Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife
By Jollie Killjoy
A/N (because for some outlandish reason I feel obligated to have one): well,I am proud (and shocked) to say that I consider my last chapter a relative success! Much thanks and appreciation, reviewers! I doubt anyone's tracking this, but I'm sorry I haven't updated; with all the excitement of vacationing outside the US and the occasional lack of internet (I'm currently in Israel visiting family, and was in Canada like a week ago visiting old friends), I pretty much didn't have a chance. But anyhow! I have added some relatively major OC's to this chapter (out of necessity, I'm generally not big on main OC's). I mean, there isn't much information as to who Voldie (…hee, Voldie) associated with in the books, at least not that I found… I did look up family trees though, so I could make a few OC's more, err, believable? If that makes any sense. I would appreciate it very much if you reviewed with comments on them!
Borgin & Burkes was a dank, musty store with a rather mysterious air about it. To unfamiliar customers, the shabby building appeared to have seen better days; aged and full of antiques, it was a place with a lot of history to it. And not necessarily the good kind. Though the fact that it was in Knockturn Alley gave it a bad name by default, there was a little something more to this particular shop... walking in, one often felt as if a gruesome misfortune took place in it, perhaps thousands of years ago.
That was probably one of the things that drew Tom to this store, of all places. The store he was now working at.
Though that was certainly not his first choice of career; he had wanted to become a teacher at Hogwarts. The strange, perplexing nature of the school had always held his interest. But charismatic and talented as he was, he was denied a job there, supposedly due to "lack of experience". Of course, Tom didn't believe this excuse for a moment; he suspected that professor Dumbledore had played a large part in keeping him away from a position of responsibility at the school. The aging instructor had always seemed to be more than slightly biased against him, often accusing him of being up to a variety of rather ghastly things.
It was Dumbledore upon which Tom placed a lot of blame for the fact that he had still not gathered the information he wanted, no, needed, regarding Horcruxes. Resentfully, the young man would frequently recall how the professor, sharp and knowing as he was, would often 'mysteriously' appear whenever Tom was on some sort of track to finding out about the mechanics of creating a Horcrux (or anything remotely dark, for that matter). Dumbledore seemed to be able to read his mind; as much as Tom hated to admit it, it scared him sometimes. Just a little.
But it had been quite a while since he graduated from his 7th year. Tom was now safe from the teacher's intrusive eyes, to the best of his knowledge, and he could continue his search in relative peace. It didn't have to take place in Hogwarts, he had reasoned. Besides, he wasn't wanted. There were many, many other places to look.
Borgin & Burkes seemed like the perfect place to start without rousing too much suspicion. It goes without saying that his former classmates wondered why he, who had received such high marks, applied to work at some random shop in Knockturn Alley, but Tom couldn't care less what they thought of him. Those who he considered important to him had a vague idea of why he was working there, and that was all he could really be bothered with.
"You don't suppose we should rob the place, do you?"
"Rubbish. To quote what I heard from costumers, a rat probably couldn't crawl in without getting fatally injured. What I need to do is talk to the old hag; she'll get me what I need, eventually."
Abraxas looked at his friend skeptically. "Talk to her! You say it like it's easy, as if she gives her collection out at random or something!"
Tom glared at him, brown eyes flaring in warning. Abraxas flinched.
"Don't question my plan, Malfoy. I know exactly what I'm doing."
Abraxas studied Tom's face closely, debating whether he should express his poorly-hidden concern. Common sense told him it wasn't wise. "Err, perhaps you should bring Melinda along, then?" he suggested instead.
"Melinda Black?" Tom raised an eyebrow at the mention of his former classmate; he hadn't seen her since graduation. "What exactly are you getting at?" he continued, narrowing his eyes.
"Well, she is a relative of the old coot... if the rumors around here are true, she probably knows how to get in that old basement better than anyone who isn't. And you're only part Wizard; after all, that relic's known for refusing to give things out to half --"
"I am fully aware of my position in this situation," Tom retorted, quiet but deadly. Absolutely livid that one of the few he was fairly open with would dare to even mention his most tender weakness, his eyes practically lit up in flames, mouth twisted into a furious scowl. Abraxas flinched again, quickly averting his eyes from his friend's face. Realizing he made a huge mistake, he didn't dare utter a word.
