A Traveller's Tale
by Greta Jameson
7: Rain in the Desert
Ron wolfed down his dinner in silence, impervious even to Hermione's apologies and Harry's half-smiles, and quickly departed for his detention assignment. As he went, he thought about how walking around the empty halls of the castle at night had frightened him when he was younger. Then he thought about the jars lining the walls of Snape's classroom and how grotesque they looked at night. Each large jar held a creature submerged in preservative solution that ranged from clear in color to a dark yellowish brown. One jar held a flat-nosed fish with whiskers and cat-like fangs. Another held a tiny, pixie-like creature with translucent skin that allowed clear view of its internal organs and bones. Ron shivered to think about them, but soon reminded himself that he was an upperclassman now. He was older and stronger now, and perhaps even a bit wiser than he was when he first came to Hogwarts, and by the time he reached the potions classroom, he felt ready to face Snape.
He came to an abrupt stop soon after he entered the deserted classroom and listened to the voices coming from Snape's office.
"Why can you not just tell me now, Severus?" the vistor insisted
"Because I'm planning to present that information next Saturday, and cannot speak about it until then," Snape whispered furtively.
Very well. I can wait for a few more days. You say the meeting is to be in the defense classroom at noon?
"Yes."
"I'll see you then," the tall hooded man replied as he departed, nearly knocking Ron over as he passed.
Ron had barely recovered from the shock of the stranger's passing when he heard Snape menace, "Good evening, Mr. Weasley. So glad you could come."
"Yes sir," Ron stammered as he walked through the door.
Snape followed him inside and said, "Look here Weasley; I will not tolerate you pursuing your hobbies during my class time."
"I'm terribly sorry, sir."
"But for detention, I'm going to kill you with kindness," he said throwing a stack of encrypted papers onto the desk in front of Ron. "I have stacks, no . . . crates of these enciphered pages, and I want you to help me break the code."
Ron brightened and looked expectantly at Snape.
"Well don't just stand there, get a move on!"
Ron thumbed through the pages as he sat down, "Looks complicated."
"It was written by a master codemaker."
"Anything else you can tell me, any other provenance?"
Snape smiled at the unexpected sophistication of the question and answered, "English - 20th Century, mixed reporting, history, concepts, perhaps some spells."
"That's not a lot to go on," said Ron thinking aloud. "To whom was he writing?"
"The writings were intended for his heir, for me, so I could carry on in his footsteps."
Ron examined the rows of letters and numbers. There were no spaces in between the characters, so words or phrases were impossible to detect. "Remarkable thing, Professor," Ron smiled, "Is that in all of these pages, there isn't a single mistake or even a misplaced drop of ink."
"Yes, Mr. Weasley, my father was very precise about a great many things."
"Well, when in doubt," Ron said after looking the stack of pages, "do a frequency count."
Snape pushed some parchment and a quill over to him and took half the stack of enciphered pages for his own perusal. He wrote the first letter from Sebastian's cipher on the first page on his record sheet, and then scanned the page for other occurrences of that letter. Each time he spotted the letter, he placed a slash next to the letter on his record. Ron did the same for his first page, and slowly worked his way across all of the characters in the first line. After the first hour or so, they each had completed two pages of Sebastian's manuscript.
They worked on for another couple of hours, and when the tower bell sounded half-past eight, Snape said, "That is a good start, you may go, Mr. Weasley. Same time and place tomorrow. Are there any patterns emerging from your sheets?"
"Too soon to tell, sir. I need to go through more of the raw traffic first."
Narcissa Malfoy dined alone again - as she had for so many days and night of her married life. Lucius had left abruptly on business, and hadn't been home in several days. She didn't care where he had gone or what he was doing. She cared only about who he might be with. He had become more secretive again in recent months and gone for longer periods of time and she worried that he was once again supporting Voldemort. As she sat at the table, she promised herself that she would not go through another round of trials. For she could not endure the shame that they had heaped on the family once again.
Miranda lay on the quilts and skins piled by the fireplace that served as her bed and brooded about Lucius Malfoy. It had been days since she had returned the necklace, and his silence worried her. She thought about using her telepathy to find out what he was up to, but decided against it, to avoid the risk of detection. In an effort to stop thinking about him, she opened one of her favorite books from her schooldays: The fable of Jaya and the Occamy. The last time she had read this book, she had been almost nineteen and was about to leave Beauxbatons to return to England for training as an auror. As each of the tiny figures stood up from the page to act out their parts they waved at her and remarked that it was good to see her again. Jaya's mean-spirited grandmother, however, took her by surprise when she commented on the first of the gray hairs on Miranda's head.
