your experience," came Omar's voice from her left.  "You are still squad leader, and they need you."

            That thought only made Airelle more miserable; but she bit back the stubborn tears and looked at her friend firmly.

            "One thing is certain," she voiced her thoughts, not even realizing he could hear her.  "Someone died for my sake.  Whatever happens now and in the future… there is nothing in this universe that will make me forget that.  Nothing."

            She did not apologize.  Instead, she just turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the tall figure of Sirius Black outlined starkly in the dim light from the corridor.  He still did not follow, and Airelle merely hoped he'd have enough sense to leave quietly and not return.

~*~

            She did not even know her feet had acted independently of her brain and were propelling her forward until she found herself a good deal into the darkness.  Her footsteps on the floor had altered from dull clunks to silence.  This was an older part of the manor, and apparently recently opened as a storage basement of sorts – and it was larger than Airelle had hoped or expected.  It seemed that this Muggle building had more of a history than what was on the tour…

            Her fingers groped the wall in the dark as a tentative guide, but she was afraid to light her wand.  Those Death Eaters probably knew the way by heart, and to announce her presence was less than prudent.

            Then again, the idea of getting lost in the passages was not appealing, either…

            What would be waiting for her out there?  Her mind flew to Snape yet again, to what his face looked like when Noah led her out of the cell hours earlier.  It was the one time she'd seen his eyes actually plead.  Don't come back.

            But she had to.  It sounded foolish, even to her, but she could not do what Snape had done on Graduation Night.  She could not abandon a friend.

            Not to mention Neville and the others… no, they needed her help now, more than ever… no matter how much Snape tried to deny it.

            Something wet and slippery stuck to the sole of her boot, and she attempted to shake it off in disgust.  It landed on the stone floor with a plop, and it took Airelle some time to register that it had actually scurried off.

            She immediately froze and paled.  What the bloody heck was that?…

            And then, she began to become aware of sounds around her, too many for only one thing to produce.  And these sounds were on the floor, the walls… scattering on the ceiling…

            "Shit," she said elegantly and with feeling.

            A pair of yellowish, bulbous eyes suddenly peeled open and stared at her from the shadows ahead.  It took just two blinks of those eyes to send Airelle's heart into the pit of her stomach; she recognized them.

            "Expecto Patronum!" she roared, completely forgetting there were wary Death Eaters close by.  "Expecto Patronum!"

            A bright white light exploded from the tip of her wand, nearly blinding her; it took a shape and charged toward the eyes in a silver blur.  There was a corrosive, inhuman shriek, and the eyes vanished as suddenly as they'd appeared.  Airelle flung herself against the nearby wall, breathing raggedly.  If she hadn't been put on alert by stepping on one of them, the Dark magic these creatures used to lure their victims would have---

            She swallowed hard and listened for anything, any indication of further danger.  But only silence reigned down the passage, which aroused a query… just how far had she ventured?

            Airelle stayed put for some minutes before continuing to walk.  Her stomach growled loudly in its desire for some warm Yorkshire pudding; she had not eaten for hours, and the stress had taken its toll.  Still, she hoped food would be her only concern after this night was over…

            Her feet rounded a corner, and came across the entrance to two more corridors.  One sloped, sweeping sharply to the right, and the other diagonally to the left; and the split was illuminated by a single magical torch stuck in a bracket on the wall.  For the first time, Airelle shivered and saw her breath rise in a mist before her hood.  The air here reeked of mold and pneumonia.

            She swiveled, peering from right to left and back again, tried to orient herself, and failed.  Finally making a quick and desperate choice, she lit her wand (if no one had been alerted by the noise, the light would hardly do more damage) and headed off through the passage on her right.

