"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."(Arthur Miller)
She drifted back to the surface with a start when pale morning light filtered through the heavy draperies in front of the high windows of the bedroom. After a moment of disorientation she found herself tangled in a heap of black silk sheets and pillows with Lucius possessively sprawled across her. She freed one hand and rubbed her eyes, then she carefully extricated the rest of herself. Her skin was alternately slick and sticky with their mingled juices and she could not recall ever having felt so sore. Every muscle protested as she moved. He continued breathing softly, interrupted only by a few mumbles, but did not wake as she slipped off the mattress. A chair at the foot of the bed held a black dressing gown casually flung across the back, and she slipped into it, rolling up the sleeves that were too long for her and padded off in search of the bathroom.
A door at the far end of the bedroom led to a chamber tiled in black and blood-red marble that was dominated by a large sunken bath. The cold stone chilled her feet and woke her completely as she rooted around for a cloth and towels, slipped out of the dressing gown and cleaned herself up. She started sorting her thoughts, thankful for the fact that at least vorax potion did not cause any hangovers.
Part of her longed to fill the marble basin with hot water and to immerse herself relaxing her bunched and strained muscles for a while, but she was not sure if she was ready to face Lucius in the sober light of morning. The potion had helped them to break down physical barriers to an extent that had not been matched by an equal exchange of other knowledge about each other. She felt she needed to reassess her own identity before she could reasonably talk to him again. Part of her nagged her that she was simply trying to rationalize the fact that she behaved like a coward and just wanted to flee, but she felt vulnerable. And she was sure that around Lucius Malfoy vulnerable was the one thing she did not care to be.
So she restricted herself to a quick sponge bath and took at critical look herself in the tall mirror above the marble wash basin. Her hair was a thick, tangled mess that even his brush was unable to fix completely. She looked pale with dark-rimmed eyes and found to her embarrassment that she sported a few rather spectacular bruises and bite marks around her neck and shoulders and various other areas of her body. Well, Lucius might have many faults, but lack of vigor, skill and enthusiasm certainly was not one of them. She was also sure that she had given as good as she'd got. One could always use some spells later to take care of anything that might raise problematic questions.
Finally she tiptoed back into his room and quietly approached the bed, putting his dressing gown back where she'd found it. Her gown lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and she picked it up and slipped it on, closing it with a quick spell. Next followed her shoes and belt, but as she prepared to sheath her wand that she had used earlier on his black muslin bindings she hesitated. If she disappeared without a trace he might misconstrue that as regret or even resentment, neither of which described what she felt. She should really leave something behind to indicate that she had thoroughly enjoyed the night. The man who lay sleeping before her had exceeded her expectations in more ways than one. A thank you and goodbye were in order.
For a few moments she racked her brains. A note was too complicated for her right now and could seem too committed. Another gift would be inappropriate also. Eventually she managed to make up her mind, touched the pillow next to his face with her wand and mumbled an incantation. She took one last look at him, gently pulled some lose sheets over his naked body, stood away from the bed and stroked her snake bracelet. She had barely spoken the activation spell when she already saw the familiar shapes of her room before her.
Lucius Malfoy was woken by a particularly bright and persistent band of sunlight that slowly inched its way across his body and finally reached his face. For a moment he clenched his eyes and grimaced as his hands sought for her body among the sheets. When he came up empty, he finally looked about him. He was alone. The intensity of the disappointment he felt astonished him. He had expected she would be there, perhaps still asleep, ready for him to wake her. He realized he had hoped to spend the day with her, show her the house and garden, work on his plan to try and eventually bring her into the society that served the Dark Lord, and of course enjoy another night like the last with her. Why in the blazes would she leave?
Then his eyes fell on a spot of vivid orange on the pillow next to him. He stretched out his hand and found himself holding a perfect tiger lily blossom of the most intense fire hues. He looked at it, each petal like a living flame, striped and mottled in amber and bronze, pollen like gold dust in the center. It was beautiful, precisely the color of her hair, and he was not surprised to find her frankincense scent trapped in it as he sniffed it. So she had left, but she had left a message behind. He had known from the start that she would want him on her terms, but it irked him that she could let go this easily. He stretched over to his night table and reached for his wand. "Petrificus," he intoned and felt the delicate blossom turn hard and brittle in his fingers. Carefully he placed it in an empty oil vial on the side of his bed.
For Eleanor Saturday passed in a daze. She spent most of the morning catching up on lost sleep and then slowly got herself ready for the day. Spells fixed her hair and erased other traces of the previous night, but she still experienced echoes of his touch, ghost hands that seemed to caress her, memories of his mouth on her body. She still felt herself suffused with him. She had not thought that sex like she had just experienced was even possible and knew that part of her could not wait to get back to him for more.
At the same time she reproached herself for her weakness. She knew she should not be dependent on him for anything. A physical experience of that intensity would affect her feelings, she was sure of it. Finally she got tired of the battle inside her head and found some colleagues who planned to go to Hogsmeade for the evening. She spent a few hours at the Three Brooms dousing her conscience, aches and soreness with a light dose of firewhisky chatting with Professor Piotrofski about her exploits and playing wizard chess with Severus Snape.
