The Eye Of The Gazer
Chapter 24
Gabrielle jumped up nervously from her perch on the edge of the ottoman as Lucius apparated into Narcissa's bedroom. She had obviously been waiting for some time. The living Narcissa had chosen to furnish her boudoir with a deep pile carpet, and Gabrielle had trodden and retrodden a path up and down the room that now remained as an impression in her wake.
"Is she asleep? Did she take ze potion willingly?" asked the young French witch anxiously, unconsciously tossing back her long white-blonde hair.
Lucius nodded, visibly relieved. "Yes. I hoped she would not ask for Miss Currer, and she did not. She was pleased for me to put her to bed and read her a story: I know she likes me to do that when she stays here. In fact, she complained to me tonight that I had not done it enough this time, and now I must do it every night until she goes back home." Lucius smiled ruefully as he remembered the trust in his daughter's large brown eyes.
"I could not risk giving her the unadulterated potion, for it is such a distinctive lilac colour that I feared the Dark Lord would recognise it; it is very probable that he has come across it at some time in the past. I asked Snape to disguise the natural taste of the potion, for I'm sure that the wormwood must make it very bitter. He said the result should taste of heather honey, so I used it to sweeten the cocoa Bryony sometimes drinks before she sleeps. Snape must have done this extra task very well, because Bryony drank it all, and she only noticed the bitterness afterwards when it was too late. She had just begun to pull a face when she fell asleep.
"I also gave the cat a sleeping draught, so it will not disturb us."
"And 'ow does she look? Is it as ze books say – a Living Des?"
"Yes, the books are right: the potion is well named as the Draught of Living Death. Bryony looks like a corpse. She is not breathing; her skin has lost its colour. I think even a Healer would believe she is truly dead."
"But is 'E Oo Must Not Be Named also fooled? I wonder."
Lucius shook his head. "We cannot know for certain, we can only hope. But remember to say nothing of the potion in his presence. Come, Gabrielle, we must not waste any time. You have the Knife, I trust?"
The pair apparated into Bryony's Malfoy Manor bedroom. Gabrielle went over to the bed, and looked down at the child: she did indeed seem bereft of life, her pale face developing dark hollows under her closed eyes. Gabrielle touched her hand: it was still warm, for she had only just fallen under the spell of the potentially lethal potion, brewed with infinite care by Severus Snape.
He had not asked any questions, but had looked long and hard at his old friend Lucius Malfoy when he had made his request, saying, "Severus, you are the only potion maker I would trust to make this for me. I do not have enough faith in my own skill, and it is essential that there should be no mistakes with this draught."
"And," Snape had asked smoothly, with a mere flick of his eyebrows as his dark eyes bored into Lucius, "Do you require the antidote also?" Lucius now ran his hands over his pocket to reassure himself that he had that other precious phial safely on his person. He said to Gabrielle, "You check under her pillow, and I will look in her treasure box again."
For the pair had entered the same room two days earlier, firstly ensuring that Bryony was safely ensconced with Miss Currer in their temporary schoolroom. Lucius had decided to act as soon as possible, for it would be much easier to destroy the amulet here at the Manor than to wait until Bryony was once again living at Gildenford Hall. But when he strode over to the dressing table and opened Bryony's Chinese lacquer treasure box, he had discovered that the pendant was nowhere to be found. In vain, Lucius had turned over the contents of the box, but he had seen he was wasting his time.
"It is not here; she must have decided to keep it about her person since I took it before," he had said to Gabrielle, who was waiting with her hand on the Subtle Knife in her pocket. In case he was wrong, Lucius had held out his wand and said firmly, "Accio Gryffindor's amulet," but to no avail: nothing had approached him from any other hiding place in the room, or from elsewhere in the Manor when he opened the bedroom door. If Bryony had kept the pendant with her, Voldemort possessed strong enough magic to hold it there against a summoning spell..
So this evening Lucius was not surprised when he found the amulet was still not in Bryony's treasure box. He turned to Gabrielle, to see her holding out her hand triumphantly, with the Thor's Hammer pendant lying on her palm. " 'Ere it is, Monsieur, it was under 'er pillow as we guessed."
"Give it to me while you take out the Knife." Lucius held out his hand for the amulet, and looked about him for a place to carry out the deed. He took a cushion from the armchair by the bed, placed it on the floor, and put the pendant on top of it. He stood back and waited as Gabrielle carefully, for the second time in her life, undid the buckles securing the Subtle Knife to its dragon skin sheath. She slid out the Knife, keeping her gaze fixed upon it, using both her eyes and the feel of the two contrasting wire Veela figures to identify the steel edge: the blade that would cut through any material.