The story began on a dusty village road running from a small cluster of huts to the river. Jaya had been sent by her grandmother to fetch water from the river, but on her way back she had stopped to listen to an argument between two birds. She put the heavy clay pot down, wiped her brow and looked up at the sun that punished them with its intolerable heat as the birds argued on. The peacock strutted back and forth on the wall with his beautiful tail partially unfurled and insisted that he was, "Lucky to have been born so beautiful, for beauty is by far the best quality that one could possess."
The Toucan sitting on a branch near the peacock disagreed and declared as he dropped a nut on the rock below, "No, no, no it is far more useful to be intelligent!" and flew down to pick the meat out of the shattered shell.
"Heavens no!" cried the peacock as he unrolled his tail and rattled his feathers loudly. "Beauty will open more . . ."
But the peacock cried out in alarm and disappeared into the page along with the other characters as the door to Miranda's room flew open and a scowling Lucius Malfoy strode in.
"What in the world?" Miranda called out as she sat up. "What do you think your doing? You have no right to barge in here like this!"
"It's time you and I had a little chat, Professor," he menaced softly as he walked over to her.
"About what?" she asked innocently as a burst of adrenaline warmed her belly.
"About your letter, my dear, what else?" He laughed cruelly as he approached.
He began to pace in front of her. She anxiously watched him and hoped he would take off his gloves. She would be safe if only he would . . .
He wheeled around and jabbed her roughly with his walking stick. "You know, you really have created quite a problem for me Professor," he began viciously. I don't know whether I should kill you, take you back to Druben with me, or just let you go after getting a pledge of silence."
"Lucius, let me explain," she started as she wiped a stray tear away.
"No, it's not going to work this time, Professor. I don't make the same mistake twice," he laughed. "So save your shy smiles and your tears . . . I know it's all an act."
"Lucius, it's not an . . ."
Silence!" he roared, causing her to shake. He watched her for a moment assessingwhether her fear was genuine, and then continued more gently, "Now where were we? Ah. I can't let you just wander off knowing what you now know about me. You would be too much of a threat. So what does that leave us, hmm?"
"Lucius . . . please," she silently begged, as she slipped inside his mind. She found that this was only an initial show of strength, a bit of bluster intended only to frighten her. He had more subtle things than murder or kidnapping on his mind.
"Please what?" he asked as he touched her hair. "Please don't kill you?"
She could only nod in reply.
"Well you're in luck, Professor. I have no intention of killing you. At least not tonight. True, it would protect me, but it would displease the Master. He is very eager to meet you, you know."
"I'll not go. I'll fight you every step of the way."
"Yes. I assumed you would. And since you and I are fairly well matched, it would be quite a battle if I tried to take you by force. That would be terrible for my public image. Imagine the Prophet headlines," he said as he swept his hands an arc in front of her, "Governor of Hogwarts Destroys School."
She waited for him to draw his wand or cast the first curse.
"So . . . I'm not going to kill you," he continued, "I'm not going to let you go, and I'm not going to force you to come East with me. What do you think I'm going to do with you then?" He asked as he sat down beside her.
She recoiled but he draped his arm across her shoulders and drew her back. He searched her face for some trace of feeling but found only the studied neutrality of a professional auror. He took her right hand in his and said calmly, "I'm going to try to convince you to willingly join us."
"Never."
"Never? Why do you say that, my dear? There's a great deal more to Slytherin's ideals than revenge against the crimes of muggles and preservation of the race, you know. We only want to build a world in which we can live free from the Ministry's yoke; a world in which we magicals can reach our full potential. That's the way it was before all the fighting began, Miranda. And," he whispered with all traces of cruelty and guile gone from his voice," I know . . . that you know . . . I'm telling the truth."
"I don't know anything of the sort," she lied as she turned away.
"Miranda," he said as he let her go, "Look at me and tell me that you have no idea what I'm talking about." She looked into his eyes and saw not an enemy, but only a man. And as a man, he had known the very extremes of human experience. She knew that he could escape the confines of his body and merge with his brothers and sisters in Voldemort's community and that that was the life and the power that he so persistently sought. But she also knew that his elegant face had been twisted into paroxysms of rage on many occasions as he took the lives of his enemies. "I can't, Lucius. I do know."
He had gambled with the guess that she knew, and smiled to himself at his small but important triumph over her. "Then help me, Miranda. Come with me and see for yourself how we live. Come and see that we only want to live in peace."
She shook her head no. "I cannot. I know that those are your goals, Lucius. But those are no longer the goals of your Master. He has become twisted and broken by the limitless powers he has found and cannot see beyond his hatred and revenge." She held his hand tightly and entreated, "If you really want to restore the community to its original charter, then state your case to Albus. He will help you."
"Albus Dumbledore is nothing but the Ministry's lapdog," he replied bitterly, angry at her refusal. "He would never assist us. You, on the other hand, might be convinced to."
