Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 03 : Epithalamium

Part II : Oh What a Difference a Day Makes
Chapter Nineteen : Of Elves and Men

25 October 2003 (continued)

3:10 pm

Harry, in a fit of grim humour, thought that what he knew about house-elves would fit in a thimble, but he knew there were some basics that all creatures shared, so he quickly set about trying to stabilise Dobby to take him back to Hogwarts. He encountered obstacles from the outset; however, he could not even 'read' his small friend as his diagnostic spells sensed only a blank nothingness. Falling back on rudimentary wizarding first aid, he discovered a second problem: surface healing spells, warming spells, and levitation did not work either. Feeling time slip away with Dobby's life blood, he immediately switched to Muggle techniques, grateful that Poppy and Quiesta had insisted he learn them.

Without hesitation, he took off his winter cloak and laid it out on the floor next to his fallen comrade. Gingerly lifting the house-elf, he almost fell on his bum when Dobby proved to weigh far less than he'd anticipated. Setting him down gently, Harry carefully wrapped him in the cloak and, when satisfied he had it properly placed, used a simple shrinking spell on the garment to tighten it into an effective compression bandage. Still amazed at how little the house-elf weighed, he picked him up, cradling the limp body against his own. At first carefully, and then gathering speed, he ran smoothly down the hallway back the way he'd come. No one tried to stop him, although some house-elves, curious over the magical disturbance, flattened against the wall so as not to block him as he sped past them, only marginally aware of their presence.

It didn't take him long to burst through the anti-Apparation Wards, the intruder alarms blazing as he continued on. Dimly aware he was safely through them, he Apparated on-the-fly back to the nearest Hogwarts' Apparation point, right on the edge of the wards. The trip to the castle had never seemed so long, but the tall front door flew open before him, the stairs cooperated, the students traversing the corridors miraculously got out of his way, and the door to the infirmary opened of its own accord seconds before he passed through it. He stopped in the middle of the room shouting for Poppy, chest heaving from the exertion, finally noticing the now-heavy weight of his burden.

Poppy came bustling out of her office and stopped cold at the sight of Harry with Dobby in his arms, the blood now dripping from the sodden cloak already pooling at his feet. "This way," she told him in her normal, no-nonsense manner, walking towards the private rooms. When they entered one of the back rooms, she said, "Place him on the bed." While Harry complied, she turned from him and closed her eyes. Concentrating, she called, "Mendley!" Within seconds a wizened old house-elf popped into the room. She wordlessly indicated the bed, and he immediately spelled the wraps off of Dobby, while Poppy took Harry's arm and dragged him, protesting, out of the room.

"What happened?" she asked, her furious eyes belying her calm visage. "Why is Dobby hurt?"

Harry hung his head and looked everywhere but her. "We went to Malfoy Manor to find Severus," he mumbled, reduced once more to 'wayward student' by her words and tone. When she didn't reply, he continued. "One of the Malfoy house-elves--Maldy, I believe he called himself--caught us when we were leaving. Dobby sent me away and fought this 'Maldy' to protect me. He got hurt killing the other elf."

She tugged on his chin to get him to look at her, her face softer, but no less intense. "Well, the world will probably be a better place without Maldy. He's a bad one, he is. However, did you have no faith that Albus would get Severus home in his own way? He's got--"

She never got to finish as Harry erupted. "No, I did not. Why would I? When I tried to talk to Albus about it, he made it sound like Severus was out getting him Honeyduke's Finest from Hogsmeade. But I knew different; Severus' battle weapons were gone when I checked his things this morning. He touched me through our ward; he was in distress. Albus would neither confirm nor deny my suspicions when I asked and afterwards, when I finally reached Severus, when I could finally see where he was, Dobby thought he recognised the place I described to him, so we went to determine whether Severus was really there. He had been, but Dobby convinced me to come back for reinforcements rather than storm the dungeons looking for him ourselves."

"Well, at least someone showed some sense there," she commented dryly.

"Sense? Someone showed sense?" Harry replied with growing heat. "Let's talk about that a minute. Where is the sense in all this? Albus sends Severus out on an obviously dangerous 'errand' on our wedding day! And then refuses to tell me anything when I confront him directly about it. Why, of all the days in the year, did he choose this one to send Severus away?"

