Written for 11th Round of Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 8, as Chaser 3 of the Holyhead Harpies
Name of Round: This Seems Familiar
Task: What's in a Name?
Optional Prompts
3. (color) Ivory
11. (emotion) surprise
15. (object) piano
Title: Carved from Ivory
Word Count: 2,852 (GoogleDocs)
Warnings: Violence, murder, racism, threats, fire, falling, corpses, drink spiking
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Harry Potter.
Matron is a unisex title.
~End of Author's Notes~
The familiar notes of Moonlight Sonata could be heard all through Selwyn Tower, from its ivory tip to the very bottom floor. That was where the Maid stood, her hands folded in front of her and her head hung. Each note drew her deeper into her memory, to the last time she'd played it for herself, to when she'd learned its notes under Matron Marius Black, to the first time she'd recalled it and had spent the night in tears and rage at the—
There was a knock at the door. The Maid plastered on a smile and opened it.
Three people stood on the doorstep, framed by the Venomous Tentacula that surrounded the base of Selwyn Tower. They all had skin as ivory as the stones of the spire, pristine and flawless thanks to magic that the Maid lacked. They were slender, tall, stately, some would say, not like her, with her broad shoulders and her bulky arms.
"And you are?" demanded Rendon, the words spat from puckered lips and his dark brows knitting together. "I don't recall anyone quite so thuggish having a place in Selwyn Tower."
"I'm the Maid, Master." The Maid curtseyed, lifting the edges of her frilly skirt lest it brush against the hardwood floors. "Master Amiel Selwyn has hired me for my services this Christmas. May I take your coats?"
"A maid?" asked Isolde, who looked just different enough from the man that their relation wasn't obvious. Apparently handy for second cousins getting married. "I see the old man's..." She glanced at the little girl with them, a slight thing with dark eyes and a darker dress. "Whimsy! Yes, whimsy, hasn't lessened with age."
"Master Amiel had need of me. I'm told the House Elves have disappeared," the Maid told them, her smile fixed in place as she folded their coats over one arm. "Oh, and one more thing. Master Amiel has told me that there will be no wands in his house today. May I…?"
"He..." Rendon scoffed as they both retrieved the wands from their belts and held them out. The Maid delicately plucked them free. "His whimsy. Yes, no bounds. Come along Isolde, Anora." He'd just stepped inside, already headed to the stairs when his nose scrunched up. "It stinks in here, Maid."
"Yes, Master. I applied fresh varnish to all of the furniture and the floor on the lower level just this morning." The Maid's smile didn't falter.
"Yes. Well. Fine. Are my siblings here?"
"Mistress Gwynevere and Master Lautrec have already arrived. They are presently enjoying Master Amiel's performance in the lounge."
Rendon seemed satisfied with that and started to ascent the spiraling stairs with Isolde at his side. Little Anora lingered a moment and shared a smile with the Maid, then hustled up the stairs after them. The Maid watched them go, calmed her heart, and turned to the coat closet. She hung up each of them, then took out the wands she'd been given and snapped them with a satisfying crack. She tossed them on top of the snapped wands of the other two siblings.
Then she took out her bottle of varnish and doused them anew, along with the inside of the closet, the area outside, and retrieved the glass lantern from just outside the front door. She balanced it carefully on the interior door handle, pulled her arm back, and strode up the stairs to join the Selwyn family in the lounge.
It was a circular room, as befitted the nature of the tower, with white walls and lavish furniture dotting the room. The stench of varnish was replaced by that of a burning fireplace, which crackled along to the fading tones of Amiel's piano. The Maid held in a sigh of relief as she lingered at the stairway, as silent as Amiel had bid her be when she was not being addressed.
"Rendon! There you are, you wastrel. Late as usual," Amiel chastised as he spun in his chair, his voice a harsh contrast to his serene playing. "Do they not teach you manners at the Ministry, eh? Lautrec was on time, on the dot. That's why he gets the good wine."
Lautrec was the youngest of the adults present, clad in a crimson robe with a handsome pompadour and the same perfect ivory skin as the rest of the family. He flashed a cocksure grin and raised his glass.
"Sorry, father," Rendon mewled as he shuffled towards one of the open chairs. "Business keeps me busy even in the dead hours of the—"
"Shut it," Amiel snarled. "Someone's stolen my Elves, Lecha and Grouse, and you're at the top of the list. Why I've had to hire this damned squib Maid—" He paused, then shot a glare at the Maid. "Maid! Get my family some bloody drinks, would you?"
"Right away, Master." The Maid bowed her head and turned to the stairs that would take her to the kitchen.
"The only one who can control those Elves is a Selwyn," she heard Amiel declare, "and I didn't bloody well let them go! So one of you lot did it, didn't you?"
"Merry Christmas, by the way," said Gwynevere, who'd arrived in a dress as fiery as her hair and the spirit that had made her a Quidditch star.
