It took 19 chapters, but this story finally hit 1,000 reviews. A special shout-out to Gruffard for pushing us over that milestone!
And as you can see, there is no disclaimer. The well of relevant plot-holes has officially run dry.
Chapter 20
Truth and Lies
Winter gusts rattled the windows of the Rook, the winds a product of the blizzard that sprang up several days ago and still had not finished blowing itself out. The storm had all but buried the orchards the inhabitants of Ottery St. Catchpole visited on their yearly wassailing, and no one, not even elderly Mr. Kingsford who had blessed the trees every year since he was a boy, was willing to brave the storm's fury.
Luna glanced out at the enormous snowdrifts that had collected in the clearing around the tower. With her father out of the house helping Mr. McNeese take care of his wife through her sudden bout of dragon pox, the house was empty except for her, but that did not account for the feeling of intense loneliness that had beset her for the last week and a half. It had not been too terrible while she was still at Hogwarts, where she had her friends around her to provide her with company and to offer her their consolation at the loss of her maternal family, but even then, it felt as though a small, warm coal in her heart had been snuffed out and would no longer provide the warmth that had seemed so negligible until it was gone. Now, though, when the only people near her age were the Weasleys with whom she had already been estranged even before Jen revealed herself and antagonized them? Those feelings had only gotten worse, and it made the empty house seem cold and forbidding rather than welcoming as it always had before.
The yellow flames consuming the last logs in the fireplace flared with sudden green, and a black-haired witch stepped into the house. "Sorry I'm late," Jen said, unwinding the blue and black scarf wrapped around her neck. The same scarf Luna had made and given her the previous Christmas, in fact. Hanging it and her white dragonscale coat on the back of a chair, the older girl walked over and filled the other half of the sofa. Pulling Luna close, she whispered, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Jen," the blonde sighed, relaxing into the embrace. "I'm sorry my gift was lousy—"
"You don't have anything to apologize for. Everyone loved the butterscotch." Jen chuckled lightly. "Aunt Andi wants your recipe, by the way. She all but threatened to kick me out of the house if I came back without it."
She gave her girlfriend a smile that was truly more of a grimace. That really did not make her feel any better. If there were only one downside to being in a relationship with someone who lived in such a totally different world financially, it very well might be this one. She remembered their exchange from the previous year: while she gave Jen the aforementioned scarf, Jen gave her a memory projector that was undoubtedly worth dozens of galleons. The older girl might be able to blow off such a massive difference in the quality of their gifts, but then, Jen was not the one who had any reason to feel like she was taking advantage of her girlfriend. "It's not the same," Luna eventually muttered. "And I'm sure you brought something to give me since there was nothing waiting underneath the tree, and it's probably going to be incredibly expensive and gorgeous, too."
It was only because she was already watching closely that she saw the pained wince flash across her girlfriend's face. "You… could say that. I know my courting has put a lot of stress on our relationship, and I wanted to make it up to you."
Standing up, the heiress walked over to her coat and pulled out a small cube that grew in her hand to become a decently sized box wrapped in red paper. She set it on the table and looked seriously at the blonde. "I wasn't sure if I should give it to you or not, actually. Not because of the price! It's just…. There's a great deal of history tied to it. But if anyone was going to appreciate it, you would, and," she added with a strained laugh, "it isn't like I can do much else with it."
Now definitely concerned, Luna walked over to the table and slowly began to unwrap it. Underneath the paper was an unremarkable cardboard box, and she glanced over at Jen. What had her so worried? Taking a deep breath, she flipped open the lid and peeked insi—
Dear Merlin!
Grey eyes shot up to meet purple. "Is that…. It can't be. How would you…. Where…. When…. But you…. Jen, what the hell?!"
"That's why I wasn't sure if I should give it to you."
Her hands were shaking so badly that she honestly was afraid she would drop the priceless artifact onto the floor. A gleaming silver tiara festooned with sapphires; hesitantly turning it around, she did not know whether to gasp or cry or scream when she read the words she was afraid would be there. "'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure'. Jennifer Black, where did you find Ravenclaw's lost diadem?!"
"That's actually a fairly long and involved story," her girlfriend said, "and I don't think you really want to know all the details. Suffice it to say that I could not put it back once I had it, and explaining it to the proper authorities would be difficult."
"If you're trying to convince me that you did something incredibly dangerous and almost certainly illegal, you're succeeding," she absolutely did not growl. That was Jen's thing. But if she did, it would certainly be deserved. "Merlin's beard, Jen! This should be given to the school, or the Ministry, or somebody!"
