AUTHOR'S NOTE: For anyone who happens to have read the Dark Badger stories before this one, no, I actually did not cannibalize characters from that story for this. Believe it or not, the opposite is true—Alfred, Mortimer, Reginald, and Lavinia all existed in this tale before I'd even thought up the Dark Badger saga, but once that terrifying parody started to take off, they just naturally lent themselves to it, and it seemed a shame to leave them out simply because they belonged here first. The only noticeable change in any of them is that Lavinia's militant wardrobe and piercings are notably absent; otherwise, any Dark Badger fans who may be among you have little to fear in the way of alteration.

And I don't know about you, but I find that rather scary.

PS Just for the record, yes, I actually have been to Wales. I'm sorry if the word picture I paint here is rather pale, but I did the best I could within the bounds of the infuriatingly inadequate and uncooperative English language.
AE

Chapter 5: Of Dragons and Elves

Meli waited until after she and Snape had finished their claptrap mission to Surrey to follow up with Dumbledore on the matter of Rasa, but once that was out of the way, she spoke with him again.

"You are settled in this, then?" he said, his eyes twinkling even while his countenance was deadly serious. "It would put you in harm's way quite often, and, while you have the advantage of being presumed dead, if you ever fell into Voldemort's hands, he would quickly uncover your identity."

"I understand all of that," she replied. "And I've weighed it very carefully. The prospect of danger doesn't particularly daunt me, Gryffindor that I am, and if it will help the Order, I'm willing to risk a family reunion. Whether or not I'm committed is not in question. What is, at this point, uncertain is whether or not I'll be able to do it. I haven't all of the necessary resources, to say the least."

"Very true," Dumbledore agreed. "You would need person-specific portkeys, a large stock of potions, and, as we discussed, a hidden place of residence, just to start.

Meli smirked. "And an amusing sidekick-slash-valet wouldn't hurt, either," she added dryly.

Dumbledore gave her a wry smile. "Indeed," he allowed. "Fortunately, you already have the memorable code name—unless, of course, you'd prefer to change it to the Lone Ranger."

"Given that person's obsession with silver bullets," Meli rejoined, "I rather think it would put me at odds with at least one Order member, so, while I take your point, I'm afraid it just wouldn't do."

"Then Rasa it is," Dumbledore concluded. "Now all that remains is to call Severus and Zarekael."

Meli arched an eyebrow. "Why Severus and Zarekael?" she inquired.

"Between them," he answered, "all that you require can be provided, unless I am very much mistaken."

She frowned. "The potions and portkeys, certainly, but the—" She broke off and stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"I think it highly likely that Severus would offer it," Dumbledore replied calmly.

"Assuming it even exists in the first place," Meli countered. "To my knowledge, rumors to the contrary, Severus hasn't any home but Hogwarts."

"Snape Manor undoubtedly exists," Dumbledore said, smiling. "And it's in good repair, for the most part, courtesy of a large staff of house elves."

Meli gave him a disgusted look. "That settles it," she growled. "I refuse to be the only human in a house infested by an army of house elves."

"The Snape house elves are rather…atypical," Dumbledore assured her, moving toward the fireplace. "And I doubt Severus would recommend a hideout that would make you miserable."

"I suppose," Meli grudgingly allowed.

-

As predicted, the two potions brewers were quite willing to equip Meli with all of the potions and portkeys she needed…and Snape did indeed offer her the use of Snape Manor. It was, even she had to admit, an ideal location. As the home of a Death Eater, it was above Voldemort's notice, and as the abandoned estate of an embittered son, it was outside the Ministry's calculation. Located as it was in an obscure region of the Welsh countryside, the chances of its being stumbled over by anyone, wizard or Muggle, were beyond remote. The only real objection she still had to the scheme was the composition of the staff.

"I understand your hesitance," Snape told her, smirking. "But I think you'll find that the house elves at Snape Manor are more…how shall I say it…refined than the house elves with whom you've crossed paths before."

Meli's eyebrows hovered just below her widow's peak. "Refined house elves?" she repeated. "This I've got to see."

"A tour of the manor can certainly be arranged at any time," Snape replied, his smirk deepening just a bit. He turned his eyes to Dumbledore. "Have you any need of my son or me this weekend?" he asked, rather sardonically. "Family business draws us to the ancestral home."

Dumbledore offered a shrewd smile in return. "I think I can spare you," he answered in a similar tone. "Have a lovely visit."

