Eleven
As I may have mentioned before the entire world seemed bathed in the moonlight and under that pale light my companion looked ethereal and almost peaceful. Almost. There were still little stress lines around the outsides of his eyes, and where his brow was always furrowed. His eyes still seemed to harbor some silent mysterious - well, something. When we had got halfway around the lake we stopped to watch the giant squid bathing its tentacles in the light of the moon. Somewhere off in the distance I heard the howl of a wolf. It was almost Halloween. Only one workweek to go.
"Did I ever tell you that Halloween is my favorite holiday," I asked as I dropped his hand and sat down upon the bank of the lake. To my surprise he condescended to joint me, and we both sat cross-legged at the edge of the water. I reached down and put my toes in, shivering at the wintriness of it.
"No, he answered. You never did." He was now assuming the position I was so fond of, his legs up against his chest, hugged by his strong arms, and his knee resting on his chin. He stared out across the water as if he were a million miles away. Watching him there in the moonlight I felt as if I could see a part of him that had been hidden for most of his life. It was a hint of what I had seen earlier that night, in front of the fire. I got the sense that he was being completely himself. It was a refreshing change.
"Why are you afraid of the dark," he asked finally. I cast my gaze out across the lake with his, staring up at the all-seeing moon above. I was pretty sure that was genuine interest in his voice, but I was in a bit of a quandary. You see, I was tired of constantly revealing myself to him. I was tired of always being the one to bare my soul to him and never get anything in return.
"First you need to tell me something about you."
His gaze faltered and turned to me. I pretended not to notice. "What do you want to know?"
I thought for a moment. I wasn't really sure. To be honest I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know his past. I wanted to know how he had come to be a teacher in the first place. I wanted to know why he was so bitter and angry with the world.
"Everything," I finally answered.
He smiled quietly at me. I faced him to return the smile. His eyes seemed to dance for the first time. Perhaps this was the first time anyone had ever shown an interest in him.
"How did you end up as a teacher here," I asked. Perhaps if I gave him a jumping off point he would find it a bit easier.
He sighed. It had sounded like a heavy sigh. He tossed his head back and let his hair fall out of his face. I was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush it back and just run my fingers through it. I stood up, him watching my every move, and sat back down directly behind him. I placed one leg on either side of him and reached my hands up to his head. His skin was warm and surprisingly a bit sweaty. I brushed each strand of hair back from his face and neck and then placed a hand on each of his shoulders.
I began to massage his muscles with the tenderness I had inherited from my mother. Slowly the knots began to soften themselves and a low moan sounded from deep within him. I placed my lips to his ear and gently reminded him that he was supposed to be telling me a story.
"I graduated from Hogwarts a full fifteen years ago. I was a boy of eighteen who thought he possessed the wisdom of an elder. I had been a Slytherin, and as such had been mates with all of the prominent wizarding families. At least the dark ones. Malfoy and I could have rivaled Potter and Weasly in our day." He spat out their names as if they were dirty words. I slowly pushed him forward so that he was hunched over a little and worked my way down his lower back.
"Wherever Malfoy went I was sure to follow. And of course he followed his father's footsteps straight into Voldemort's throng." He stopped here. I think he expected me to stop my massage and listen in horror or disbelief. I just kept right on going and told him his story wasn't over yet.
"I've never admitted this to anyone except the minister of magic and Dumbledore himself."
"Well you've already admitted it and I haven't run screaming for the hills yet. Go on," I urged as I worked the muscles of his lower back.
"Well, my area of concentration in school had been potions, and Voldemort was in desperate need of a personal apothecary. You know. To brew all those nasty things you couldn't order from any respectable apothecary. Enter yours truly."
I pulled him back so that he was leaning against me and tilted his head back once again. There was that old familiar scent of cinnamon and sage drifting from his hair and I brushed it back in order to gain easier access to his neck. I began to work it slowly, silently, as he went on.
"I spent two years in his service before I realized my mistake, but by then it was far too late to save my soul. I had been claimed by evil. My potions had helped Voldemort to take many an innocent life. I was tainted by the sin of these two hands." He held up his paw like hands for me to see. I began to work on his temples.
"I thought sure it was too late for me. But finally one day I had seen enough. I had seen enough carnage and death and destruction. I had seen my own family wiped away at the hands of the Dark Lord while I could only stand around and watch. What was one wizard against a hoard of them? I ran to Dumbledore and begged with all my soul for his forgiveness. I promised him that if he would only show me mercy I would repent for what I had done. I promised to -" He stopped. I wasn't sure if this was the right time to press him, and so I just continued my work on his temples. When he didn't continue his story I finished it for him.
"You became a spy," I stated matter of factly.
"For an eighteen year old girl you certainly are perceptive."
"I'd like to thank the academy."
"What?"
"Nothing." Silence then, for quite some time, before the conversation started anew.
"That feels good," he told me as I finished smoothing out the skin around his face. He was beginning to look relaxed and almost calm. I pulled him back against me and wrapped my arms around his chest as he had with me earlier. I didn't rock, but we just sat there, my arms around him, his hands holding onto them, watching the world go by. I never mentioned it but as he reached up to grasp my arms, almost seeming to need the contact, his left sleeve slipped back a bit and I could see the angry ashen tattoo upon his forearm, black and ugly against such beauty. And that was when I knew that what I felt for him truly was love. For if you can love someone who has been marked by such evil, and look past it to see his true beauty, only then can you truly say that you have loved.
