Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any rights to the
people, places and situations of the Harry Potter universe, which
belong to J.K. Rowling, AOL Time Warner, and various publishers,
included but not limited to Bloomsbury Publishing Plc and Scholastic
Books. I am making no money and intend no copyright infringement.
The epigram is from Shakespeare's "Rape of Lucrece". I couldn't find
any more specific information. Thanks to for the indexed Shakespeare
quotations.
As always, Merlin Talisen and Druidic lore belong to TQ. I provide only embellishments.
Author's Note:
Thanks are due to the denizens of "All Things British: Language" at The
Sugar Quill for their help translating Xandra's thoughts and speech
into British; to the members of The Sugar Quill Writers' Workshop 2 for
their support and help; TQ for allowing me to borrow Merlin and to
bounce ideas off of her; Calliope for her friendship and support; and
Elanor for the marvellous beta read and encouragement.
"Where is truth is there is no self-trust?"
William Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece
"Consideration, Bond? Tell me, did it ever cross your mind I might have a reason for changing my name?" He was silent, eyes meeting her glare with one of his own. "Well?" He still made no reply. "Speechless for once?" Her voice had sunk in pitch and tone; her lips barely moved as she spoke through her gritted teeth. "A bit late for that."
"If I wanted the school to know my family history I would have told them myself!" Tears were forming in Antony's eyes and he swiped a hand roughly across his face to wipe them away.
The professor let out an almost-scream of rage. "Get out of my sight!"
Antony paused, glaring. Behind Nouvelle, a movement attracted his eye. It was Faulkner.
"Go," she mouthed. He narrowed his eyes at her, asking with his body language who had asked her, and fuming over the fact that his secret had been revealed by her presentation. Feeling almost as inarticulate with rage as Nouvelle seemed, he clenched his teeth and screwed up his face, then spun, his cloak swirling around him, and stormed away. The wall guarding the entrance to the Slytherin common room had not been snapped at so severely in some time."Good afternoon, class," Merlin said, smiling as she opened the door after the end of her last timetabled class that day. "Please, come in." Maintaining her best attempt at grace, she moved towards her desk, self-conscious in her Muggle clothes. Well aware of the dangers of working with the more advanced potions, she had dressed in sturdy leather boots, Muggle jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Over that she had put on the long white dragonhide laboratory coat she had used when performing potions research for the Ministry of Magic. Perched on top of the braided hair piled on top of her head was a pair of safety goggles. Trying not to flush under Antony Bond's disapproving glare (which was surely aimed at her attire, unfitting for a witch of status such as her own), she leant back on her desk. Her hand brushed a phial and it fell over with a clatter. Luckily, she had just cleaned it, so it was empty, but she had lost what little poise she had as well as the struggle with her blush. She took a moment, regained her composure, and began to speak.
"You know why you are here," she said to the eight students sitting attentively before her. "The world is becoming an increasingly dangerous place. No matter how much some people may wish to deny it, anyone with a shred of sense can see it. Potions are an important part of your defence against the Dark Arts, in many ways. And nobody teaches you the potions you need to save your life." There was a pause heavy with trepidation as the students looked to each other, uncertain. "You are the most talented students in the school. I've chosen each of you for that reason, and because I feel you can benefit from the extra defensive knowledge." She watched Bond carefully as she said this. For some reason, she felt he could benefit from the knowledge he would gain in this classroom. Why, she was not sure. Maybe she had inherited some of her mother's instincts as a Seer. The students turned back to her, obviously listening carefully and with intelligence. "I cannot," she continued, enjoying finally having a class of students who were attentive and interested, "begin to explain how important this is. You're here for your own protection. Remember that. If you want to disrupt the class and stop others from learning," here her eyes fell directly on Bond, who scowled, "be it by snarkiness, fighting, disrespect, or distracting others," she slowed her voice to ensure the full impact of her words, "you are out." She let this statement settle for a moment, then continued. "Any questions?" There was silence. "Does anyone think they will not be able to live up to my expectations?" Nothing. "Good. I expected as much of you. And don't get the impression that just because I'm being so harsh on you you can't enjoy yourselves. I don't want Potions to be a drag. So, let's start with something interesting and not too difficult." She smiled and waved her wand. The posters on the walls of the classroom changed in a golden flash to display the ingredients for the Integritas Potion, a potion to detect untrustworthiness.
The potion was a complex one (albeit not difficult if one followed the instructions carefully), and some members of the class had trouble with it. Merlin had deliberately chosen that potion because it was a good test of a student's ability with potions more complex than those in the N.E.W.T course, and also because the most common mistakes were simple to fix. By the end of the time Merlin had allocated to the extension lesson, each of the students had a small amount of a bright blue potion.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave that behind," Merlin said as she bid the class farewell. "I'm sure your Heads of House would not be pleased with me if suddenly you all had a way of telling if your best friend is lying to you." She smiled and indicated that the students should place their potion samples on her desk. When they had done so, she told them, "You may go, with the exception of Mr Bond. Well done today."