            It was slightly warmer here, and more humid, as if she were nearing a furnace of sorts.  Her eyes were adjusting slowly as well, which spoke of the presence of a very slight Illuminata Charm.  Airelle's nostrils flared in anticipation and she willed her step to soften.  Even after years of watching Snape, it was easy for her --- though heaven knew, he had been demanding in teaching her liquidity of movement…

            Airelle scowled at herself inside the private courtroom of her hood as she reached yet another corner.  Beyond it, a dim light threw itself onto the floor.  She waited, listening for sounds, and found them --- subdued whispering, and a few pained moans.  Finally, the ex-Auror's eagerness seized the better of her judgment, and she craned her neck slightly around the corner.  An odd sight greeted her.

            A row of doors lined the wall at her right, not far apart from one another, but a good distance.  Upon closer inspection, Airelle saw that they all sported eye slots and enormous locks with no keyholes.  Broken slabs of marble littered the floor – but apart from that, nothing else looked out of place.  It suddenly came to Airelle that perhaps this mansion had not belonged to Muggles in its olden time.  This part of it must have been the real dungeons, as if was common for old families to possess at least one underground cell… and any Muggle would've noticed the foul creatures whose eyes she'd seen in the dark some time ago.  They only inhabited places where magic was once present; this meant the manor had been the property of some wizarding family and perhaps taken over by Muggles… but an old family would only abandon its home due to illness, death, or… if one of their own were disgraced permanently.

            Could this, then, have been the house of a Dark wizard or witch?…

            Her thoughts were interrupted by a smothered thud, as that of a body falling to the floor, and a small groan.  Airelle's eyes swept across the corridor, but there was no one to meet them.  What lay beyond the row of doors, she could not see; the hallway turned left again and led off into darkness.

            Airelle wanted to step around her corner and head to the cells, but her paranoia stopped her foot in mid-air, letting it hover over the stone.  A perplexed look crossed her face before she decided to follow standard Auror procedure.

            "Videre malumrem!" she whispered softly, pointing her wand toward the hallway floor.  It began to glow blue-green, then a bright red; and Airelle sensed trouble.  There were several Warding Hexes here, and though she could not know what triggered them, her wand told her their general location.

            "Exite a Domine!"  Though it was not the usual way for Dark Wizards to end a spell (they employed a more potent charm), it worked here nonetheless, and Airelle's wand glowed a steady blue-green.  It was only then that she walked toward the door, jumping over carelessly placed marble, and looked inside the eye-slot.

            It was her cell, all right; and thankfully, all its occupants were still inside, with no sign of the Death Eaters she'd seen earlier.  Looking at the room from the other angle, Airelle saw that it was genuine and not a tourist attraction in the museum, as she had guessed.  The bars had been placed in the middle on purpose, to divide the cell into a holding pen and an interrogation – torture – room.  Her insides shuddered at that last thought involuntarily, and she cursed herself for the reaction.  Even after years of practice, she still could not---

            Airelle suddenly realized she was staring at the prisoners without really seeing them.  Her gaze focused, and settled on a face she had desperately hoped to see again --- Snape.  He sat in a corner, looking grim and deathly pale, even more so than she'd remembered.  Alica, who looked just as unnerved, attempted to hand him Airelle's cloak, which she'd left behind in the cell; but he shook his head negatively.  Tracy and Ron were on the other end, trying to comfort Neville Longbottom, who sat directly opposite Snape, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.  That alone made Airelle's heart burn with rage.  She was going to beat every Death Eater she met into a bloody pulp…

            Looking about yet again to ascertain that no one was coming, she touched the lock with her wand and said, "Alohomora!"

            There was a click, but the lock didn't move.  Airelle pursed her lips and decided to try a stronger spell, used primarily by Death Eaters and Aurors---

            "Abrete!" Another click, and the lock bounced off as though on springs.  She walked inside, swinging the door so hard it nearly ripped off its ironwork hinges.

            All five of them had jumped, startled by her sudden presence and confused by the hasty manner in which she approached the bars separating them.  Snape especially, wiping his bleeding lip with his sleeve, came closer.  His dark eyes were narrowed to slits.