"Last I heard, Melinda was in France," Tom continued the conversation after a few moments of precarious silence, deciding to take Abraxas' idea into consideration. The mistake was forgiven, leaving Abraxas quite relieved.
"She returned about a month ago."
"I'm guessing you know where to contact her?"
The blonde man grinned, a small trace of arrogance wafting across his frightened features. "Of course."
"And you're convinced she'll agree?"
"With a little persuading..."
The corner of Tom's mouth twitched in suspicion. "And what, exactly, is the nature of the persuasion we're talking about?"
"Trust me on this one. I know what to do."
In a rare occasion that surely got Merlin's trousers in a twist, Tom decided not to query the subject further. He was getting impatient, simply lingering around Borgin & Burkes in hopes of hearing something important. It was about time to take some action.
Sitting in a warmly-decorated flat, Melinda Black was fully engaged in the delicate art of knitting a sweater. She sighed in contentment as she watched her own delicate fingers work thick, indigo strands of wool. Finally, some peace. Peace that had been a stranger to her for far too long.
A rarely-mentioned member of the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black', she chose not to associate with her family after becoming a legal witch. Melinda was a highly independent young lady, and she did not particularly enjoy certain things that came with being a Black; for one, her great grandfather was the least popular headmaster ever to assume responsibility over Hogwarts. For another, she deemed the obsessive way in which her family tended to hoard things absolutely silly. And last but not least, Kreacher. He was an annoying little bastard, and she definitely did not wish to deal with him. Having a dominant personality by nature, she expressed these disagreements with her family rather vocally, and thus she was erased from the family tree due to 'lack of loyalty and proper dignity' upon leaving her father and mother's house. The only remaining evidence of her heritage was her last name, which she kept simply because she believed the process of changing it to be far too complicated. Her opinion was the same on the matter of marriage.
Hearing the whistle of her teapot, Melinda slowly put her knitting down and gently walked to the kitchen, pouring herself a mug. "To idleness," she lifted the mug, chuckling softly, and took a hearty sip.
Suddenly, Melinda heard something rather curious coming from the entrance of the flat: three loud knocks, two quiet ones, and a light tap on the door.
Well, that's strange, she thought to herself as she took another gulp of the warm, sweet liquid. The noise sounded familiar... but from where?
The chime of the doorbell ringing loudly through the house reminded her to open the door.
"Coming, coming!" Melinda yelled, swiftly walking over to the entrance.
What she saw at the foot of the door was definitely unexpected: a tall, thin, alarmingly pale man with bright blonde hair, misty grey eyes, and a somewhat pointed nose. The man was wearing a rather arrogant smirk.
Melinda could recognize that smirk anywhere.
"Bloody hell!"
Her mug was abruptly dropped.
"That was pretty sleazy of you, using that knock." Melinda huffed, making sure not to look her guest in the eyes. "The one you'd use on my dormitory door when you wanted to... when you..." she couldn't bear to continue the sentence.
Abraxas didn't seem phased. Quite the contrary, actually; he still wore his trademark smirk. "I figured you'd recognize it."
"Hah, recognize..." Melinda laughed bitterly. "Well, out with it: what brings you here?"
"What brought you to FranceAbraxas retorted, veering from the subject. He didn't want to discuss it just yet.
"Just wanted to get away from... things..." the dark-haired girl trailed off, looking wistfully at her window.
"Such as?"
Melinda glared at him. "You."
"C'mon, I wasn't that bad!"
"Look, Malfoy, I don't want to talk about it! Now can you please tell me in the name of Merlin what you're doing here!"
Abraxas sighed, deciding that buttering the girl up probably wouldn't make her any less irritated. "You remember Tom, right?"
Melinda looked at the pale young man dubiously. "Riddle? Tom Riddle? What does hehave to do with anything?"
"He needs your assistance in certain... matters."
Melinda rolled her eyes, recalling the following her former classmate had in school. "Well then, why doesn't he get his pompous little arse over here instead of sending one of his lackeys?"
Abraxas jumped out of his seat. "Are you calling me a hanger-on!"
"Gee, I wonder! How about we put our heads together use brain power to figure this out," Melinda replied sarcastically.
Abraxas glared at her and gritted his teeth, obviously wound up. Keep your eye on the goal, keep your eye on the goal... he chanted in his mind, slowly calming himself down.
"Well?" Melinda snapped. "What does he need mefor? And exactly why should I help him, for that matter?"