Poppy studied the righteous anger on his face and calmly replied, "I hardly think Albus chose today, rather I think the events chose it, but I am confident he would not have sent the four of them if it wasn't of the utmost importance." At Harry's perplexed mein, Poppy added, "Surely you knew that Albus rarely sends members of the Order out alone on missions. Severus originally went out with Remus. When the headmaster realised their predicament, he sent Alastor and Kingsley out after them."

Harry made an effort to rein in his temper. "Now how would I know that? Why would I assume Albus sent Severus out on any mission? Albus knows we both resigned from the Order several weeks ago." He paused, oddly satisfied by the look of shock on her face. Somewhat mollified, he continued. "Besides, Dumbledore was always pretty darn quick to send me out by myself, and Severus almost always worked alone. I didn't know about Remus or the mission or the location--NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL ME--nor was there any note of explanation. No, I had to guess it all." When Harry realised he'd been yelling, he lowered his voice, but not his temper. "But what I do know, Poppy, is Severus has been hurt badly; I could feel it when I was there."

She gave him her steady regard. Quietly she said, "And you don't think Albus already knows this? We've been ready here for the last hour for Moody and Shacklebolt to return with Severus and Remus. They were probably there at the same time you were."

"Wonderful, just one more little detail that slipped his mind," Harry said in a passable imitation of his lover.

Poppy ignored his sarcasm. "He's been most upset by your absence. You should go see him as soon as possible."

Harry looked off to the side. "I'm not certain at this point I trust myself to see the old man."

Poppy nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Has Albus ever broken a promise to you?" At the thoughtful shake of his head, she went on, "If he says you will make vows tonight, you will make vows." Harry made a noise of scepticism. "In the meantime, you have several things to consider yourself." Narrowing his eyes, Harry turned his face back to her, his head tilted in a 'like what?' attitude. Undaunted, Poppy went on, "What would have happened had Lucius caught you as well? What if Dobby had not been successful? Did you stop to think of the consequences? To Severus? To Albus? To us? To the future?"

Harry took pride in his control these days, but the wild surge of anger, coming on the heels of her unexpected scolding, was almost welcomed like an old friend. "No, Damn It, I Did Not. I was not given the opportunity to 'think'. Thinking is reserved for people who are informed. I was manipulated and so, I suspect, was Severus."

Chest heaving, he waved her silent and went on in a rush, "I am tired of being played as a puppet. If you or Albus want me to do something, then by damn, just tell me. Don't give me all this run-around and half-truths. In case it has escaped anyone's notice, I am not eleven years old anymore."

His deep anger ebbing, he was more thoughtful if no less vehement. "I already know I have a twisted fate; however, I am an adult. I deserve to be told the truth at all times. If you want me to behave in the manner you seem to expect me to, you are all going to have to realise that I have the ability to grasp the 'big picture' as well as any of you."

Poppy waited to make sure Harry was finished. When he seemed willing to listen, she chided, "While I have no doubt you can 'grasp the big picture', as you say, it's your childish, impulsive reactions, like today--leaving without telling anyone where you're going, not thinking it through, as much as your own conviction of your own immortality that makes it difficult for anyone to confide all the details."

Within himself, Harry had to admit there was a more than a grain of truth in her words. However, that did not lessen his intensity as he said, "While I can be rightfully accused of some impetuosity, in my past, this is not necessarily how I go about things now, unless there is something needing to be done and it appears no one else is doing anything about it. How am I ever to react in any other manner if you continue to view me as I once was and tell me nothing? Stop assuming what I am going to do. You have no idea who I am now. I can be convinced in a logical manner. If you want me to 'start using my head', to stop acting on my impulses, then you are ALL going to have to stop using YOUR emotions in dealing with me and start using YOUR heads as well. Stop protecting me!"

Her eyes, which had never left his during his tirade, flitted to something behind him. Whirling on instinct, wand drawn, Harry faced Albus, who smiled at his quick reflexes.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Still as fast as ever, I see." He held out his hand, his eyes sad. "Come, Harry, walk with me. We've much to talk about and little time."