When she got back a large eagle owl was sitting on her windowsill, eying her impatiently. Her heart beat fast as she untied a small parcel from his foot, that contained a letter and a small vial set in silver and cut from a single piece of crystal that could be worn as a pendant. She laid the jewelry to the side and read the letter.
"Dear Eleanor,
I was sorry to miss you this morning and trust that you did not leave because I earned your resentment or dissatisfaction in any way. Please accept my gift as a memento of an incredible night. I hope that you are interested in retrieving your cloak, and I will make myself available whenever you would like to visit to pick it up. Please send me a note when you would like to see me. Your portkey will remain spellbound.
Yours, Lucius"
She took a deep breath and inspected the crystal. The ruby and amber swirls of the liquid inside told her that he had bottled some of the vorax potion for her. She smiled in spite of herself and before the nagging of her conscience got the better of her, she penned a reply, assuring him of her satisfaction and pleasure, thanking him for the previous night and inviting herself for the following Friday.
The next few days passed quickly as Eleanor had planned her first muggle excursion for her second year students. She still had to complete some preparations, advise the wizard-born children on muggle dress and behavior, and then spent all of Tuesday visiting a shopping mall in a nearby town. Her pupils had a good time, as a few of them even purchased some muggle artifacts with money that she had provided and everyone chatted excitedly on the way back and all through dinner. She had set them the homework of writing an essay on their experiences and was getting ready to retire for the day when Dumbledore stopped her after the evening meal.
"Eleanor, I would like a quick word with you in my rooms," he told her. "I have some information that may interest you." Curious she followed him up the spiral staircase to the domed oval chamber that served the headmaster of Hogwarts as an office. Dumbledore invited her to sit facing him across his broad oak desk and laid some papers before her. She picked up a slim, elegant brochure. Swirling letters on the front announced: "Auction of the Effects of the Late Famous Wizards Falco Sartorius, Marius Bernhard and Francesca Fortescue. Offered for the Bids of our Discriminating Audience by the Ancient and Respected Auction House of Kenessey & Ferrara, Budapest."
She leafed through the pictures and descriptions until one of the lots caught her attention. The image showed a bundle of five letters tied together by an indigo bow and stamped with the Sartorius family crest. She quickly read the description.
"For all scholars and other individuals interested in the life and work of the famous Falco Sartorius we offer a lot of five letters that cast an interesting light on the practice of this renowned and controversial alchemist and master of the dark arts. The letters date from 1891 to 1956 and deal with topics as diverse as a disciplinary hearing at Durmstrang and the actual generation of what is probably the only homunculus ever produced after the international ban of 1911."
Eleanor lowered her hand and stared unseeing at the woodgrain of Dumbledore's desk. She couldn't help remembering Lucius' questions during their last meeting. He must have known about the auction and had tried to gather information from her without revealing his purpose. His seemingly casual remarks had been calculated and precise. Hot anger welled up in her at being used in this way, and she pretended to study the other materials before her to avoid showing her emotion. Her eyes focused as she read her family name again in a letter that was addressed to the headmaster. She re-read the relevant paragraph.
"I thought it would interest you to know, Albus, that the Sartorius letters were the property of the late Vlad Harkoff, a Death Eater and follower of You-Know-Who. He must have acquired them during the raid on Conrad Sartorius' family in the 70s. Interestingly enough they were offered by a muggle, who had been in the service of the Harkoff family for some time. The man has disappeared since and the aurors in charge of the investigation have been unable to find him so far. We believe that he has come to grief.
The letters were eventually purchased by a wizard named Nestor Bloggs, who is suspected to be an agent for several London-based Death Eaters, among them George Lepidus who we believe is the current leader of the English followers of You-Know-Who. A specialist of such matters at the Ministry of Magic is of the opinion that the dark wizards are interested in the materials, because the possession of a homunculus would get them one step further to reviving their master."
She was clenching her teeth now, seething with fury. Everything was so clear: Lucius Malfoy had played her for a fool the entire time. The present of the book had been merely a ploy to get more information, in case Falco had left descriptions of the generation and animation process for homunculi. During the meeting last Friday he had made another attempt to find out what she knew. She was certain now that he had had sex with her solely for the purpose of ensuring her trust and cooperation. She had been so stupid!
Dumbledore broke her train of thought as he pushed a newspaper clipping towards her. He didn't say anything, but her heart sank when she read the headline.
"Ancient Sartorius Residence Sacked and Desecrated.
The Cologne town home of the late Sartorius family under the curatorship of the German Historical Wizarding Society was broken into last night and sacked. Priceless artifacts were destroyed and the place left in complete chaos by a group of five hooded marauders dressed in black. Neighbors reported noises and a disturbance, but by the time aurors arrived on the scene, the damage had already been done.