The Maid smiled and quietly poured the drinks. Red wine for Rendon and Isolde and a glass of water for little Anora. But she got a little something extra in her drink; a pill that would ensure sleep before the hour was over. By the time the Maid got back downstairs, the topic had changed.
"The word is that we're going to be facing the Tornadoes," Gwynevere gushed, a hand held to her heart. "And, well, everyone knows that they couldn't Beat their way out of a fairy's nest, so how about that?"
Lautrec shared Gwynevere's grin. "With all the Mudbloods on their team? You'll be top of the League, no doubt, no doubt."
Their self-aggrandizing continued for some time, until, that is, Anora started yawning.
"Anora, my sweet," Susanna cooed. She was the matriarch, Amiel's wife, and as hawkish as they came. "Are you tired already? We haven't even had dinner yet..."
"Were you up all night with those books again?" Rendon chastised his daughter, frowning already. "I've told you about this—"
"Oh, do be quiet, Rendon," Susanne hushed him. "I'm sure she just needs a nap. How would you like to take a nap in Grandmother's room, hm? Be all rested up for later, and you can have your pick of books from the library?"
A nodding Anora was eased out of her seat.
"Might as well come along," Amiel grunted. "Maid! Get to preparing dinner. I'll be down once Anora's tucked in to make sure you're doing the meat right."
"Of course, Master." The Maid did as she was bid, and went to the kitchen. The heads of the family went up several floors higher, and she started preparing dinner. That was until she heard Amiel's footsteps again. She left to meet him halfway.
"Maid! What are you doing out here?" He snapped as he shuffled down the stairs as best his aged legs could make him. "Get in there! In the kitchen—"
He was interrupted by her fist slamming into his throat. A wheezing sound was all that came out, as she grabbed him by the scruff of the robe and slammed him into the wall, his ancient flesh thudding with the impact and his bloodshot eyes wide in surprise.
"I wish I could have killed you last," the Maid said, as she snatched his wand from his belt and snapped it in two. With how her blood was boiling, she only needed one hand. "But needs must. And I am in a hurry. So..." She tucked his wand halves into her apron, grabbed his throat, and squeezed it.
Amiel fell into a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. She strolled past it, into the kitchen, and let out a gasp.
"Masters! Masters!" the Maid called down the stairs. "Master has—" She paused for a second, her face completely still. "Something has happened to Master Amiel!" she wailed.
The Selwyns, sans the two upstairs, rushed to the stairwell. Rendon's jaw dropped. Isolde stumbled backward. Gwynevere's fists clenched at her side. But Lautrec, he rushed forward, put a hand on Amiel's neck.
"He's warm!" Lautrec declared. "He's warm! We can save him!" His hand went to his belt. "My wand! Damnit, my wand! We'll take him to Mungo's! No problem!"
Any idiot could have told him Amiel was dead. But perhaps wizards were built that way.
"Right...yes, Maid, the wands, where are our wands?"
Lautrec patted down Amiel in search of his, but of course, found nothing.
"In the coat closet, Master." The Maid shook her head. "Shall I fetch them?"
"No time! Out of the way!" Lautrec dashed past his stunned family. The Maid waited.
And waited.
There was a scream. A blood-curdling scream that bounced all through Selwyn tower. Every Selwyn's eyes turned to face the stairs down, but Gwynevere was the first to move, and with her came the rest. The Maid was at the back, her face a mask of concern as they reached the stairs to the bottom floor and witnessed an inferno. From wall to wall a fire raged, the vapors of the varnish having taken light, now burning hotter than the sun.
And at the center of it was Lautrec. Isolde screamed, Rendon went pale, and Gwynevere held a trembling hand to her mouth.
"We...something is happening, somebody's attacking us!" Rendon said. "They must be. Somebody...an enemy, those damned Blacks, somebody! What can we do?"
"I...I don't know." Isolde's voice trembled.
"Broomsticks," Gwynevere said. "Broomsticks! On the fifth floor!" She was already turning on her heel, hurrying up the stairs.
"Anora!" Isolde gasped. "We have to make sure Anora's safe!"
And so the Selwyns started running again. The Maid trailed just behind them, snatching Susanna's wand from the lounge and snapping it in two just before she sprinted after them. The married couple kept going up the stairs to fetch the matriarch, while the Maid followed Gwynevere to the closet that had both a balcony and a selection of broomsticks along the wall.
"Don't think you're coming with me, squib," Gwynevere hissed as she grabbed one of the broomsticks. "You'll slow me down."
The Maid smiled. A genuine smile. The night was going so well. "I expect so, Mistress."
"Yes, me too." Gwynevere threw open the balcony door and strolled out. She stepped onto the platform for broomstick disembarking, put the broomstick between her legs, and frowned. "What's wrong with this thing?"
The Maid shoved her over the edge. There was nothing wrong with the broomstick, at least when it came to cleaning; she'd disposed of the flying ones a couple of days ago. She listened for the end of the fall as Gwynevere hit the patch of Venomous Tentacula below.