At that moment, Harry wished with all he had within him that he had the wherewithal to resist the old man, to tell him to go to hell and leave him be. But he knew that would not be happening anytime soon, for like a son, he loved Albus and felt an inexplicable urge to go with him and take away his sadness. With a keen sense of inner defeat, Harry knew he'd 'walk' with him, and, no matter how angry he was at the whole situation, it would only take Albus' reasonable explanation and a cup of tea to make everything all right between them. And he'd feel like a fool for ever doubting him. Until the next time. Such was the nature of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry turned back to Poppy. "Dobby?" he asked.

She smiled sympathetically. "He's in good hands. Mendley is an elf-healer. I dare not touch him; the house-elves require special care. He'll be fine. I promise you that. Now go."

Harry thanked her and reluctantly left with the headmaster.

3:45 pm

Once assured his 'Avery' persona was in place, Lucius had gone on his way, stopping only to listen when he'd heard the screams. He'd immediately started back the way he'd come, intent on punishing the blighter who'd hurt one of his house-elves. He suspected it was Avery and knew, given the way the former Death Eater had bolloxed his plans, he'd doubly enjoy punishing the man. Then the wards had sounded in his head, letting him know intruders were on the premises. He'd been more cautious in his search, not that it had helped him much in the end.

'It was just my misfortune,' he thought to himself some time later as he settled into one of the chairs in the family sitting room, 'that I met up with Moody and Shacklebolt instead of my real quarry. He called for a house-elf. 'Nasty little fight, though. I'd forgot how sneaky Moody is, but at least I remembered Shacklebolt's weak spot. Never could take a curse proper, which is probably why he's stuck in the Ministry instead of out in the field. Interesting to confirm he's part of that 'Order' Dumbledore has, though.' He'd made good his escape as soon as he'd been able, abandoning the search for Snape and Lupin as impossible with Dumbledore's 'acquaintances' involved as well. 'Damn him. Avery's right--that wretched old man will live forever.'

Unfortunately, the Polyjuice Potion had worn off during his flight. Concerned he'd meet up with the intruders, he'd prepared the second bottle with some resignation and, after recovering from the transformation, continued on his way, meeting only a few house-elves, who'd fearfully pressed themselves against the walls to let him pass.

"Mister Avery is wanting something from Gabby?"

Lucius startled out of his reverie at the squeaky voice of the house-elf at his elbow. Pulling the sticky sleeve of his scorched robe away from the stinging burns on his arm, he said, "Yes. First, fix this."

With a snap of her fingers, the little house-elf magicked a soft bandage on the wound. Although he knew it wasn't healed, Lucius nonetheless sighed with the brief respite from the pain. Though not deep, the surface burns covering most of his right forearm hurt like hell; this Avery body did not handle discomfort as well as his own did. A second snap from the house-elf later, his robes were whole once more as well.

"Is Mr. Avery wanting anything else from Gabby?" she asked diffidently.

"A brandy and an answer." When she hesitated, he snarled, "Your Master is busy and ordered me to find out which house-elf was hurt in the dungeons." He was fairly sure he'd told the house-elves to obey Avery, but the returning pain in his arm was distracting.

Gabby jumped at the tone in his voice and hastily said, "Gabby is told that Master Malfoy's own Maldy was killed by another house-elf who does not belong to Master Malfoy."

"NO!" Shocked, Lucius filled with unbridled rage. His uninjured arm shot out and caught the house-elf hard across the chest, sweeping her off her feet to fly across the small space. With a thud, she landed against a pouffe in front of the other chair. She picked herself up, trembling. "How? Who was it that did it?" he snapped.

Her eyes huge with fear, Gabby wailed, "Gabby doesn't know, Mr. Avery." She turned and started hitting her head on the arm of the chair. "Bad Gabby! Gabby doesn't know! Gabby should be punished!"

"Enough!" Lucius roared. This was one of the things he hated the most about the house-elves--this overblown, dramatic display of inadequacy that occurred every single time he needed answers from them the most. Impatience roiling through him, he ordered brusquely, "Just bring me a damn brandy and be gone."

Shaking, Gabby went to the sideboard and, from the array of decanters on top, chose a snifter and poured a small amount of Lucius' second-best brandy. He was about to tell her to get him a 'real' brandy and fill it up, when it dawned on him he still looked like Avery; she was merely doing as she'd been told when it came to serving his guests. This small sign that the house-elves obeyed him even when he wasn't around pleased him in a perverse way, so when the fearful Gabby approached, he took the snifter without comment.