-

The following Friday, Snape, Zarekael, and Meli apparated to a hill just outside the manor grounds and walked to the estate from there. Meli had traveled extensively, but she had never been to Wales, and this first sight of it quite took her breath away. The sky above was its normal shade of blue, but the earth beneath it had been washed over with the deepest, lushest, most alive color green she had ever thought to encounter. Here and there were scattered a few trees, and she had no doubt that there were flowers to be found, but the chief beauty of this place lay in the life of the grass and the scent of the rich earth.

"As far as the scenery goes," she remarked, "I think you could do far worse. If I'd grown up in such a place, I might actually like the fresh air!"

Neither of the others made any reply, but both betrayed signs of amusement.

While they could have used a portkey to go directly into the manor house, they chose to walk, giving Meli a chance to see the whole territory. The stroll was pleasant enough and not too terribly long—perhaps only a mile or so. The house itself, which had been an impressive black blob at the beginning, grew steadily as they went, proving at last to be a wonderful large construction of stone that had been worn and blackened by the centuries. It stared down at her from countless eyes full of similarly blackened history, and she thought, almost off-handedly, that because of its size, dignity, age, and stonework, some of her American acquaintances might have called it, not unjustly, a castle. To her it seemed more of a thing plucked from a book—a place that Jonathan Harker would have avoided as a place of horror, or that Legolas Greenleaf would describe as full of memory and anger. The manor house stood proudly—one might even say haughtily—but Meli had the sense that shameful things had been done within its walls, things that would chill even her blood.

The door was opened by a stiff and starched house elf whom Snape addressed as Mortimer. As with all other house elves bound to a family, Mortimer wore no proper clothes, but his neatly pressed and draped black tea towel toga did nothing to diminish his dignified look—nor did the white dish cloth he wore as an ascot. He bowed deeply at their entrance.

"Welcome home, Mr. Snape," he said, with a university-sounding accent. "And you, Master Zarekael." He turned politely to Meli.

A chill crept down her spine when she caught her first full view of Mortimer's face. His accent and grammar had been shock enough, but his countenance unsettled her entirely. Never in her life had she thought she might encounter a truly sadistic house elf, but from the Norman Bates smile he wore to the not-quite-right sheen in his eyes, Mortimer seemed every ounce the psychopath just waiting to happen.

"Mortimer," Snape was saying, "this is Rasa. She may be staying here for awhile."

The house elf bowed again. "Delighted to meet you, Miss Rasa," he replied with a grin.

Note to self, Meli thought resisting the urge to gulp. Do not take a shower in Snape Manor—particularly if you discover that the butler keeps a gray wig, a dress, and a knife ready to hand.

-

Mortimer would have been enough of a scare to last Meli the remainder of the weekend, but he was merely her first warning. The next food for thought came almost immediately afterward, in the form of the family's coat of arms, which hung on a wall not far from the entryway.

The shield was black with a silver border and a silver line crossing from the bottom left to the top right, dividing it in two. The upper division held a manticore with such a look of cunning on its face that Meli wondered if the artist had had a person in mind when he rendered it. Aside from its almost human countenance, the manticore was not objectionable, though; what caused Meli's eyes to widen and her mouth to go dry was the animal beneath it.

In the bottom half of the shield coiled a dragon. Its body formed an S, with its bared fangs at the top right and the point of its tail at the bottom left. In the bottom curve of the S was cradled the unmistakable shape of a human heart, and in its claws the dragon clutched a human skull.

It was an emblem that Meli had come across in her professional studies and one that Andrea Underhill had once described with disgust. This was the Dracul—the arms of the vampiric Vlad family.

"I come from old blood, as you can see," Snape stated quietly, breaking into her thoughts. She whirled, startled, to find his face a closed mask. "The Vlads were not always the power-brokers…and the Snapes never will be again." He turned away. "I believe the dungeons show the most promise for your purposes. Shall we?"

She nodded, then followed him and Zarekael to the stairs without a word.

-

The dungeons, as it turned out, were perfect for what she had in mind. Whatever they had been previously used for, all relics had been removed, leaving countless empty rooms and, at the far end of the dungeons, a caved-in portion of corridor.

"It looks like a haven for bats," she said off-handedly. "I suppose I shall have to dub it the Bat Cave, then." Snape and Zarekael, who possessed little, if any, knowledge of Muggle comic books, nodded politely but refrained from comment.

There were three rooms within reasonable distance of one another that sparked her interest. The first looked like it had once been a guards' room, but all that remained in it now were a fireplace and some rough furniture. The second was little bigger than a broom closet; Meli had her own ideas for its potential uses, but she had no desire to ponder its original purpose and function. The third room, a short distance down the corridor from the other two, would do just fine as a bedroom for her, and there were other rooms of similar size further into the dungeons that could be made into guest rooms with relative ease.