Bond rolled his eyes and gave a breathy sigh so loud Merlin could hear it from the front of the room. He said something to Vincent Edwards, then, as the rest of the class exited, chattering animatedly, he began, with slow, deliberate movements, to collect, one by one, his possessions, and put them in his bag. Quill, ink bottle, roll of parchment each went in.
As he reached for his textbook, Merlin snapped, "Hurry it up, Bond!"
"Sorry, Professor," he said, a smirk flickering across his face. Merlin crossed her arms.
"This is what I meant when I told the class what I expect of them as the best senior Potions students Hogwarts has to offer. I believe I mentioned snarkiness and disrespect. I was serious," she said, putting her hands on the desk and staring, unflinching, straight into those offputtingly cold eyes, "when I said you will be out if your behaviour is not impeccable. To be completely honest with you, Antony, I don't know why I asked you to join the class. But I did. However," she lowered her voice, almost growling the words to him, "I will reverse my decision, and gladly, if you don't give me a damn Ð good Ð reason why I shouldn't."
Bond's jaw set as he met her vivid green stare with his own steady gaze.
"I thought Gryffindors didn't believe in discrimination."
"We don't. I'm not discriminating. I'm giving a warning to you, based entirely on your previous behaviour. I thought Slytherins didn't believe in fairness." Bond scowled.
Merlin turned and began organising the potion samples her students had given her. She sighed, brushing a wisp of hair that had fallen from her braid away from her face. Normally she would have renewed the Holding Charm on her hair, but she had no more potions to brew that night and no work to do. She would be glad to retreat to her room, collapse onto her bed with a book, and let her confounded hair out of that braid. It was always so heavy to tie up, but she could hardly work with potions with her thick, long hair falling past her waist. It would be a safety hazard.
Bond coughed. "Am I dismissed?" Merlin paused for a moment, considering.
"I believe so. But remember what I said. Don't mislead yourself by thinking I haven't noticed that you have been even more sullen and unpleasant than usual - not that I had thought that was possible - since the holidays. If -" and she studied him carefully at this, "- there is something troubling you, you know you can discuss it with your Head of House." Bond gave a bitter half-laugh and muttered something. "What was that?" Merlin asked. He shook his head.
"Nothing."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "That is the role of your Head of House, is it not?" He made no reply. "I see. Stumped for a response, are we, Your Highness?" Bond's expression darkened.
"Will that be all, Professor?" he asked as civilly as is to be expected from a seventeen-year-old with his teeth fiercely clenched and his eyes fiery.
"I think so," Merlin said lightly, examining the potion samples and realising someone had forgotten to label theirs. She began looking at the labels and using them to determine whose it was. Head held high and nose elevated, Bond collected his bag and swept from sight. Ah. It was Lachlan Barz's sample.
Merlin winced. Her head was beginning to twinge; perhaps it was the fumes from the potion, or perhaps it was just the extraordinary weight of her hair. She tucked another long strand of it behind her ear and walked into the adjoining room, her office. She went to the cabinet where she kept a select few important potions and gave her password to a knothole in the wooden frame surrounding the glass panes on the cabinet door. The knothole moved and the words, "Jolly good," issued from it. Merlin opened one of the doors and was about to grab her headache potion when she heard a sort of choked cry, a gasp of excruciating pain. If she had been holding a bottle she would have dropped it as she span, searching for the source of the cry. "Shall I shut myself?" the cabinet asked as she flung open the door opening onto the corridor and looked around her.
She heard a pitiful moan as she stood in the doorway and saw a miserable huddle of black near the classroom door. Bond was crouched over, whimpering, rocking as though to ease some fierce internal pain. As she watched, he collapsed onto the floor, moaning, curling into a ball. Merlin was beside him in an instant, kneeling and soothing him.
"Come on," she whispered in a gentle voice. It had been a long time since she'd used that voice. Despite the long years since she had truly soothed someone, it came back easily. "Antony," she whispered. "Come on. What's wrong?" He shook his head, whimpering. She gently eased him into a sitting position, and then let out a choked gasp. He was clutching his left arm. His left forearm. Her brain made the connection almost instantly to a warning given only the previous day.