He waved his hand, dismissing her and, with a flinch and a 'pop', she was gone. The gratitude on her face was almost comical.

Sitting back, he rolled the liqueur around the bottom of the glass thinking about what Gabby had said. He made himself calm down; making a spectacle of himself would not amuse the help and would not bring his personal servant back. This was an enormous set-back to his plans and he needed to be rational. This went far beyond the loss of yet another 'house-elf'.

Maldy, a pureblood 'Old One', had been one of the few true Death Eaters left from an ancient time. Not a nice elf by any means, but 'his' since his early childhood. Taking a sip of the brandy, he wasn't quite sure he'd 'miss' him. Rather, he'd miss not having a such reliable tool for his dirtier work. Maldy would kill anything; he'd never found a limit, just fluctuations in the amount of pleasure the elf would derive from doing so.

He almost regretted not letting Maldy stay to make sure Esmerelda had killed the Potter brat, but he'd had his reasons. Perhaps, had Maldy remained to observe, his favourite familiar would have succeeded and he wouldn't have lost her. However, based on past experience, Lucius knew Maldy's true Master was Death, not him, and he'd been known to disobey Lucius if it meant serving Death. He'd known Maldy would be unable to resist the siren song of such a powerful Death as Potter's and could not be relied upon to leave no trace when he succumbed. This, more than anything, was why he'd ordered Maldy to come back before he could 'see' the act and why, after taking the hair he needed, he'd let Maldy 'have' the patron at the pub (whose identity he'd used with Lupin and Snape) as a stave against temptation before sending the house-elf off to Hogwarts.

He snorted. Maldy had never been merely a 'house-elf'.

He found it ironic the Dark Lord had used the term 'Death Eaters' for his followers in honour of the 'Old Ones', those whose magic he'd stolen for his own longevity, never fully comprehending what they were truly about. Lucius did, though; he'd been quietly bringing as many of the 'Old Ones' as he could find (they were quite rare and only bred amongst themselves) into his household. Over the years he'd discovered they took Death into themselves as a source of their immense power; literally, 'eating' Death as much as he would eat bread for sustenance. Voldemort had thought the power was shared between them, that by using their magic he would be strengthened whenever his minions killed. The Dark Lord had been wrong; the power gained was only for the individual who satisfied Death.

What had made the 'Old Ones' strong was their ability to not work against each other. That was not saying they worked together; before The Binding, they'd been known to have short, nasty wars over the human victims chosen for their rites. However, they did NOT undermine each other. 'Politics' was unknown to them, their 'government', such as it was, composed entirely of clans. There were no 'political' alliances, no intrigues, no switching of sides. There was only filial loyalty and unswerving devotion to the ones they served. The system humans used confounded them and they found the shifting machinations of 'politics' an abomination.

Which made them perfect for his plans.

Well, no matter now--Voldemort was dead and he had no intention of repeating the Dark Lord's mistakes. Now he had to decide who could replace Maldy; he needed a new leader for the house-elves and another willing tool. While he was mentally reviewing the list, he had to wonder who could have possibly killed Maldy. 'Only an 'Old One' can kill another 'Old One' and Gabby said it was an elf from the outside. But only house-elves belonging to my household can make it through the wards without setting them off, and there was only the one intruder alert. Unless--'

He sat up. Dobby. It could only have been Dobby. Another one of the 'Old Ones', only not so loyal and, as it turned out, not a Death Eater. If he recalled, Maldy had tried to warn him once that Dobby wasn't 'one of them', but he'd dismissed it as one of the little petty jealousies in which they sometimes engaged. He should have had Maldy kill Dobby as a deviant at the time; now the elf was protected by Dumbledore and Potter.

Or could it have been that other one? 'What was her name? Ah, yes--Blinky.' He'd told Maldy to get rid of her when she proved to be as intractable as Dobby had ever been. For reasons know only to himself, Maldy had refused to touch her, but had gladly traded her for Falky, a vicious little elf, whose former master (the healer Jed in Hogsmeade) had been happy to get rid of him. Rolling it around in his mind, he decided Falky would be perfect. He'd talk to him tonight about hanging Maldy's head--among other things.

