Chapter Four
The wind was rushing about his ears. His black hair, normally so neat and tidy, was sticking on end, blood gelling it in position. He hated this. Malcolm Reed, a respected and learned Auror, forced to stoop to the level of pretending to be one of the Dark Lord's minions just so he could give the Council information they probably already knew anyway.
The brand on his right forearm burned viciously. The Dark Lord was calling him, oblivious to the fact that his favourite servant was in fact a traitor, an agent of the Council. Malcolm knew that if he was ever found out, he would be killed, and it wouldn't be a painless death. He'd see the Dark Lord torture men before, then kill them in the most horrific of ways. But he didn't care, overmuch... for there was a young boy lying dead on the ground before him. And it had been his hand that had done the...
Malcolm gasped as he awoke from his nightmare, his breathing shallow, mouth dry. He pulled himself up and stumbled over to his sink, splashing cold water over his face, his hands trembling. Slowly he pulled his sleeve up his left arm, revealing an ugly tattoo, which burned brighter than Malcolm could ever remember it doing.
A face, a face with a snake's tongue and slits for eyes. It was grinning up at him, cruelly reminding him of all the mistakes he'd ever made. Reminding him of all the times he'd been forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding, when he'd had to kill innocent people to protect his mission, his life.
And now, here he was again, preparing to do the exact same thing. He could not stay on Enterprise. Not with the Dark Lord searching for him, for his servants, with all his will and power. If Malcolm took to long the Dark Lord would begin to suspect something was amiss, and would come after him. The Dark Lord had the power to destroy Enterprise on a whim, and her crew would be powerless to stop him. He could not put them in danger needlessly.
The meeting was tomorrow. He would tell Trip, and everyone else, then.
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"Glad ya could make it, Loo - tenant." Trip's all-too-familiar voice broke into Malcolm's dark thoughts as he entered the cargo bay, the confident grin on his face almost breaking Malcolm's heart. Why? Why him? What had he ever done to cause the anger of whatever twisted being who ruled the universe they lived in? Why, now he had finally found a place where he was happy, where his past no longer haunted him, did he have to give it all up? Why was he not allowed to have the same sort of peace of mind nearly every other sentient creature enjoyed?
Because you're not like the rest of them, a voice in his mind whispered maliciously. You never have been, never will be. The only ones who share your gift are either dead, or evil. It is your destiny. Even one with good intentions cannot prevail over the power of destiny.
Malcolm hated the voice inside his head. It had haunted him for years, ever since he had discovered the true scope of what he was, what he could be. He knew that it was part of himself which was dangerous, which could not be allowed to rule him.
Quiet! The rest of his mind screamed at the voice, and it slunk away, into the murky depths of his subconscious, trailing one last thought behind it: Don't blame me when it all goes wrong.
"Malcolm? What's up?" Trip's concerned voice broke his reverie, and all other thoughts left his mind as he remembered what tonight was all about. Training. Perhaps... perhpas they didn't need to be told tonight, did they? Malcolm reasoned with himself. Teach them to defend themselves properly, and then you tell them. We can risk a few more weeks.
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"They're doin' well." Trip drawled as he approached Malcolm, reading all-too-well the barely suppressed look of pride on his friend's face.
"They are." Malcolm surveyed the rest of the group like a hawk as they practised various methods of attack and defence. Trip was still hovering silently - a sure sign that he was about to broach a subject he knew Malcolm would be reluctant as hell to discuss.
"Ya seem a bit... distracted. Ya sure ya alright?" Trip eyed him carefully, and Malcolm felt his cheeks getting hot.
"I..." he trailed off, and Trip motioned for him to continue. "It's nothing." Malcolm said eventually, hoping that Trip would get the message, and leave him be.
"If it's 'nothin', then why are you lookin' so worried all the time?" Malcolm studied his friend's face carefully. The same bright blue eyes he'd always known, but they were not as carefree as Malcolm remembered. His eyes were filled with worry and concern, dark shadows circling beneath them.