Abraxas breathed in for a second, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts not involving the task at hand (which proved to be quite a task on its own). "It's about your great-grandmother." He exhaled.
The witch snorted. "Did she die yet?"
"Surprisingly enough, she hasn't," Abraxas replied, cracking a bit of a grin. "I suspect you know about her antique basement, The Kismet Labyrinth?"
"Funny, the batty old woman refuses to sell anything if it isn't for a ridiculously high price... or ridiculously important person," Melinda said, the smile of a cynic painted on her dark features. "What's Riddle looking for in there? Some trinket of Slytherin's?"
"Actually, he's looking to buy one of the books."
Melinda raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to tell me what this book's gonna be for, are you?"
Abraxas smirked. "I might if you do me a few favors."
Melinda's black eyes narrowed. "Right. Now, exactly why do I have to come along? Mr. Magnetism can probably get the book on his own, if I know that cheat well enough."
"You're from the family, though. You know where the basement is and how to get in better than any of us. And you did say she's unlikely to sell of her precious artifacts to just anyone..."
"I've been erased from the tree, idiot. I would've thought the gossip reached you by now." Bloody people with no lives always find something to gossip about, Melinda finished her statement to herself disdainfully.
"It has. I figured you're the only one in the family who's willing to face that crackpot. And besides," Abraxas added, "you're smarter than the rest of them. Family tree or not, you have a better chance at getting what you want."
A small, genuine smile appeared on Melinda's lips. "Abraxas... well... "
The blonde grinned to himself a little. So, she's suddenly on a first name basis with me again, eh?
"...what's in it for me?"
The grin immediately turned into a frown. "That, you'll have to discuss with Tom later."
Melinda crossed her arms defiantly. "Forget it."
"Oh, come on! Have I ever lied to you?"
"Yes."
"Look, this is easy money and it won't take much time out of your schedule, so will you please just believe me on this one? Contrary to popular belief, I don't lie about important matters."
Melinda thought for a moment, her murky eyes wandering around her warm, peaceful flat. She had bought this place to get away from everything, to have a little time to think about the direction of her life without being persuaded or disturbed... "I have no idea what in Merlin's name I'm getting myself into, but what the hell. I'm in."
"Excellent," Abraxas said, a satisfied look on his face as he stepped towards the doorway. "At the entrance to Borgin & Burkes, around 6 P.M.?"
"Deal."
Abraxas grinned, exposing an abnormally large amount of teeth. "Bye then, Melsie Cakes," he said mock-sweetly, striding out the front door.
It took a moment for Melinda's old nickname to register in her mind. "You slimy little prat, you haven't changed one bit!" she hollered out of the opening.
Hearing this, Abraxas' grin got wider.
The beginning of a sunset was starting to form as Melinda stood outside of Borgin & Burkes, stuffing her hands in her coat's pockets. It was a cool, breezy evening, and both Diagon and Knockturn alley were bustling as ever. Melinda's eyes wandered from her watch, to the vendors on the street, to the eerie-looking customers and back again as she pondered to herself whether Tom was going to arrive... and what she would do to Abraxas if he didn't. Surely that git wouldn't make up such an elaborate prank without involving color-changing hair and a touch of fire, though. Right?
"My, Melinda, you've changed quite a bit."
Melinda jumped and whipped around quickly. In front of her stood a tall, fine-looking young man who she presumed to be Tom.
"You certainly haven't, startling people like that."
Tom chuckled. "I suppose not," he responded light-heartedly. "How was France?"
"Quit the small talk," Melinda snapped, rolling her eyes. "As you may or may not know, my great-grandmother's basement is in the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, near a particularly wide oak that has a hole in it due to lightening. I'm not positive on how to get in, but I've thought up a few things that I'm pretty sure will do the trick," she explained, quickly and coldly. "Shall we apparate?"
Still a foul little wench, Tom thought to himself. He had never really enjoyed Melinda's challenging nature; challenging others was his job. But he put aside his dislike for the young girl, keeping his mannerisms refined and polite. He knew that if he set her off at this point, she'd refuse to be of any help, which he'd be forced to wring out of her using other methods... and there was really no point in using violence if it wasn't needed, in this situation. Violence would come later.
"If you wish," he replied, as if he had not heard Melinda's biting tone. The two immediately apparated, preparing to face the notorious widow of Phineas Nigellus.