All that remained was for him to tell Bethany he'd 'broken' another one.

Setting aside his house-elf problems, he thought about the culminations of today's events. Mildly surprised that Peter had done exactly as he'd been told and nothing else, Lucius decided the rat's reward would be allowing him to hide for a few more days before seeking him out for his next assignment.

Draco and Avery were another matter altogether. While he'd been fairly mild in their presence, he really was quite upset with the failure of 'The Plan'. 'Now, what to do with them? I cannot leave their inattentiveness unpunished.' Thinking on it, he came up with a reparation so fine, it would be both subtle and sublime. He started laughing at the thought of Avery, a victim of the Medean Curse from his disgruntled fourth wife, surrounded by the most beautiful whores in England, forced to watch his son, a dedicated homosexual, fuck them. That ought to give the fools a clear message not to 'fuck' with him. Yes, the more he thought of Draco rutting beautiful women, totally repelled, while Avery hopelessly lusted after them, totally impotent, the more he liked it.

And, given how she loved both men, he made a wager with himself that he could not only get Bethany to buy the aphrodisiacs, she would delight in finding the women to 'punish' them both.

Relaxing, he finished the brandy in the glass. As he was half out of the chair to get him some of his private stock, he heard the sound of soft footfalls entering the room. He glanced over the top of the tall wingback to see who it was--Bethany. He decided to test her loyalties again; after all, why waste good Polyjuice Potion?

Sitting back down, he held out the snifter past the arm of the chair where she was sure to see it. "Bethany, fetch me a glass of brandy. And, none of that shit the house-elf gave me, I want the good stuff."

He heard the soft swish of her robes as she moved to his side. Plucking the glass out of his hand, she went over to the sideboard and, getting a new snifter, poured a few measures of his private reserve. When she handed him the glass, careful not to touch him, he waved his arm towards the other chair. "Sit, daughter. I would speak to you. How have you been? Is Lucius treating you well?"

Bethany stiffly walked over to the other chair by the fire and cautiously sat perched on its edge, her wary eyes wandering over 'Avery's' form in minute detail. She suddenly relaxed, her posture easing as she said with quiet asperity, "Really, Lucius. If you must use Polyjuice Potion, might I request that you choose someone a little more pleasant, like perhaps, Voldemort?"

Incredulous, he chuckled. He knew better than to underestimate her like this. "Caught me, my sweets. How did you know?"

"Other than explaining my 'wifely duties' the night before our wedding, my father has not spoken to me, I believe, since I was twelve, and even if he had, it certainly would not be to enquire after my health." She arched a brow, saying slowly, "My father is many things, but a 'gentleman' he is not. While your words are right, your posture is all wrong; he wouldn't sit so straight. Besides, I'm not even sure my father knows how to cross his legs."

As he shook his head, laughing quietly at this accurate portrayal of Avery, and moved his hand to his head, the sleeve of his robe fell back to reveal the white bandage on his arm, now bearing a growing stain of pink.

"Lucius! You're hurt!" Bethany exclaimed, rising awkwardly from the chair, her hand extended.

"Not too badly, my sweet." He eyed her honest concern as she used her foot to push the pouffe from her chair tightly to his. When she questioned him with her eyes, he nodded, and, using the arm of his chair for support, she settled her ungainly bulk down on the pouffe. She took his hand and, pulling him slightly forward, placed it on her knee while she gingerly unwrapped the bandages. When the swollen, burned forearm was revealed, her face hardened a bit but reflected nothing but a steady regard. She spelled the wraps away and, drawing her wand, prepared to work on it.

He reached out with his good hand and tipped her face up to him. Leaning in, he placed a small, lingering kiss on her lips, murmuring, "Your concern is--refreshing. Don't bother, it will heal soon enough."

She pulled back, astonishment warring with revulsion across her face, but her voice was even as she said, "True, but it could scar and be used as evidence. Really, I'm surprised you would leave it unattended."

"Not truly by choice, my dear. A Medi-wizard can talk far more than a scar."

Taking her wand, she started healing it in layers, muttering, "Not with a well-placed Obliviate, he couldn't."

Chuckling, he ran his fingers down her cheek. When she flinched, he said, his voice tight, "Not in the mood, my sweet?"