As I may have mentioned before the entire world seemed bathed in the moonlight and under that pale light my companion looked ethereal and almost peaceful. Almost. There were still little stress lines around the outsides of his eyes, and where his brow was always furrowed. His eyes still seemed to harbor some silent mysterious - well, something. When we had got halfway around the lake we stopped to watch the giant squid bathing its tentacles in the light of the moon. Somewhere off in the distance I heard the howl of a wolf. It was almost Halloween. Only one workweek to go.
"Did I ever tell you that Halloween is my favorite holiday," I asked as I dropped his hand and sat down upon the bank of the lake. To my surprise he condescended to joint me, and we both sat cross-legged at the edge of the water. I reached down and put my toes in, shivering at the wintriness of it.
"No, he answered. You never did." He was now assuming the position I was so fond of, his legs up against his chest, hugged by his strong arms, and his knee resting on his chin. He stared out across the water as if he were a million miles away. Watching him there in the moonlight I felt as if I could see a part of him that had been hidden for most of his life. It was a hint of what I had seen earlier that night, in front of the fire. I got the sense that he was being completely himself. It was a refreshing change.
"Why are you afraid of the dark," he asked finally. I cast my gaze out across the lake with his, staring up at the all-seeing moon above. I was pretty sure that was genuine interest in his voice, but I was in a bit of a quandary. You see, I was tired of constantly revealing myself to him. I was tired of always being the one to bare my soul to him and never get anything in return.
"First you need to tell me something about you."
His gaze faltered and turned to me. I pretended not to notice. "What do you want to know?"
I thought for a moment. I wasn't really sure. To be honest I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know his past. I wanted to know how he had come to be a teacher in the first place. I wanted to know why he was so bitter and angry with the world.
"Everything," I finally answered.
He smiled quietly at me. I faced him to return the smile. His eyes seemed to dance for the first time. Perhaps this was the first time anyone had ever shown an interest in him.
"How did you end up as a teacher here," I asked. Perhaps if I gave him a jumping off point he would find it a bit easier.
He sighed. It had sounded like a heavy sigh. He tossed his head back and let his hair fall out of his face. I was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush it back and just run my fingers through it. I stood up, him watching my every move, and sat back down directly behind him. I placed one leg on either side of him and reached my hands up to his head. His skin was warm and surprisingly a bit sweaty. I brushed each strand of hair back from his face and neck and then placed a hand on each of his shoulders.
I began to massage his muscles with the tenderness I had inherited from my mother. Slowly the knots began to soften themselves and a low moan sounded from deep within him. I placed my lips to his ear and gently reminded him that he was supposed to be telling me a story.
"I graduated from Hogwarts a full fifteen years ago. I was a boy of eighteen who thought he possessed the wisdom of an elder. I had been a Slytherin, and as such had been mates with all of the prominent wizarding families. At least the dark ones. Malfoy and I could have rivaled Potter and Weasly in our day." He spat out their names as if they were dirty words. I slowly pushed him forward so that he was hunched over a little and worked my way down his lower back.
"Wherever Malfoy went I was sure to follow. And of course he followed his father's footsteps straight into Voldemort's throng." He stopped here. I think he expected me to stop my massage and listen in horror or disbelief. I just kept right on going and told him his story wasn't over yet.
"I've never admitted this to anyone except the minister of magic and Dumbledore himself."
"Well you've already admitted it and I haven't run screaming for the hills yet. Go on," I urged as I worked the muscles of his lower back.
"Well, my area of concentration in school had been potions, and Voldemort was in desperate need of a personal apothecary. You know. To brew all those nasty things you couldn't order from any respectable apothecary. Enter yours truly."
I pulled him back so that he was leaning against me and tilted his head back once again. There was that old familiar scent of cinnamon and sage drifting from his hair and I brushed it back in order to gain easier access to his neck. I began to work it slowly, silently, as he went on.
"I spent two years in his service before I realized my mistake, but by then it was far too late to save my soul. I had been claimed by evil. My potions had helped Voldemort to take many an innocent life. I was tainted by the sin of these two hands." He held up his paw like hands for me to see. I began to work on his temples.
"I thought sure it was too late for me. But finally one day I had seen enough. I had seen enough carnage and death and destruction. I had seen my own family wiped away at the hands of the Dark Lord while I could only stand around and watch. What was one wizard against a hoard of them? I ran to Dumbledore and begged with all my soul for his forgiveness. I promised him that if he would only show me mercy I would repent for what I had done. I promised to -" He stopped. I wasn't sure if this was the right time to press him, and so I just continued my work on his temples. When he didn't continue his story I finished it for him.
"You became a spy," I stated matter of factly.
"For an eighteen year old girl you certainly are perceptive."
"I'd like to thank the academy."
"What?"
"Nothing." Silence then, for quite some time, before the conversation started anew.
"That feels good," he told me as I finished smoothing out the skin around his face. He was beginning to look relaxed and almost calm. I pulled him back against me and wrapped my arms around his chest as he had with me earlier. I didn't rock, but we just sat there, my arms around him, his hands holding onto them, watching the world go by. I never mentioned it but as he reached up to grasp my arms, almost seeming to need the contact, his left sleeve slipped back a bit and I could see the angry ashen tattoo upon his forearm, black and ugly against such beauty. And that was when I knew that what I felt for him truly was love. For if you can love someone who has been marked by such evil, and look past it to see his true beauty, only then can you truly say that you have loved.