"I'm just, worried, that's all." Malcolm replied eventually. "I don't know if we have the power to beat him. The Dark Lord." A lie, he knew. But a good one. Trip nodded, and Malcolm sighed quietly, relieved that, for the time being, his secret was still safe - and still secret.
888
The wind was flowing through his hair, the rain lashing at his cheeks. Malcolm squinted, searching desperately for his quarry. His hands were gripping tightly to the wooden handle - he dreaded the moment he would have to take one hand off to capture his prey.
His prey. A tiny ball, metal, gold in colour, with a pair of tiny, magically-motorized wings. Above and around him, his team-mates were either dodging a pair of large, and extremely vicious black balls, chasing after an odd little red one, or circling a trio of hoops, trying to make sure no ball went through any of them.
It had seemed like a pretty strange game to Malcolm when he had first joined the school, but, after a time, he'd learned to love it. It was his one escape; from schoolwork, from family, from the real world. Up in the air, no-one cared about who he was or what he was like, just whether or not he could win the game for his team. It was absolutely exhilarating.
He turned, for a moment, to glance at the stands which held the Gryffindor supporters. And there she was - Elanor Lungbarrow possibly the only girl in the entire school Malcolm would ever dream of asking to the upcoming Yule Ball. But he probably wouldn't, because he was too much of a coward. Then, suddenly, a shout from his friend and team mate, Keeper Matt Bryes, roused him from his thoughts.
"The Snitch! Slytherin's gonna get it!" Bryes screamed, and Malcolm's eyes widened in horror as he turned to see what Matt was motioning so energetically at. The Slytherin Seeker was plummeting towards the ground, and Malcolm could just make out the tiny, glimmering flash of gold he was heading towards. Furious with himself for allowing such a thing to happen, Malcolm followed, urging his flimsy old broom to give in to his urgent commands
"Faster! Come on." He whispered, biting his lip. He was gaining on the Snitch. With one last burst of effort, he thrust his right arm out, knocking away the Slytherin's hand. when he realised that the Snitch was already safely in the Slytherin's fist. The cheers and cackles of laughter from the Slytherin supporters filled the stadium. Furious with himself, he returned to the ground, before, humiliated and depressed, he left the stadium. No one saw him in the common room that night.
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"Sir? Are you alright?" Elanor Lungbarrow smiled slightly as Malcolm Reed pulled himself from his memories and returned to the present time and place - which was the Mess Hall, 23 hundred hours, eating dinner together.
"I'm fine. I was just thinking about..." Elanor coughed; uneasy with the direction the conversation was headed. She'd had the uneasy feeling that Malcolm had been about to say "Hogwarts", or something of the sort, and that was not the sort of subject Elanor wanted to be discussing... especially not over a dinner she had been reluctant to attend anyway.
"Sir? I was wondering... why did you ask me to dinner? Is it to do with the Order?" There, she'd said it. Malcolm smiled tightly, a nervous frown on his face.
"Well, not exactly. I'm just doing something I should have done a long time ago." Elanor was confused - she had always been attracted to the quiet young man whilst at school, but had never thought he'd returned her feelings. He was two years above her - and she had never been able to work up the courage to ask him out, not even till the day he'd left.
But now... he'd changed. She hadn't known him particularly well before, but she had always thought of him as a warm, friendly, outgoing sort of boy. He was different now, more reserved. Cold, even. He bore little resemblance to the lad she'd had a childish crush on once, more than fifteen years ago.
"I was wondering of you could give me some advice." He stated eventually, after a few more minutes of awkward silence. Choking, Elanor tried to come up with a decent reply.
"Me, Sir? Surely Commander Tucker would be better at that sort of thing -"
"No." Malcolm cut her off, holding up a hand. "I can't. I can't tell Trip." He sounded tired, exhausted, in fact. Exhausted like someone who had been battling with something for a very long time, but had just realised that the only thing he could do was surrender.
"Elanor." He said, looking the woman straight in the eye. "Can you promise not to tell anyone what I am about to tell you? Can you keep this secret for me?"
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TBC.
A/N: Sorry if Elanor is turning out to be a Mary-Sue. I can't help it. I just can't. ;-)