Dumbledore gazed around the room. The usual twinkle in his blue eyes was dimmed; he took in, his face lined and weary, the small gathering of witches and wizards before him. The available spaces and chairs were almost filled; small as the group was, there were not a great number of chairs in the office. Two men, dressed in casual Muggle clothes, were sprawled on the floor. Around the rest of the room stood a variety of people. The petite , porcelain-doll-like Professor Nouvelle was present, an enormous shaggy dog at her feet. Remus was there, his eyes shadowed, his face grey and weary. The others in the room ranged from a solid man who stood, frowning slightly, at the back of the room and spoke with a Canadian accent to a jolly-looking man who sat near Dumbledore's desk.
"Thank you for your attendance," Dumbledore said, taking his spectacles off and cleaning them with a wave of his wand. He gave a small smile, but it didn't alleviate the troubled lines on his brow or the gravity of his posture as he rose. "You have your assignments and our new password. Good luck." A few of the assembled members stirred, and Dumbledore raised a hand. "Just one more thing. Please remember the information I gave you at our first new meeting. Remember to watch for the mark. Thank you. Until next time, companions." Fawkes let out a burst of song from his perch, and Merlin felt her heart fill with warmth and contentment, despite the dangerous tasks she was involved in.
"The Dark Mark," Merlin whispered. She sat for a moment, considering, then spurred herself into action. She hurried back to the cabinet and grabbed a phial of pain potion. As she was about to return, she paused for a moment, then smiled. She shook a few drops of Integritas Potion into the phial. Neither potion would have a bad effect when used with the other. She then returned to Bond. He was now sitting, leaning against the cool, heavy stone of the wall. His head was leant back, and there was sweat on his brow. He was trembling, like a tree's twig in a breeze, and Merlin saw him wipe tears from his eyes as she approached.
"Here," Merlin said, handing him the phial. He stared at her for a moment, the sides of his mouth drawn down, and his expression speaking eloquently of his agony. He took the phial and unstoppered it. It shook as he raised it to his lips and drank. The trembling slowly eased, and his face gradually began to regain composure. When she thought he looked ready, Merlin stood. "Come, Mr Bond. I think we need to talk." He seemed resigned to that fact, and trailed behind her as she led the way to her office.
"What was wrong with your arm?" Merlin asked as she took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same. Blinking his vividly bright eyes, Amun slunk towards her, a rat in his mouth. She absently stroked his head, then shooed him. "Go. You can eat that one. Do it somewhere else, though," she said. Then her tone hardened as she turned to Bond. "Well?"
"Nothing," the boy said, his eyes focused on the floor. Merlin saw a gentle steam rising from his ears.
"You're steaming," she said.
Bond frowned, puzzled, then his eyes widened. "You rotten, scheming -"
Merlin raised an eyebrow, and he fell silent, his scowl ferocious.
"I always had a bit of Slytherin in me," she said. "Now, tell me."
"I can't," he whispered. His eyes closed, and brief, almost imperceptible expressions flicked across his face. He seemed to be caught in some internal struggle. Merlin noticed his ears were no longer steaming; obviously he truly felt he could not divulge the information to her.
"Shall I take it to the headmaster?"
Bond jumped to his feet so suddenly his chair fell over.
"No! You can't! I - I " His voice faded and he paced the room. He raised his hands to his head. "I - I don't know what to do!" Merlin sat, watching this unprecedented outburst.
"Antony," she said, rising and moving over to him. "Sit down. We'll talk. Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate, perhaps?" He nodded his head, his face contorting as he struggled with his emotions, normally so suppressed, which seemed to now want to be seen and recognised. He sat reluctantly. Something was not right. She had had her own experiences of seventeen-year-old Death Eater trainees. Including Antony's own father. This was not typical behaviour.
She faced Antony across the desk and gave a small, hopefully encouraging, smile. "Take your time."
"I don't want to talk," he said, firmly yet so softly Merlin could hardly hear him.
"It's talk to me or straight to Dumbledore," Merlin replied. "I'm sure you're in pain because there's a Dark Mark burned onto your arm." At the frightened, vulnerable look he gave her she felt a surge of maternal instincts. "What I'm not sure about," she continued, watching over the rim of her cup for his reaction, "is why it's there. You're not behaving like any other Death Eater I've known would have when a teacher they hate found out their secret." Not that she'd ever for sure known a Death Eater who was still at Hogwarts.
"I - I didn't want to," Antony whispered. He was blinking rapidly, as though fighting tears. He kept staring at the knothole on Merlin's desk, silent. Then finally a stammered, weak sentence, "W-why should I trust you?" issued from his lips. Merlin watched him, feeling an unaccustomed emotion within her heart, one she had known well once, but had never experienced before in Antony's presence. Pity. She reached across the desk and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Antony, I want to help you. Something's wrong."
"No," Antony said in a trembling voice, yet with a bitter, biting edge. "Everything's wrong."
Merlin closed her eyes. She lowered her head into her hands and shook it slowly.