"I don't think so, Lucius."
"Well you just think about it. I know you're a smart girl. In fact, I've learned a great deal about you in the last few days," he said grinning.
"What are you talking about?" she asked fearfully
"I'm talking about a couple of little secrets that would sully the Minister's daughter's otherwise sterling reputation."
She flew away from him, alarmed at this sudden turn, and berated herself for her foolishness.
"Nothing to worry about, my dear. Just a little indiscretion between you and your old Defense Professor at Beauxbatons."
Miranda turned her head away as she remembered how his voice had conjured images of his home on the high steppes in her mind. "I was just a girl, Lucius. Just seventeen . . ."
"Yes you were. And it was pretty tame as scandals go. But it did get him dismissed from his post and sent back East and . . ."
Please don't let him have found out about the rest, she worried to herself.
". . . There is the matter of his little present."
Miranda held her head in her hands as she remembered.
"It must have been very difficult for you to have lived in a transformed state for all of those months," he taunted. "And then birthing him in the dungeon with only the headmistress and nurse to help. Tsk, tsk, tsk, it must have really been terrible."
"It was."
"But there was something wrong with him wasn't there? That horrible shrieking . . . and his constant transformation!"
"No, you're wrong. He was perfect. He just inherited my gifts. I was exactly like that."
"Well, did you ever wonder what happened to him?"
"All the time."
"And," he said coming up close behind her, "Sometimes in the middle of the night, you can even hear him crying, can't you?"
"Stop, please, Lucius. I don't want to think about him anymore."
He leaned close and asked viciously, "So, how does it feel, my little telepath, to have a stranger dig up your secrets? Now you know what its like to be one of your own victims. Tell me, how does it feel?"
She didn't know why she said it, but the word came as a sudden revelation to her and echoed like a silver bell in the darkness. "Liberating," she whispered slowly.
"What did you say?"
"I said it was liberating," she said slowly, savoring the words in her mouth. "I have been carrying that burden for years all by myself. And now I share it with you. It is liberating!" she laughed giddily. "Thank you, Lucius!"
He frowned to see that her fear had faded and folded his arms angrily across his chest. "We'll find him. If he's still alive, we'll find the boy!"
"Go ahead. You can only use him against me if I let you. And I won't let you. It's just a sad chapter in the life of the foolish girl that I once was. And it pales in comparison to your own sins."
"And what do you pretend to know about them, Professor?"
She leaned in close and whispered, "Guthulu."
Of all of his horrible deeds, that one word represented the worst of them all. He wanted to turn away from her and from what he had done. But he held his ground and managed to blurt out, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then let me refresh your memory," she roared as she knocked him down with the force of her arms and mind together.
Without warning, he was in the middle of a terrifying roar of sound. It didn't approach and overtake him like a huge wave. No, the cacophony was one moment absent, and the next moment present. He tried to get away from her, but found that he could barely move. He couldn't see the room around him at all; there was nothing but darkness. He lay there, paralyzed and blind; overcome by the horror of it all.
"I am here - with you," he heard Miranda's voice above the din.
He grabbed her, clutching her hands tightly in his own. His breathing became quick and shallow with panic.
He saw himself as a young man fiercely engaged with his most hated enemy. Steel rang against steel as the battle between the two raged on. Finally his blade sliced her and she fell to the ground. He caught his breath as he watched her die; happy that he had finally killed the Guthulu witch.
"I had to do it," he choked. "It was foretold that the child would overthrow Voldemort. I had been hunting her for months, but she always evaded us. It wasn't my fault that I came upon her so late.
"And then what happened?"
"Oh . . . it was terrible. I was about the remount my horse when I heard it whimper. I turned round to find it laying there next to its dead mother, drawing its first breath. My last blow was enough to birth it right there on the forest floor."
Miranda held him tight as he began to gasp, "He was still blue and covered with wax. They were all watching me to see what I would do. I had to do it. Oh! Miranda," he cried as he held her close. "It was horrible, he didn't cry or scream, but he cooed. I tell you he cooed as my dagger sliced his throat."
"And that night still haunts you?"
"It is a stain on my family that can never be washed away," he cried. "I will never forgive myself for what I did that night!"
He sobbed and clung to her as she stroked his back to soothe him. "I know about that night, and I know about the other nights too. Oh Lucius, share the weight of those memories with me. And let it be a bond between us. Protect me from Voldemort and I will spare you from Azkaban."
He wearily looked at her as a deep sleep overtook him. Miranda whispered softly as he drifted in his enchanted dream, "Lucius, try to remember who you once were. Go back to a time before Voldemort, before the community and even before Madeline. Come back to us and we will help you. If you just try to save yourself, you will be redeemed."