Jen smiled far too innocently. "And you can do that. After all, you and your father have spent a great deal of time out of the country. It would not be too terribly surprising if you came across it on one of your expeditions. The decision of what should be done with it I leave entirely in your hands."
"…We're not going to have crime syndicates or dark wizards coming after us, are we?"
"No, no." She frowned and corrected herself, "Probably not. An artifact this rare could garner you some attention, yes, but if it's only revealed that you had it once it is in someone else's possession, I am all but certain you have nothing to fear."
"That just fills me with confidence."
Dismissing Luna's sarcastic rebuttal with a wave of her hand, Jen asked, "Would you rather that I hadn't given it to you? Maybe kept it in a box somewhere and only pulled it out occasionally to admire in private?"
"I never said that. It's just…." She looked down at the crown again. "It's Ravenclaw's Diadem. Pardon me for being a little shocked." Her eyes flicked back and forth between the brunette and the last relic of one of Hogwarts's founders. "…Are the stories true? Does it really give you the knowledge and wisdom of all the masters and geniuses who came before us?"
"I don't know. The Diadem isn't fond of me," Jen explained to her expression of astonishment. "It didn't reveal any of its secrets when I found it. Maybe you will have better luck. In fact, I am sure of it."
That was not encouraging, but she could not just let the opportunity pass her by. Taking a deep breath and squeezing her eyes shut, Luna lowered the Diadem onto her head. It did not immediately turn her into a mindless husk, so that was a good start. She cracked open one eye and gasped in amazement.
Their dinner table had been a fixture of the Rook for as long as she could remember, and never had she asked her father any questions about it. Now, though? She knew it was handcrafted by Jason Weatherby in 1912, in the months of April and May, and it was purchased in February of 1913 by Calliope Lovegood. It was made of wood taken from three cheery trees that grew a short distance from each other, and the age of those trees was—
"Well?"
Looking away from the table to cut off the unceasing rush of information, she groaned when she instead started learning everything there was to know about the stone walls and the pots and pans and the pattern of the snowfall outside. "It's all a bit much," she admitted as she turned to look at her best friend.
And then she screamed in horror.
"Luna? What's wrong?" Jen demanded, completely oblivious to the crimson tears running down her cheeks. Pitiless pitch replaced the purple of her irises. She took a step forwards, and the motion set the sleeveless gown of black gauze draped around her to swaying, the barbed silver clasps at her left shoulder and down her right side glittering cruelly. The arm reaching out was slathered in blood all the way up to her elbow; ruby streams fell from her fingertips to the floor in a fitful pitter-patter, and where her other hand slid over the surface of the table she left a trail of gore.
"Why are you covered in blood?!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the older girl answered, and a single word followed that statement like a damning echo.
LIE.
Luna shook her head, terror clawing up her throat as she backed away. "Tell me the truth! Damn you, Jen, I deserve to know the truth!"
Ma'at. It was the only explanation. That bloody buggering bitch.
Jen took a deep breath and let it out in a silent sigh. She had wondered which Light Power was responsible for creating the Diadem, and now she knew. It was obvious in hindsight, really. None of the Powers held dominion over knowledge or wisdom or cunning. But truth? And not just truth, but Truth? The past, the future, and the hidden nature of things were all Ma'at's area of expertise.
And she had thought giving Luna the Diadem was an appropriate apology for being involved in the slaughter of practically her entire family, too. It seemed there was more truth in the phrase 'no good deed goes unpunished' than she had once thought.
Still, that was a matter to mull over later. Right now, she had a different crisis to handle. Could she lie like the fae and get around the incredible insight the Diadem undoubtedly granted Luna with carefully crafted statements and evasions, or would it reveal lies of omission as well? If the latter were the case….
She really did not want to end this visit by rewriting her girlfriend's memory. That would cast a definite pall over the evening.
"I can't answer a question unless I know what you mean," she tried. Conditional statements were easy to twist; so long as the consequence was connected to the condition, whether her response answered Luna's question was irrelevant. She did not know what Luna was seeing when looking at her, but she could hazard a guess. That was undoubtedly why Luna was sure she had lied with her denial. "What do you see?"
"Your hands are dripping with blood," Luna accused. "And your dress, and your face…. What is this? Jen, it looks like you just murdered somebody!"