"Antony," she said weakly, gazing at his troubled face, observing the nervous way he swallowed, the expression of suffering and regret as finely expressed as an exquisite marble carving. "I don't want to cause trouble. But I am obliged to report you. The only way I can help you is if you tell me what's wrong."
Antony's eyelids flickered and his expression deepened to a frown of deep thought. As Merlin watched, he paused and moistened his lips. Then he began to speak.
"I - I didn't want to. You have to believe me." He swallowed, his facial muscles moving as he screwed up his eyes, wiping his hands across them as though wiping tears from his face could wipe stains from his soul. He sat with his index fingers resting on the bridge of his nose, scowling. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled, jumping to his feet. A muscle twitched in his neck as he whirled to face the door.
"Antony," Merlin stood, reached across the desk and closed one hand around his. "Please."
"Do you have any idea what it's like? Living with Lucius Malfoy looming over you everywhere you go? Everything you do?" he snapped, jumping to his feet and striding up and down the length of the room. "He's always asking me questions, watching what I do, approving or disapproving, like he's my father!" He seemed to realise that he was close to losing control and paused in his pacing. "You went to school with him. You know what he's like!" His tone had changed now; it was less bitter, less harsh, more uncertain, even vulnerable, pleading. Merlin sat, stunned at this outburst coming from someone who always seemed to have such control. She was even more stunned to find that this boy, so good at understanding and manipulating people and situations, had really so little control over his life.
Antony's voice was only barely audible. "He'd kill me if I refused."
Merlin brought her hand to her mouth. Good Lord.
Voldemort's destroying another generation's innocence already. Damn him. And damn Lucius too. Was this the answer to everything the puzzled her about Antony? Did he only act as he did in an attempt to please Lucius? Was that why an intelligent boy who read Shakespeare was, at the same time, the worst of blood snobs?
She looked up and saw Antony watching her, eyes wide. It struck her then how very young he was. She could see in him the children she had gone to school with, the clueless fifteen-year-olds who thought they understood life. She saw again the terrified expression on Jorman Bond's face when he had narrowly avoided a plunge down a Hogwarts staircase. And ... seeing the black hair, pale skin, and the unusually large blue eyes widened in terror, she saw again the expression on Sirius Black's face when a prank had almost killed a yearmate.
It's happening again, she realised. The terror, the shame, the shattered innocence.
He looked fifteen in his vulnerability. Merlin held her head in her hands.
"Antony, all I can do is offer my help. I can't make this go away, any more than I could stop Voldemort last time. But please, let me help. And to help, I have to take you to Dumbledore."
"There's nothing else I can do anyway." He shrugged, deflated after his outburst.
Merlin closed her eyes for a moment as she reached for the Floo Powder to head Albus and let him know they were coming.
The
first thing Dumbledore said as Antony entered his office, Talisen at
his shoulder, was: "Mr Bond, I do not want you to think that you should
feel ashamed of yourself. I cannot imagine anyone - in their right
mind, that is - who would think that." Antony scowled, folded his arms
across his chest, and slumped into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk
without being asked to. He knew he would be there for a long time. How
could Dumbledore make light of the situation? His eyes had twinkled,
and had Antony imagined the twitch of his mouth at ïin his right mind'?
"D'you want me to stay, Albus, or to leave?" Talisen asked, hovering behind Antony.
"What does Mr Bond want?" Antony wanted to throw something, scream, or
hex someone. Instead, he clenched his fists under the table as hard as
he could a few times to release some of the tension, then slouched
forward.
"I don't care," he mumbled.
"Perhaps it would be useful for someone else in the school to understand your plight," Dumbledore suggested. Antony shrugged.
"Fine by me." His tone was lacklustre.
"Professor Talisen," Dumbledore said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes
fixed on Antony with a grave expression, "has relayed to me what you
told her. I appreciate that before the holidays you took the time to
explain your feelings and the probability of this happening to me.
Because you did that, I can help you."
Antony stopped just before he scoffed.
"I don't quite see how." He lowered his head and stared at the grain of the polished wood before him.
"I can make ... allowances. Tell me the conditions of your membership of the Death Eaters."
Antony repeated the instructions Lucius had given him about meetings
and the Order of the Phoenix. What was Dumbledore thinking?
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "There, I can help. You see, I happen to be very
well acquainted with the Order of the Phoenix. I am in charge of it, in
fact." Antony blinked. "It is a group dedicated to fighting Lord
Voldemort. I can help you come up with information to feed to
Voldemort. That leaves me, however, in a difficult situation. Would you
be willing to join the Order?"
"He's only a boy! He's a student!" Talisen interjected. Dumbledore ignored her.