A spokeswitch for the GHWS expressed puzzlement at the situation: 'Nothing is actually missing, but many objects were smashed and destroyed. We are not sure whether this was a really sick prank, an act of retaliation, or a search for a particular artifact that the burglars could not find. We are currently tidying up and assessing the damage.'
An anonymous source has informed this reporter that the described act of outrage against a treasured piece of magical heritage was actually perpetrated by one George Lepidus, who gained notoriety several years ago as an alleged follower of You-Know-Who. He escaped imprisonment, because his guilt could never be proved conclusively. This newspaper is still investigating the claim and will keep its readers updated on any further insights and developments."
Eleanor looked up at Dumbledore who regarded her intently but not unkindly. "I see that you understand," he said. She nodded. "You know what I have done?" she asked. He tilted his head. "If you refer to your association with Mr. Malfoy, then I am aware of the general situation." She felt herself blush furiously.
"Hecate! I was an idiot," she groaned. "Why didn't you warn me before?" Dumbledore folded his hands. "I believe that part of you was already warning you, but you chose to override your inner voice." Suddenly she felt the stab of an intense suspicion. "That's why you invited me to come to Hogwarts! You knew that the Sartorius family would play a part again in the war against Voldemort. You put me in Malfoy's way. You used me, just as he used me."
The old wizard before her paused, and when he spoke again he sounded tired. "Well, Eleanor, in times like these we are asked to chose a side or a side will chose us. There is no place for neutrality. You feel the pull of those who would like to see Voldemort defeated forever and those that would have him restored to his former power. You hold knowledge and abilities that both sides would possess and use to their ends.
When I brought you here I thought to act as a catalyst. I knew that I took a gamble. You are of an old and proud house skilled in the dark arts. There are aspects in your character that would be susceptible to corruption by someone like Lucius Malfoy. Still, I have met many of the Death Eaters, and while some like Lepidus are evil beyond redemption, some like Malfoy still possess the potential to turn from their path and change for the better. He has a family and an heir to provide for, possesses a keen sense of honor, and he will always rather serve himself than another. This makes him a liability as far as Voldemort is concerned.
You must have felt the war of wills as you spoke to him. He would try and bring you over to his side. You must have argued for him to abandon the Death Eaters, to stop following his master." She remembered their conversation in the office of the board of governors and nodded.
"If we could have you and Malfoy we would have gained a tremendous advantage. Of course if Malfoy could turn you, our loss would be grave. I decided to let you make up your own mind even while others advised me against it. You know what he is tempting you with, now. He has wealth, influence and charisma, and he is a powerful and intelligent man. All of this will appeal to you. So how do you decide?"
She stared at the headmaster. "There is only one choice that is possible," she said. "I will never serve Voldemort, the murderer of my kin! Malfoy lied to me and tried to use me. He serves his master. I owe him nothing, and I will have my revenge for what he did." Dumbledore shot her a warning glance. "Do not let the thought of revenge influence your decision. The dark arts have a way of turning against you if your motives are compromised. Follow your own will. If you merely seek revenge, Malfoy will still influence your actions."
Chastened, she nodded. "What should I do, Albus? If my grandfather really created a homunculus, going against the ban, I need to undo the damage. Otherwise my family will have been responsible for the return of Voldemort. I need to find this thing and destroy it before Lepidus and Malfoy can get to it." Dumbledore took the papers from the table between them and placed them in a folder.
"I believe you have already answered your own question. Please take the documents and feel free to study them. They represent all we know for the time being. Anything you can remember, perhaps something your parents told you, will be valuable. You also need to know that a homunculus will always have an affinity to its creator or his blood-relations. If Falco's creation is lost, you of all people will have the best chance to retrieve it. Trust in hunches, listen to your instincts, try to remember your dreams and other fleeting impressions. All of them may be important. If you wish, I am always ready to listen and advise."
Dazed and angry she left the headmaster's office and made her way back to her room where she slammed the door and stalked over to her desk. Her first impulse was to use her portkey to apparate in Lucius' library and put every single evil spell and hex that she knew on him. "Do not let the thought of revenge influence your decision," she mumbled, quoting Dumbledore until she had calmed down somewhat. Finally she sat down and pulled out a sheet of parchment. She would do the honorable thing and notify him that she was breaking contact with him because of his betrayal and that he should consider her his adversary.
"Mr. Malfoy,
It has come to my attention that you have abused my acquaintance to gather information for your Death Eater friends under false pretenses. In case you would like to feign ignorance of what I am referring to, I would like to point your attention to an auction catalog published by Kenessey & Ferrara for an auction that took place on the fourth of August in Budapest and an article on page 3 of the Monday edition of the Daily Prophet.
I am returning your gifts with the exception of my grandfather's book, which should be mine by right and heritage. Please send my cloak back to me at your earliest convenience and do not presume to contact me in any other way in the future. I do not wish to have further communications with you and will take whatever action I need against you and your associates to protect my interests and the interests of my family.
E. Sartorius."
She made her way though the chilly autumn night to the owlery and dispatched the message and parcel with his gifts before she went to bed. It took her a considerable time to go to sleep.