Then she walked to the lounge.
It wasn't long before the remaining Selwyns arrived, out of breath, Anora dead asleep in Rendon's arms and Susanna's face almost as pale as a real Selwyn's. She marched through the living room in search of a wand that was safely snapped and in the Maid's apron pocket. Rendon was the last through, and laid Anora out on the couch, almost as oblivious as her conscious relatives.
"Worry not, worry not, my sweets," Susanna said, as she grabbed the little box that sat above the fireplace. "The Floo will take us away, don't you worry!" she assured them in a voice like iron; strong, but brittle.
"Of course!" Isolde cried. "The Floo! Rendon, pick up Anora!" She rushed up to join Susanna in front of the fireplace.
"The Ministry of Magic," Susanna declared, as she scooped out a hefty handful of the powder inside the box and tossed it at the fireplace.
The powder ignited as soon as it hit the fire, ignited the particles that lingered in the air, blasting it back to grasp at the two women who were standing before the fireplace.
Rendon screamed as he watched, twisting this way and that in search of something that would help them, help smother the fire, but there was nothing. Nothing but their dying breaths and the ichorous despair that was threatened to overwhelm him.
The Maid took a seat in front of the piano. She flexed her fingers and started to play that tune, Moonlight Sonata. The tune that had been stuck in her head ever since she was a baby.
"Of course, flour is extremely flammable," the Maid said, as the serene song started to fill the air. "Just mix it into the floo powder and something like that is bound to happen. Explosive force. Amazing, isn't it, for a common household item? Mundane...yet powerful." She sighed. "How poetic."
Rendon's eyes were fixed on the bodies of his mother and his wife. "What…?"
"Everyone that has died has been killed by mundane means," the Maid said. "Your father was strangled. Your brother was burned by solvent vapors. Your sister— yes, Gwynevere is dead as well—death by plant, and your wife and mother died to flour." She giggled. "Flour! Oh, forgive me."
Rendon slowly turned to gaze at the woman who sat at the piano, playing his father's favorite song. She was tall, her build hard to make out through the ruffles of her maid's outfit, with skin that was almost ivory, were it not for various blemishes that marred it.
"What...are you doing?" asked Rendon, his eyes fixed wide in surprise. "Why are you talking so?" He frowned. "Why are you playing the piano?"
"Because..." The Maid stopped talking as the song's tempo increased. "My oldest memory is of this song. I was just a baby then, but I remember it, I dream of it every night. Father was sitting at this piano, playing this song, while he talked with Mother about me. They were talking, I remember. About getting rid of me. She's a squib, they said. We should get rid of her, she's a stain on the Selwyn name, a cripple. All manner of horrible things. But...I was still their flesh and blood. My skin was just like yours. They were hesitant. Sometimes the thought that a different decision could have changed my life makes me weep..."
"You..."
"But then a little boy spoke up. I think he was seven, yes, definitely." The Maid's fingers danced across the ebonies and ivories. "He said he didn't want a squibby sister. Take her away, get him a new one. So they did."
Rendon's face was flickering with the memories flooding back to him, but the Maid didn't stop.
"Fortunately, I was saved by Marius Black. A Squib himself, dedicated to saving the squibs of Pureblood families. He didn't want me to take this path, of course, but...I wanted to see. The Selwyns, famous for their ambition, for their cleverness, for their...purity. Was I really one of them? Could I be?" She wasn't looking at him. "And even as I longed for that, I hated you...all of you...for what you were. Pureblood scum. The kind of people who'd spit on me if I ever approached you, I knew that. And...sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"
The Maid laughed. "Am I a Selwyn? Does it matter? What's in a name? It hasn't done anything for me thus far. I planned this night. I planned these deaths. Just me. Not my blood, not my name, nothing, just me. I suppose I'm Selwyn enough to free your father's House Elves, which was me, in case you were wondering. But you know what? I don't particularly care. Selwyns murder children. And if you take away a Selwyn's wand, they are nothing." She glanced at Rendon. "You are nothing. Your daughter is nothing. I am more than any Selwyn. But after tonight, I will be the only one. Is that irony? I can never quite be sure."
"The...only..." Rendon exhaled. "My daughter is a Selwyn. I am a Selwyn. We're alive."
"Is she?" The Maid raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't just water in her glass, you know."
Rendon's eyes bulged. His muscles tightened. He let out a howl of rage as he charged across the room. The Maid rose from her seat, slipped under his arms, and seized him from behind. He could feel her strength as she twisted one arm behind his back and forced his head into the back of the grand piano. His struggling achieved nothing.
"And like all wizards, you're weak. Too weak to save your daughter. I hope you know: She died because of you." The Maid used her free hand to grab the piano lid and slammed it down.
She stepped away from the piano and walked over to the couch. She scooped the sleeping Anora into her arms and ran a hand through her hair.
"Fortunately for you, I'm not a Selwyn."