"Know, Antony, that I would still hold you in regard whatever decision you made. I trust you to do what is right." Why? What did I do to deserve that? "When
you first came to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, as if in answer to
Antony's thoughts, "I saw a young, intelligent, somewhat arrogant - but
in general, good - person. I watched that person harden and become
bitter over the years. I especially saw the change when Professor Snape
and I made you a prefect. I thought that you may have been coming under
Lucius Malfoy's influence, but I knew that I could trust you to make
the correct decisions, especially if I assisted you. I made you Head
Boy as a way of guiding you in making good decisions and because I knew
I could trust you. I ask you this now because I still know that."
Antony raised his gaze and met Dumbledore's eyes. He saw something he
had never thought to see in the headmaster's eyes when speaking of
Antony's choice to join the Death Eaters. Compassion.
"We have a
spy within the Death Eaters whose cover has been destroyed. Voldemort
suspects him. He has had to go into hiding, or I fear the consequences
will be great. I need someone-"Dumbledore's eyes were intent. Antony
was almost afraid of what he could see. Could he see Antony's doubt and
fear? "-to take over that position."
Consequences will be great? Voldemort will kill him, you mean.
Was Antony ready to put his life in a similar position of danger? He
put his hands on his forehead and tangled his fingers in the front of
his hair as he thought. Dumbledore still trusted him! The relief was
almost unbearable. But was he really ready to turn his beliefs into
actions? How could he possibly manage this without Lucius finding out?
What if it all became too much? What if he was killed? Or worse, what
if Order secrets were tortured out of him? Dumbledore trusted him, but
did Antony trust himself?
But he would be able to have a hold on
sanity, something to remind him that he was not what he seemed.
Something to prove to Dumbledore, to Talisen, that he was not what he
seemed. He realised, in spite of his fears, what his answer must be.
"I will."
"Albus ..." Talisen said. "He's only seventeen."
"Were you and Remus much older when you began working with the Order? Or Lily or James?"
"No. I was eighteen. But it was different! James and Lily were already involved, and I ...." Her voice subsided. "I was ...."
"Merlin, you were not admitted into the Order because of what you are, but because of your talents and dedication."
"Antony, I do not need a decision now." Dumbledore had returned to his original topic.
"What else could my decision be?"
"It will be dangerous."
"No more so than the situation I am already in. And at least I can do
something to help." He could see Dumbledore disagreed, but the
headmaster did not say anything further. This whole situation was
unexpected, but secretly, Antony was glad of it. It would give him
something to do to reassure himself that he had not given himself over
to the Death Eaters, that he was still on the side of light. His mind
formed the question that would give him that opportunity and seal his
decision.
"What do I have to do?"
It was the tender blue
of predawn twilight when Alexandra awoke. She pushed herself into a
sitting position with a long, slow movement of her arms, and rubbed the
yellow dust of sleep from her eyes with a delicate yawn. She twitched
aside the hangings and peered into the dormitory. It was silent save
the gentle breathing of her yearmates and Hypatia Bertram's occasional
snore.
Xandra slung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.
She padded to the door, hair loosely held in the braid she habitually
captured it in at night-time to reduce morning frizz. She slipped out
into the corridor and poked her head part of the way down the stairs
which led to the common room. No-one was about, so she dressed silently
and slipped through the common room and into the corridors.
When
she reached the level of the school that was above ground, she walked
over to a window and leaned on the sill, gazing out across the grounds.
The light that made a feeble attempt to climb through the window and
illuminate the corridor failed, instead stopping at a tranquil light
that washed everything in a gentle blue, as though a water-colour
artist had drawn a paintbrush loaded with diluted colour across the
scene.
There had been no snow the previous night; the gentle
covering of winter powder on the ground still held the footprints of
many students, wending their way around the lake or towards Care of
Magical Creatures or the Herbology greenhouses. She smiled. Turning up
the collar on her jacket, she made her way to the heavy doors which
stood as a barrier between the corridors and the pale light outside.
The
air was chill, and Xandra took care to cast a Breath-Warming Charm as
she set out. She did not want the cold air entering her lungs to make
her wheeze, and nor did she want her face almost frozen by the breath
of morning. With that done, she performed a few stretches and commenced
a slow jog around the edge of the lake. She had had to perform her
morning jog in the corridors of the school until today, for snow, rain,
and chilling winds had made the lakeside seem miserable. She felt her
feet pounding a gentle, steady rhythm on the ground and her hair in its
braid swinging, brushing her back. She took a deep, fresh breath and
smiled, free of complications, concerns, and consternation. Free.
Her
mind blissfully empty, she reached the lone tree which was her turning
point, reached out a hand and brushed its bark as she circled it. Her
eyes were on the ground around ten feet in front of her and her feet
beat a rhythm, which she breathed in time with. Now she could
concentrate.