Bethany stared at him a few moments, obviously weighing her words carefully. Lucius was startled when she finally said quietly, "I have never been touched nor kissed by my father in my entire life. In fact, I'd never kissed anyone, not counting my mother and sisters, before that first one you gave me the day my father signed my contract." Her eyes took on a faraway glaze as she whispered, "I remember it, so sweet and full of promise. You were such a gentleman." Shivering a little, she continued, "And except for Doreen, I have not kissed anyone else since that day. Please do not--sully--me by kissing me while you look like--him. I would prefer, if you are amenable, waiting the short time remaining until you are more yourself."

When he nodded, bemused, she continued to repair his arm in sections, the newly healed skin pink and shiny. Given her condition, it took some time. Concentrating on her task, she absentmindedly asked, "Can I assume from your rather disquieting disguise, and this injury, that you are in the midst of--damage control?"

Lucius chuckled grimly. "That would be one way to phrase it."

"Hmm. One might think you are setting him up to take the blame--not that I care, mind you. Will he be arrested?" she asked thoughtfully. Releasing his hand, she turned the arm, satisfied it was properly healed and would leave no scarring.

He inspected her work, nodding his thanks. "Probably not. If necessary, I'll move him back to Italy."

Bethany sighed, folding her hands on her knees. "Pity. Oh well, I suppose he does have his uses."

Lucius laughed quietly. "True. Just a few," he said, thinking, 'As do you, I suspect.' He cleared his throat. "Speaking of usefulness, I need your help."

She looked up at him, startled. "What could I possibly offer?" she asked reasonably, looking down at her stomach.

"Here's what I have in mind," he answered, telling her of his 'plans' for Avery and Draco. Midway through his explanation, the Polyjuice Potion wore off and 'more himself' (as she'd so aptly put it) he finished telling her of his ideas.

Bethany tried to hide the wicked little smile threatening to come out any second. With a delighted lilt to her voice, she murmured, "Indeed." She tapped her finger against her lips, and looked up at him, mischief in her eyes, saying, "Leave it to me; say in a week? I know just the place. Perhaps Draco would 'enjoy' being restrained while a skilled Dominatrix 'pleasures' him?"

Lucius chuckled appreciatively at the picture that made. "Evil woman, remind me not to cross you." He couldn't resist and leant over for another kiss. "You are so full of surprises, my sweet," he murmured, watching her eyes close contentedly as he brushed his lips against hers. 'Is it possible I have at last found an able partner?'

She pressed his lips with her own, shivering when his tongue tasted her. He broke away and stared, mesmerized with her. She whispered, "What would you need for me to--"

"Lucius? Where the hell are you? Bethany? Have you seen Lucius?"

Startled, Bethany pulled away abruptly, the previous softness in her face giving way to vexation at the interruption. Lucius felt an answering ire that, once again, Avery was spoiling his 'plans', although this time of a different sort. He growled his displeasure, earning him a sharp glance from his wife.

"Only a week, my dear," she murmured discreetly, and with serene features well in place, Bethany got off the pouffe as smoothly as she could and moved to her father, who was halfway into the room.

"Bethany, do you know where Lucius is? I must speak to him." Putting her arm in Avery's, she turned him away from Lucius' chair and, walking him out of the room, said, "Father, let me get you something from Lucius' private stores in his study. I'm afraid something seems to have greatly upset him and he's brooding right now; we both know how well he takes to any untimely interruptions. I'll make sure he's aware you are waiting to speak to him, and I'm quite certain he'll join us when he's ready to be reasonable. We can wait for him there." As she led him, unprotesting, out of the room, Lucius could hear her ask him, "How long do you plan on staying this time?"

His chuckles drowned in a sip of brandy, Lucius admired her adroit handling of her father. 'Brooding, indeed.' He sat back, his anger dissipated by her dissembling double entendre. 'Ah, yes, my love, he does have his uses, and so it seems, do you. And a week is not so long after all. I wonder if you'd want to watch?' Well-pleased, he laughed and, draining the snifter, went off in search of his marvelous wife and his splenetic minion.

TBC

The Medean Curse courtesy of Lydia Lovestruck (used with permission) from the story, "The Medean Curse : A Romantic Comedy" available for your reading pleasure on my site (as well as a few other places). You really should read it!