"It's absolutely ideal," she told Snape, smiling. "I honestly couldn't ask for better."

Snape narrowed his eyes in amusement, approbation, or both. "I'd be happy to assign one of the house elves to be your assistant," he offered. "I'm sure Mortimer—"

"Aah, let's keep Mortimer out of the dungeons, shall we?" Meli interrupted. "There's bound to be someone better suited."

Snape and Zarekael exchanged smirks. "In that case," the former replied, "I suppose you had better meet the staff."

-

The staff comprised twenty house elves, ten male, ten female, all decked out in black tea towels and white dish cloths. The males were dressed identically to Mortimer; the females wore their tea towels as sarongs and their dish cloths as aprons. They lined up in the entryway, their manner that of soldiers on review. At Snape's appearance on the scene, all twenty moved in unison, half bowing and half bobbing curtsies. It was rather disturbing, really; Meli had developed the idea that house elves were thoroughly incapable of refined behavior. Clearly, all that they truly lacked were opportunity and education, and the Snape family, probably in the interest of eliminating multiple sources of annoyance, had been happy to provide both.

Snape surveyed them all, then furrowed his brow. "Where's Reginald?" he asked. "Lavinia?"

One of the females stepped forward and curtsied. "He wasn't quite the student we hoped he'd be," she answered coolly. "I believe Mortimer could best account for his last known whereabouts."

Snape glanced to Mortimer, who merely grinned. "Very well," he said, quite calmly. "This lady accompanying Zarekael and me is Rasa. She will be staying here indefinitely, and from time to time, there will be other guests dropping by. I expect you to follow Rasa's wishes as if they were mine—and when her wishes are in conflict with those of other guests, hers take precedence. Is that understood?"

Twenty house elves bowed and bobbed, and twenty faces took on calculating expressions worthy of a pack of Slytherins.

"Now," Snape continued. "Rasa has need for an assistant in the tasks she will be performing. Is any of you unwilling?"

To Meli's somewhat naïve relief, Mortimer stepped forward. "I'd like to excuse myself from it, if I may, sir," he said. "It might take time away from my educational duties."

"No doubt," Snape replied dryly. "Are there any others?"

There were none, so Snape led Meli down the line, introducing each house elf and his or her station as he went. Perhaps two-thirds of the way down the line, they came to a dignified house elf, whom Snape introduced as Alfred. Not waiting to hear what it was that Alfred did, Meli grinned. "You're perfect!" she told him.

Snape arched an eyebrow, and Alfred looked a bit surprised. "Thank you," he said calmly. "I do live to please."

Meli turned to Snape. "Do you have any objection to Alfred helping me out in the Bat Cave?" she asked.

Something about either her choice or her request inordinately amused Snape, and even Zarekael seemed to be forcing a smirk to hide a smile. "I have no objection at all," Snape assured her. "Alfred?"

The house elf bowed. "I would be honored," he answered crisply, then looked to Meli. "And you can have every confidence in me, Madam," he continued. "Whether the task is scrubbing toilets or burying bodies, you will find mine a sure hand."

There was a beat of silence while Meli gauged Alfred. Yes, she saw, he was entirely serious beneath his deadpan; he had, she began to suspect, buried a number of bodies in his time. "Thank you, Alfred," she said through suddenly stiff lips. "I'm sure I will."

Alfred smiled, betraying for the first time a sign of something morbid in his soul. Mortimer had reminded her of Norman Bates; Alfred went five steps further, making the jump from Hitchcock to the now-fresh-in-her-mind Dickens and showing a remarkable likeness to Rogue Riderhood. He was not a psychopath waiting to happen but rather a calculating murderer well-versed and long-practiced.

No wonder Snape and Zarekael had been so amused.

She glanced at the silent father and son, the latter of whom was doing his best to look innocent and the former of whom wasn't even bothering to try. "Laugh it up, you two," she muttered, just loudly enough for them to hear. "You knew it was a crap shot; there was at least one chance at hitting snake-eyes."

"My dear Neshdiana," Snape chided with an evil smirk, "consider where you are. You couldn't help but hit snake-eyes in a house full of house elves my family deemed fit for service."

"Slytherins," Meli sighed, using the situation to mask another source of annoyance. Zarekael, it seemed, had created a nickname for her while they were still in the hospital wing, for as he pointed out, until she settled on some definite name, he couldn't very well call her Meli in others' hearing. That had been good and well, but now Snape had picked it up, and even though she was officially known as Rasa, where these two were concerned, Neshdiana had stuck. It might not have irritated her so much had either one of them seen fit to tell her what the name, which came from Zarekael's native tongue, actually meant.