What had she got herself into with Antony Bond? When he, in a manner reminiscent of Fitzwilliam Darcy (so, she had
learned something from that Muggle Studies essay) had asked her out at
the end of the previous term, she had hardly known what to think. He
was handsome, rich, and altogether too arrogant, not to mention his
feuding with her best friend. Yet she had watched him interact with his
best (and perhaps only) friend, Vincent Edwards, and had seen that
despite his bad reputation for breaking foolish Slytherin girls'
hearts, he could be decent to Vincent. She would try it, she thought,
but would not get too emotionally attached to him. She didn't want to
be the next on his long line of girls rejected for being "idiotic,
flippant cows". Not that she could ever be thought to fit that
description. She cared far less about money and breeding than she did
about personality and a sense of humour. Bond - Antony - was not doing so well on her own scale. Was she more idiotic than she had thought?
These thoughts flowed one after another, winding their way, knots in
the thread of her consciousness as it slipped steadily through her
mind. This was the most beautiful time of the day, the most peaceful,
the best for contemplation. Xandra raised her gaze from the ground to
see how far she was from the castle, and came to a sudden halt.
Outlined against the stonework in the growing light was a familiar
silhouette, one whose owner she would prefer not to intrude on her
morning run, and, she admitted, prefer not to see her when she had just
got up, had not yet had her morning shower, and was sweaty, her hair
untidy and only loosely tied back.
"Antony!" she called, half to
him, half in surprise. She saw him straighten and realised he had been
leaning on the wall. She waited for her breathing to slow for a moment,
then began to walk towards him. Why does he have to see me like this? She swept some stray strands of hair behind her ear and tried to smile. "Good morning."
"Good morning to you too, Alexandra."
She walked to meet him and said, "If we're together, you may as well call me Xandra."
He smiled, and suddenly looked gentle, soft, even a little adoring. It
made a startling difference to his face. When his eyes weren't
narrowed, when his mouth wasn't twitching unpleasantly, his eyes were
almost, just almost, warm, his expression pleasant.
"You should
smile more. It makes you look much nicer." She wondered how many people
would dare say that to Antony, but she wasn't scared of him like many
people, she just disliked him on principle. Or had, until she realised
that there was more than the face he presented to the world.
His smile became wry. "What if I don't want to look nice?"
"You'd probably find you had a lot fewer problems in life if you smiled a little more," she joked.
The smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression which in anyone else, Xandra would have called petulant.
"You don't know anything." His voice was sharp.
"I'm sorry," Xandra replied, somewhat startled. He sighed.
"So am I." He didn't sound like he meant he was sorry for snapping at her. Sorry for what?
Neither of them spoke. Xandra, feeling acutely awkward in the silence, searched for something to say.
"Um ... shall we walk?" she managed at last. "It's cold to stand out here."
Antony offered her his hand. "Inside or outside?"
"Inside, I think." They walked, hand-in-hand, to the castle doors.
Antony dropped her hand to open the door, then stood aside to let her
pass. Flattered, Xandra smiled. "Thank you. Where shall we walk?"
Antony shrugged.
"Why don't we let our feet decide?" So they
wandered aimlessly, in total silence for some time. Xandra, as she
walked, was thinking about the situation and wondering again precisely
why she had accepted his offer. She had a shameful feeling that it had
a lot to do with being completely charmed that the boy she had heard
sighed over and discussed in depth by her yearmates many times had
asked her out. She, tomboy Xandra, whose blood did not run blue. He had
asked her above the aristo-snobs. Yes, she had told him she'd
think about it, and yes, she had done so, but in the end, she had only
even considered it because she was so flattered.
The other
question was why he would be interested in her. She wasn't rich. She
wasn't aristocratic. She was fairly intelligent and a good Quidditch
player who always tried out but never made the team (more, she
suspected, to do with her breeding and gender than her talent). He was
probably going to be one of the top two or three students in the
N.E.W.T.s, and was Quidditch captain. He had an old bloodline and a
great deal of money. There was a big difference between her and him.
She realised that she knew almost nothing about her new boyfriend.
School rumour had it that his father was a Death Eater, and it was well
known that he was related to the Malfoys and exceedingly rich, but that
was the extent of her knowledge.
"Um," she said, trying to think
of how she could ask this question without seeming ... stupid. Or like
she only agreed to go out with him for his money or for power or
something like that. But didn't I? she thought involuntarily. "Tell me a bit about yourself." It sounded lame, even to her ears.
"What can I say?" He shrugged. "My name is Antony Julius Bond, I play
Quidditch and read in my spare time, and my favourite subject is
Arithmancy."
Well, that's a start. I have his middle name.
"My
name is Alexandra Diane Carson, and I like flying, reading, and chess.
My favourite subject is Astronomy. I have a younger brother called
Chris, who is in fourth year." She sought for something else to say.