This was all leading down a road Jen truly did not wish to walk down. The longer this conversation went on, the higher the chances that Luna would stumble onto her involvement with the massacre of House Buckley. Thankfully, there was an easy answer. "Of course I've killed people," she said, quirking one eyebrow at the blonde's expression of disbelief. "You knew that already. The Muggles who attacked Hogsmeade last year, and the werewolves, and the two Death Eaters who were with You-Know-Who. I never made any secret about killing them."
That reminder drained the abhorrence out of the other girl. Luna murmured, "I forgot about that. Tracey and I were just Stunning them, the same as everyone else on the Three Broomsticks's roof. And it isn't like you've killed anyone else, right?"
"Are we counting the dragon during the Triwizard Tournament?" she asked in a forcibly light voice. Don't ask, Luna. Don't ask….
"Jen?" And she was going to ask, after all. "Did you kill anybody before them?"
Jen ground her teeth silently. Any deflection was going to be seen for exactly what it was, and lying outright would do her no good. She hated closed-ended questions like this. "Yes."
"How many?" Luna whispered with wide eyes.
"I don't know. I haven't kept a tally or anything." She probably could come up with a definite number if she really thought about it, but that was an honest answer, and it was certainly better than the actual total. "Do you know how old I was the first time?" she said before Luna could ask anything else. "I was seven, and the man I killed? The same bastard who thought raping a little girl was the height of fun. I don't regret that at all. Nor do I regret the gang members who were breaking into homes and murdering people. Nor do I regret the drug dealers or the muggers or the child abusers."
And then there were the occasional innocents who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but looking back, she was actually rather pleased to realize that those individuals formed the minority of her victims. The rest she could all classify as incredibly disproportionate karmic retribution.
Luna took several hasty steps away from her, and she lowered her voice. "I have never pretended to be a good person. Some people would call me a monster, and I cannot disagree. After two and a half years, you should have realized that already."
"But you always say that you aren't like your mother," the blonde retorted, squaring her shoulders as though preparing for Jen to attack her then and there. "Or was that a lie, too?"
That hurt, and if anything, it was proof that keeping her crimes secret was the right decision. Would any of her supposed friends have been willing even to try understanding the reasons behind her murders? Not that they would be able to without also understanding her connection to Death, but just making the attempt? Tracey might, she decided; the Slytherin had understood why she killed the previous Lord Davis, the girl's own grandfather, after all, even if Tracey had had to force herself to admit that she was happier and safer with him in the ground.
"My mother kills for pleasure. Torture and murder give her some sick enjoyment. That is her sole motivation. I don't enjoy killing." She paused to let that statement sink in and so Luna could realize she was being completely honest. Death was a necessity if she wished to earn the Baron's favor, but personally, she felt nothing afterwards. No pleasure, but similarly no guilt. That detail Luna did not need to know. "Every time I killed, it was for a reason. Each death served a purpose. I do not kill frivolously or wantonly."
Jen turned and walked to the window, carefully working over her concluding statement. Being caught in a lie now due to careless phrasing would destroy the last of whatever trust she had managed to salvage. Not 'needed'. 'Had'? Not that, either, but closer. Ah, that was it. "If I never had cause to kill another person, I would be perfectly content avoiding it for the rest of my life. But after fending off You-Know-Who? With my mother, who is legitimately insane and cares far less about me than she does her devotion to the Dark Lord? We both know that isn't an option. Not in the near future, anyway.
"I expect you no do not want me here right now," she said, moving back to the chair where she had laid her coat and scarf and picking them up. "So I'll go. If you no longer wish for us to continue our relationship, I… I won't like it," she admitted, "but I will understand. And I do ask that you keep what I have told you to yourself. You don't need to worry that I'm going to come after you to make sure you stay quiet or anything, but…." The smile she gave the blonde was more of a grimace. "But maybe in honor of the friendship we had?"
Luna worried her bottom lip for a long moment. Reaching up to remove the Diadem from her brow, her fingers stopped as soon they brushed the metal. "You said the Diadem isn't fond of you. What did you mean?"
"It burned me when I picked it up, just like the pendant you have. They share some quality that makes it painful for me to touch them." Jen sincerely hoped Luna left it at that. If this line of inquiry were pushed any further, she might not have any choice but to mess with Luna's mind, and right now, she could accept Luna knowing this. So long as the blonde did not reveal anything to anyone else, she could adjust; even if it spelled the end of their relationship, so long as it could be explained away without requiring a confession to the DMLE, she could live with it. And if Luna did inform the DMLE….
Well, she would still have options even then, distasteful though most of them were. Hopefully she was just being paranoid.