            Airelle suddenly discovered her own idiocy – she was still wearing the hood.

            "You're still alive," she breathed, lowering it hastily and gripping the bars.  "What have they done?"

            But before any of the students even had time to gasp in shock, Snape did something very peculiar.  His hands lashed out like whips through the bars, fastening themselves around her neck and pushing her painfully against him.

            "Who are you?" he murmured silkily, but his voice was like ice.

            Airelle grabbed his wrists, much like she'd done with the Death Eater in the woods, and stared into his eyes numbly.  "Snape… I…"

            Vaguely out of the corner of her vision, she saw Ron charge toward the bars, his face livid with anger.  "What're you doi---"

            "Silence, Weasley," snapped Snape brutally, without taking his eyes off Airelle.  His fingers, as cold as his voice, tightened considerably.

            "Answer or I will kill you where you stand," he said more clearly, and Airelle knew he thought she was a Death Eater in disguise.  It was a common ruse to coax information from desperate prisoners.

            "Severus," she gasped, "it's Airelle…"

            The fingers loosened, just a little.  "Then tell me what you gave me as a gift on Christmas."

            She felt her vision blur, but only slightly; Snape knew his techniques.  "The… candle-holder," she choked out, and forced herself to go limp in his arms.  The effect was immediate – Snape's eyes softened and he released her; but a moment later, his expression grew stern.

            "Airelle," he said as she clutched her throat, trying to catch her breath, "I say this with the best of intentions, but you are the biggest idiot I have ever laid eyes on."

            "I'm glad to see you, too," she replied, raising her wand as the students stared at her with a mix of incredulity and horror.  "Alohomora!"

            This lock was weak, and gave way to the spell at once.  Snape was the first to exit, wincing with every other step.  Airelle glanced back to the door, but there was only darkness and silence.  Something about this bothered her; the Death Eaters had spoken of "fetching the prisoners," and yet were nowhere to be seen.  Had they perhaps spoken of someone else incarcerated here?

            Meanwhile, Alica had regained her senses and asked, "How'd you get back here, Professor?"

            "Voldemort had me summoned," she replied quickly, looking toward the door again.  Immediately, she felt Snape's eyes swoop on her.

            "He wants the potion."  It was a statement, not a question.

            Airelle nodded flatly, seeing it was no use lying to someone who knew her so well.  "I killed Noah and took the recipe… they burned my apartment to send me a message…"

            "Blimey," said Ron in the quiet that followed this revelation.

            "Do you know the way out?" asked Snape.  He did not look pleased with the situation, especially if Voldemort was expecting Airelle; but she supposed her friend would take any chance to get out, no matter how small.

            Her heart was beginning to somersault in panic.  "Yes… there's a trapdoor--- but I'll explain later…"  She practically ran to the doorway, and motioned for them to hurry.  "We must leave now, before anyone discovers us—"

            "Good idea," said Tracy, grabbing Neville by the sleeve and yanking him off the floor as Airelle and Snape stepped out of the room, nearly tripping on the slabs of marble.

            "The way back is left, right, left," she was saying, still painfully aware of his disapproving gaze.  Snape would never admit he'd wanted her to return; and perhaps that notion was better for both their sanities…

            That was her last thought before she heard the growl.

            "Snape," she murmured, her heard skipping several beats, "is it just me, or was that—"

            "No," he said slowly as Ron and Alica made their way out the door after them, puzzled by the sudden delay, "it isn't you."

            Airelle followed his gaze to the left of the hallway, where she'd just come from.  A moment later, she wished she hadn't.

            A shape filled the corridor from floor to ceiling, and filled it so silently they hadn't even noticed it until now.  But as soon as it moved, the recesses of Airelle's brain, which had studied rare creatures in the Auror texts, recognized it.  Her heart shriveled like a dried fig.

            "Run," was all she said.

To Be Continued…