"My parents are Diane and Mark, and my father works as an executive for
Penna Potions in London." She paused, thinking, then said, "I don't
have any pets, but my parents promised me an owl for my seventeenth
birthday ...." Antony's face twitched at her last comment, and her
voice drifted off. Xandra felt slightly embarrassed, as though she had
said something wrong, although she couldn't see how. She stopped
walking and watched Antony. He took a few more steps and then stopped,
apparently thinking what to do or say.
"What's your opinion on pureness of blood? What about family ties?"
What an odd question. At least, in the context of the conversation, it's odd.
But what sort of a relationship was it going to be if she couldn't
answer a question, even if it was such a divisive one. Was he going to
judge her on her answer? Well, if he was going to judge her on her
opinions, best be rid of him right off.
"Not the same as yours," she said, defiant.
"Indeed?" He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. Man, he's fit. Xandra's brain was once again thinking exactly what it wanted to with no reference to her. "Pray share."
She raised her head, shaking back a few wisps of hair, and stared him in the eye. "I believe that who you
are, not who your parents are, is what matters. I'm not an aristocrat.
All my family's money has been earned through hard work. In fact, I
think that the whole thing is rather pathetic."
"Does that work both ways?"
"What do you mean, both ways?"
"I mean, if someone's from an old, rich family, do you think any less of them than someone who's not?"
"Of course not!" But the question made her feel slightly uncomfortable.
She tried not to judge on family, but she felt that the likeliness of
someone being a blood-snob was increased by being from a pureblood
family. Did that prejudice her in her opinions? She hoped not.
"In that case ...." Antony started walking again. Xandra caught up with
him and walked by his side. He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone: "I'm
Draco Malfoy's second cousin on my father's side. My mother ..." He
paused. "Oh, forget it."
"No," Xandra replied, amazed that she had managed to get him to open up, "I really want to know."
"I'm Sirius Black's cousin, too," he said, defiant, as if he were daring her to judge him on his family.
"The mass murderer?" she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
"No, the other one." She stopped walking and stood, staring at him, hurt by his sarcasm.
"I'm sorry." This time, she thought he meant for what he had said.
"It's obviously a sore point," Xandra replied. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."
He sighed, glanced over at her, then looked at the floor. His voice
was, as a result, slightly muffled as he spoke. "My father is dead. I
live alone with my mother, a cat, an owl, and a house-elf."
"I'm sorry," she began to say, but he cut her off.
"Don't be. From all I've heard, he wasn't a very nice person."
"That doesn't stop you, as his son, needing him."
Antony looked up, scowling at her. "He was a Death Eater! He went
insane and died in Azkaban after receiving a life sentence for murder!"
Xandra didn't know what to say. She walked in silence for a while, then
finally stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I just thought it - it must be hard
not ..." Her voice trailed off.
"It is." Antony sighed. "Can I
tell you something?" Xandra nodded. He took a breath, and, chewing his
lower lip, said, "One of my earliest memories is of coming in from the
garden incredibly proud of myself because I'd just caught a
Flobberworm. I went running to my father to show him what I had. He was
so proud of me, he fussed over the Flobberworm, then sent me to show my
mother. She screamed and forbade me to ever bring one into the house
again." He stopped and stared at the wall, arms wrapped across his
chest, hugging himself. "Yes, he was a Death Eater." Antony shook his
head. "But he was a kind, loving father and ... and I need him so
much." Xandra noticed the change in tense and his tone and pitied
Antony. She couldn't imagine not having a father. She didn't say
anything, but put a hand on his arm in what she hoped was a reassuring
way. He turned to face her and she saw that a tear had escaped one eye
and left a salt track down his cheek. "You know, you're the first
person I've ever told that to." His gaze was intense and under it
Xandra felt a little uncomfortable. Not because she was afraid of him,
but because of the amount of emotion in his face. He took her hand and
turned to face her, cupping her chin in one hand.
He moved to kiss her, but she turned her head away.
"Sorry, I just ..." They stood there, not meeting each other's eyes.
Xandra mumbled her apology again. She didn't know why she had turned
away, apart perhaps from her insistence that she not get emotionally
involved. But she already was. She realised there was so much more to
Antony than he would ever let people believe.
Maybe she didn't want to kiss him because she didn't trust herself.
He shrugged. "I'll live."
The silence was uncomfortable. Xandra glanced at her watch.
"I guess I'd better go have a shower. Will I see you at breakfast?" she forced herself to say.
"Sorry? Oh, sure," he said. "See you there." He sighed and gave her a
forced half-smile, as if trying to reassure her that he really was all
right. She smiled back, but as she made her way to the Slytherin
dormitories, her mind and emotions were far from settled.
"There had better be a good reason for this, Vellian," he snarled.