"I… I won't tell anyone," Luna agreed, finally taking off the Treasure. "That's all I can promise right now. I… I need time."
"I know. Goodbye."
The emerald fires wrapped around her, and she followed the whirling path from Luna's home to her own. First her kids at Candyland forgot about her, and now she was on the outs with her girlfriend with the risk of being investigated for multiple murders, all because she was reluctant to steal back the Diadem and rewrite Luna's memory. What other unpleasant surprises did this day have planned for her? She stepped out and dumped her overwear on a chair, unwilling to meet the curious glance Sirius sent her from across the room. "Is everything okay?" he asked when the silence dragged on too long.
"Honestly?" she asked with a watery laugh at the irony. "I don't know. I may be getting dumped by New Year's. Or I may not. I just don't know."
He walked over and pulled her to his chest, and her shoulders shook with the tears she refused to shed.
The door closed with a heavy thump behind him, and Draco clenched his fists tight. It was the only thing keeping him from barging back into his father's office, the punishment he was sure to receive for that egregious show of disrespect be damned.
Was his father blind or just stupid?! The way they had been doing things was not working, and that was a sign that something different needed to be considered, not that they should keep beating their heads against the same wall again and again! That was the Gryffindor course of action. Slytherins were supposed to watch, wait, and adapt, but no, that clearly was not good enough for Lucius Malfoy, not at all. All his father was willing to see was the price of his plan, not the chances for success!
Was it expensive? Yes, but better to spend money now and avoid suspicion entirely than to wait to spend it until everyone was sure of their guilt.
He stormed through the halls, fuming over all the difficulties the new limits on his access to the family finances would create. He was close, too; that was the worst part. It was just like an investment: he sank a lot of gold into the plan at the beginning, then he added a little more along the way for upkeep, and finally he would collect the dividends. But he still needed that slow trickle of funds to make sure it got to that final stage!
"Oh, is the wittle dwagon upset?" came a sickening coo from behind him. "Is he gonna cwy?"
Don't yell at the sadistic madwoman. She'll just hurt you again. Say nothing and walk away. "Now really isn't a good time, Aunt Bellatrix."
Fabric swished, the skirt of a dress moving closer. "It isn't?" his crazy aunt asked with a faint laugh. "Did daddy dearest take away your allowance? Poor, poor Drakie-poo."
"It isn't the money!" he snapped, almost instantly regretting the sudden flash of temper. So much for not yelling at her. "It's that he refuses to even consider trying something different! He's so set on continuing on the same path that he won't look at any other options!"
He jumped when he felt a breath blow against the back of his ear. When had she gotten that close?! "What's this?" The black-haired witch whirled him around, two fingers pinching his left cheek hard and pulling his head down until they were nose to nose and staring at each other. He had no idea what she was looking for, but if her wand hand was busy, it meant she was not cursing him. Though that, he knew, could change in an instant. "Is the little lord opening his eyes? Does he see his worthless father cowering now that he no longer has anyone protecting him? Tell me, my precious nephew; what childish plot has hatched inside that head of yours that you are so proud of?"
This time he did keep his indignation hidden, and he explained what he had accomplished and what still needed to be done. As he spoke, his words tumbled out faster and faster, dread bubbling up at the witch's unchanging, stony expression.
When he finally ran out of things to say, she pulled away and looked at him for a long, terrifying moment. A sound escaped her then, breathy and light. The corners of her mouth twitched. She huffed, the sound like…. No.
Bubbling, almost giddy, laughter filled the hall. Not a cackle or a mocking snicker; actual laughter. It was the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his life. "Your mother is a traitor and a freak, but she named you well," his aunt declared with a wide smile. "Oh, that is perfect. And you are sure you can make this happen?"
"I've already started. I just need—"
"More gold. Yes, yes, I know." She eagerly rubbed her palms together. "Can you last a little longer with what you already have? Then have patience. I will get you all you need and more. In return, you will give me a role in the final act. I want to see her face when the curtains close."
"That," he said, a smile of his own growing on his face, "I think I can manage."
Blood magic, Jen reflected as she painted elaborate symbols on the table around her, was an interesting branch of the Dark Arts. It had a number of useful applications, most of which fell into the category of manipulating either the mind or the body. Oaths that truly could not be broken, revitalizing dead tissue, changing somebody's genetic structure; all highly useful skills to have from time to time. But what she was about to do? This might be the strangest thing she had ever heard of anyone using it for.
It was not Muggleborns the most rabid of the blood purists had to worry about stealing their magical gifts. It was succubi, goblins, and blood mages.