She sighed again. "The whole bloody lot of them are Slytherins," she intoned. "I'm doomed."

"Only if you prove unteachable," Zarekael countered with a straight face. "And then only if Mortimer finds out."

Meli glared at him. "You're not helping," she growled.

The Potions apprentice turned away, but she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker.

Well, she thought darkly, at least someone's morale is high.

-

She and Alfred quickly got to work figuring out the best possible way to arrange things in the Bat Cave. He had no objections to her rudimentary initial plans, though he seemed to delight in telling her, matter-of-factly, that the narrow room the size of a broom closet was the place in which Reginald had last been seen.

"And who, exactly, was Reginald?" Meli asked.

Alfred smirked. "You catch on quickly," he told her. "Was, indeed. He came from another family who'd become fed up with him and given him clothes. Mr. Snape was happy to employ him, provided that he learned proper English. We were happy to accept him, provided that he took a proper name. When he first came, he would only answer to Bibby, but we soon put that to rights." He shook his head. "Alas, proper English escaped him, and I'm afraid Mortimer can be a bit overzealous with his electroshock therapy."

Meli raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Electroshock therapy?" she echoed.

"There's nothing quite like it," Alfred said, almost dreamily. "The glow is a beautiful shade of blue—rather like Lavinia's eyes, I think." He paused ruminatively, then slowly recalled himself. "In any case, Mortimer is rather impatient. He always increases the charge when he'd do better to wait a few minutes. I'm told that Reginald managed six full, proper sentences before suddenly dissolving into ashes." He shook his head regretfully. "It's a pity, really; he had a fine gift for blacking shoes."

Meli stared at the house elf's tragically sincere countenance for a full moment before nodding. "And you tell that story to everyone who comes here, don't you."

Alfred looked as innocent as Zarekael had done an hour earlier. "Why, whatever could you mean?" he asked.

"What I mean," she answered, one corner of her mouth turning upward, "is that your story has all the earmarks of either a household joke or an urban legend. I have no doubt that there may once have been a house elf employed here whose name was Reginald; he might even have been called Bibby beforehand. And I have no trouble believing that Mortimer has killed before or that he would consider an electroshock machine to be a toy more than a tool. I think, however, that your collective sense of humor happens to thrive on scaring people senseless, and I'm sorry to say that, while you had me going for a bit, you've talked me out of what little belief you'd managed to talk me into."

Alfred drew a pocket watch from the folds of his toga. "Forty-two minutes, seventeen seconds," he announced mildly. "Splendid! It takes most people a few days. I believe you have the shortest time yet!"

Meli arched an eyebrow. "You were timing me?"

"Please understand, Madam," Alfred explained. "No one lives here but the staff. We must have some way to amuse ourselves, and Mr. Snape generously aids and abets in this little game of ours." He leaned in confidingly. "Between us," he added, "I think the master is as amused by it as we ourselves are. For a human, he has remarkably good sense, wouldn't you say?"

"Undoubtedly," Meli replied sardonically. "Well, far be it from me to spoil your fun. Just be sure that you don't play your game with all of my guests. Some of them are bound to arrive here a bit out of sorts."

"Ah, there you need have no fear, Madam," Alfred assured her. "Whatever may be true of our unenlightened kindred elsewhere, Snape house elves are nothing if not discreet."

Meli shook her head. "I don't doubt it," she told him. "Oh, and do me a favor."

Alfred tilted his head expectantly.

"Don't call me Madam."

The house elf appeared taken aback. "What ought I to call you, then?" he inquired.

"Rasa will do just fine," she replied. "And if a situation calls for me going by a different name, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Do you anticipate that happening often?" Alfred asked, his eyes glittering conspiratorially.

Meli smiled thinly. "Anything is possible these days," she said coolly. "But the truth of it is, I really don't know."

FURTHER AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just in case anyone's wondering about the emblem of the dragon (specifically, where the hell it came from)…Back in the day, there was a Transylvanian nobleman named Vlad who distinguished himself in combat and earned the nickname "Dracul", one of the meanings for which is "dragon". His son, also named Vlad, was known as "Dracula", which means "son of the Dracul", and when he showed himself to be an extremely not-nice guy, the people used the other meaning for "Dracul" when referring to him—namely, "devil" (thus, he was known as "son of the devil"). This charming fellow was also known as Vlad the Impaler, and he is the historical figure on whom Bram Stoker based Count Dracula. I'm not picky about the language from which a pun springs, so I am quite happy to employ a Romanian pun here, in the interest of both diversity and literary expediency.

And incidentally, yes; every single thing I just said becomes important at some later date in this story. It pays to read theA/N's!
AE