"Get out of bed. The headmaster needs you." Antony bit back the snide remark about the hour of the morning; it had to be around four o'clock, for he had stayed in the common room until the last of his housemates had retreated to their dormitories at one, and then he had read for some time before making any attempt at sleep. It had not come easily, and it must have been at least three before he got to sleep.
"May I at least get dressed?" Antony asked, glaring at Vellian.
"I'll wait outside." Vellian was terser, sharper than usual (which, Antony reflected, was an achievement).
In a few minutes Antony, fully dressed, emerged and swept past Vellian into the common room. Vellian made an exasperated noise and followed him. It's too early in the morning to have to pretend to be evil, Antony thought, yawning. He let Vellian take the lead for the sake of pretending to obey his orders to be slightly less unpleasant to the man.
They were met by Professor McGonagall and Raylene Faulkner on the fifth staircase they climbed. Faulkner's hair was tangled and she was blinking sleepily. She muttered something in greeting, but Antony didn't respond. He didn't feel like snapping at her, but felt that if he tried to be civil, it would both not work and surprise Faulkner unkindly considering the hour of the morning.
He was feeling a little less sulky and a little more awake when they reached the headmaster's office and ascended the spiral staircase. The first thing Antony noticed was that Professor Talisen was sitting opposite Dumbledore, a cup in her hand. Antony had never seen her hair down before, but it was. It fell well down her back and Antony thought she must be sitting on it. She was wearing a cloak over a black Muggle shirt and had huge, round, fluffy slippers on. She must also just have got out of bed.
Dumbledore looked up. "Ah, Minerva, Maxwell. Thank you. Take a seat please, Antony, Raylene. Tea?" They obeyed. Antony shook his head, but Faulkner took a cup and added milk. "I am afraid I have bad news." He paused and let the warning sink in. "A sixth-year student, Innis Columbanus, has been expelled this morning and is currently in the custody of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Faulkner nearly dropped her cup. "What? Why?"
Antony frowned, staring at Dumbledore's desk as he thought. Columbanus was a Hufflepuff, an Irish pureblood who held radical political views. That was the extent of Antony's knowledge; he only knew that because the Head Girl the previous year had been a Hufflepuff and had, on occasion, vented her frustration and worry at Columbanus's extremist views. From what Antony could remember, Columbanus was of the belief that the leadership of the Druidic world should reside with a more traditionalist leader than that it currently had, one who would not fraternise with Muggles or risk the uniqueness of Druid culture by mixing it with mainstream wizarding culture.
Wait ... Talisen was the ceremonial Head of State of the Druidic world. It was so easy to forget; she didn't seem like a major political player. What had Columbanus done?
Antony had forgotten that Talisen was, in her role as a Hogwarts professor, going incognito, as it were. A memory, something he frequently forgot when in Talisen's presence, surfaced in Antony's mind. Rumours of it went around the school, but as Talisen herself said nothing, they usually subsided. Antony had known from a young age that the dark-haired woman in photographs from his father's school years and his trial as a murderer was the leader of the Druidic people in Ireland. How and why she was spared from her duties to teach at Hogwarts he did not know. He suspected her role was mainly ceremonial and had little to do with the real functioning of Druidic society. But he knew little Druidic lore, and still less about the Merlin, only that though it was hard to reconcile this uncertain yet intelligent woman with the legendary figures of Talisen and Merlin, she was descended of both of them, hence her name and title.
Dumbledore sighed. He looked old. Of course, he was old, but the usual sparkle of his eyes and lightness of his manner were shrouded this morning. "Professor Talisen awoke to find him standing over her with a wand, and was very fortunate to escape a deadly curse."
"He tried to kill her?" Antony exclaimed. "Even seventeen year old Death Eaters wouldn't ...." His voice trailed off when the memory that he was a seventeen year old Death Eater hit him. Still, he couldn't think of anyone his age he knew who would try to kill someone for politics ....
Or could he? Would he, given the chance, kill a Death Eater?
Would he?
No. He would incapacitate them and call in the Ministry.
"That's ... I can't believe it!" Faulkner said, obviously stunned.
"Unfortunately, Miss Faulkner, there are people who will do anything for what they believe in."
"Columbanus is a member of a group called the Druidic Traditionalist League, which believes the Talisen family has lost touch of things," Talisen said quietly. "I don't understand their beliefs, but I've always known they were a danger. The risk from them was part of the reason the Druidic Council let me accept a job at Hogwarts. If I lived here, even though I'd regularly Apparate back to Ireland to attend Council meetings, they thought I would be in less danger. I never imagined a student ...."
She didn't need to finish what she was saying. Antony knew what she meant. But he was beginning to realise that there was far, far greater evil in the world than he had imagined even a year ago. It was not a pleasant realisation.