The runes complete, she hopped off the top of the table and looked into a white plastic bowl filled with water and a chunk of pink muscle. She had a number of means available to her with which to persuade people to do things, but in just the last month she had run into two situations where those methods would not have worked. She could not threaten or bribe or seduce Priest into telling Menagerie to cease her senseless slaughter of the Buckleys, nor could she convince Luna not to pry into her history as a serial killer. She needed another option, something she could use when her other skills were sure to fail. She needed some way to give herself the kind of charisma few humans possessed.
"That's where you come in," she murmured, pulling the tongue out of the bowl and hefting it in her hand. The Lilin were best known for luring people into their beds so they might feed on their partners' life forces, and she had replicated the natural aura they normally used for that, but she had seen Stella Zabini speak in the Wizengamot and convince the wizards and – more importantly – the witches there into acceding to her demands for the increased protection of this species and that group. The fact that she could sway presumably heterosexual witches was important, for much like the Allure of the Veela, the Lilin's aura was only effective on those individuals who were sexually attracted to them. Further research had instead led her to discover a much less commonly discussed power that the succubus was using: an unnatural ability to deflect suspicion from themselves and convince people, generally their partners' spouses, of their innocence in beginning the affair. It was a strategy she herself could use in case, say, the DMLE came to call in regard to certain allegations made against her. All she needed was, to use the colloquial phrase, a silver tongue.
When she had pillaged Blaise Zabini's body after murdering him, she had not only taken his heartblood and his skull. She had taken his entire head to render down later, and though she had not known what good it would be at the time, she had shoved a number of his organs, tongue included, into jars of preservative in case she ever needed them for anything. Now she knew what it could be used for.
Conjuring a scalpel, she carefully made a longitudinal slice down the middle of the top of Zabini's tongue, then added four horizontal lines at equal distances along the first cut. The edad rune of the Ogham script functioned to enhance its bearer's ability to communicate, and that character would serve as the interface so the blood magic could catch hold. She just needed to place one on herself. The girl she saw in the mirror before her did not look enthusiastic about that in the slightest. Sticking out her tongue, she gripped the tip between the teeth of the pliers that appeared in her hand and made the first incision.
"Ah! Buggah." This was not going to work. Healing the crooked line her reflexive withdrawal from pain had caused, she looked down at the knife, and then at the pliers. She reformed the head of the tool with a wince. Oh Baron, this was going to hurt.
Again she stuck out her tongue, and though she whined when the new hooks pierced all the way through the muscle, her tongue could not slip out of her grasp now. She pulled it to its full length and slowly made the five cuts, taking her time to let the pained shuddering fade as much as it would. Her skin was used to being cut; for her tongue, it was her first time, and she was being anything but gentle.
She gasped when she could finally throw down the hooked pliers, and she grabbed the incubus's tongue and dashed back to the table. The sooner she finished this, the better. Laying his tongue on top of hers, tip to tip and rune to rune, she pushed her power through the runes she had drawn with the heartblood Borgin sold her the previous year. The symbols lifted off the wood, crimson liquid transforming into ribbons of dull light, and then they straightened out and joined into one long strip that wrapped around her throat. Steeling herself, she pulled her tongue back into her mouth and swallowed.
Ice exploded in her mouth, choking her as she tried to hack it out, and then it was gone. The taste of blood still filled her mouth, but with her sonar she could easily tell that it was all coming from the small hole she had made, and that was easily repaired. Of the lines, there was no sign.
Stepping down again, she checked her tongue in the mirror. The five incisions were all scarred over, looking like they were years old rather than seconds, and…. She tilted her head and shifted her tongue in the light from the lamp. Sure enough, there was just a bit of a shine there, almost as if she had sprinkled a tiny bit of silver flake into the cuts.
"Aaaaaaah," she vocalized, listening for any change in the note. "Maybe it needs words?" No, she still could not hear a difference. On the one hand, that was good; if nobody knew she had done anything, they would not be suspicious of the fact that she had become more persuasive overnight. On the other hand, she had no idea if the pseudo-ritual had worked beyond giving her some fancy scars.
She sighed and flipped off the lamp. She would just have to experiment with it.
Did you think Ravenclaw's Diadem was just going to sit in that box for the rest of the series? Absolutely not. I had to fire that Chekov's gun.
Remember, kids. Honesty and trust will make your relationship stronger… unless you're a sociopathic serial killer. Then you might want to keep lying.
Silently Watches out.