Gabrielle approached Godric Gryffindor's pendant, and stood for a moment looking down at it, her face almost as white as her hair. She closed her eyes, as if gathering strength from an unseen source. Then she knelt, holding the handle of the Knife firmly in both hands, and brought the steel blade down slowly onto the bronze amulet. The steel edge of the Subtle Knife sliced through the ancient metal as though it were merely sinking through butter. The pendant broke instantly into three pieces as the blade passed into the cushion. Gabrielle halted her downstroke in time to prevent herself from cutting into the carpet, and sat back on her heels in slight surprise; for she had expected something dramatic to happen following the severing of the amulet.
For a while indeed it seemed that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, save the fact that the Knife had so easily cut the bronze. Then, slowly, the pendant began to bleed what looked like golden mercury, forming flat globules that gathered others to them. The molten metal then began to stream over the edge of the cushion to the floor in rivulets, and a moaning sound came from the site of the cut, slowly increasing in volume until it became a muffled howl of anguish. The cool pools of melted bronze then gradually evaporated, until all that remained of Godric Gryffindor's precious amulet were the three shards of the Thor's Hammer on the cushion, seemingly unaffected by the strange metallic bleeding.
Gabrielle and Lucius looked at each other, and then out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw a movement, and turned towards the bed.
Bryony was sitting up, her eyes open and unfocused. Her face still resembled a death mask, but her mouth was open, and from it emerged a wisp of a shadow, so insubstantial that the two watchers were unsure whether they had imagined it; until they heard it speak with the unmistakable high, cruel voice of Lord Voldemort. Lucius knew that voice well, but Gabrielle, who had never before encountered the Dark Lord in person, shivered involuntarily at the concentrated evil in its tone:
"Traitor! Malfoy is untrustworthy, always working for himself and not for his Lord. How many times have you betrayed me now, Lucius, my slippery friend?" The voice was not as it had once been, powerful and commanding; now it was barely audible.
Lucius ignored the words and turned to Gabrielle. "Do you know what to do?" he asked her in a low voice.
"No," she replied, "I must ask for guidance like before. I 'ope ze Veela will guide me again." She closed her eyes once more, and her lips moved, but Lucius could hear no words. Gabrielle stood motionless with the Knife held out before her. Lucius saw that she now seemed to be in a trance, just as before when she had saved Bryony.
As Gabrielle had hoped, the Veela guide appeared, floating above her on gossamer wings. "The Secret Keeper is in danger," Gabrielle told her wordlessly as the Veela descended. "She has been possessed by a great malevolence, who once reserved his hatred for Muggles and their kin, but now hates all who dare to stand in his way, even pure blood wizards. Bryony's father has challenged him, and he would hurt the Secret Keeper for pure revenge. This evil creature should be dead. Indeed he has died more than once, but he is strong in the Dark Arts, and created six horcruxes to defy the laws of the World Beyond, and prolong his existence. We have lately discovered the sixth and last of these; and this I have just destroyed with the Subtle Knife."
"We must bring his shade back into the World Beyond," said the Veela. "He has committed a great blasphemy by challenging the power of the World of the Dead. The Great Measurer will weigh his heart, and will surely find it heavier than the Feather of Maat: then he will be consumed by Ammut, as befits such an evil one.
"But first you must find a way to persuade him to return to the World of the Dead."
"'E 'as no refuge," said Gabrielle firmly, speaking out loud. "Ze last 'orcrux 'as been destroyed, and 'e can no longer 'ide in ze child, for she is dead. Look, see 'ow still and pale she is. She is a Malfoy, so she should be buried in ze family tomb, but 'er fazer 'as decided to burn 'er body to be sure zat she goes to ze World Beyond totally pure and free from evil."
She began to walk towards the shadow that was Voldemort, saying, " 'E is wisout any 'iding place in zis World of ze Living, for 'ere is no body ready to accept 'im."
Gabrielle stood before the evil apparition, tall, pale and willowy, a look of disdain on her beautiful face. She raised the Subtle Knife high above her head, and spoke in a voice and language that were not her own. As one accustomed to command, she addressed Voldemort unfalteringly in the ancient wizard tongue, and although Lucius did not know the archaic language, by some means he understood perfectly what she said:
"Depart from this world, last vestige of Lord Voldemort; cause of strife amongst wizards; killer of both wizards and Muggles; splitter of thy very soul; whose continued existence is an abomination and effrontery to both the World of the Living and the World Beyond. Approach the Great Measurer if thou darest, for surely thine evil heart will weigh more than the Feather of Maat, and thus wilt thou deservedly be consumed by Ammut."
Gabrielle suddenly twisted the Subtle Knife in her hand, and cut sharply across before her with the silver edge. "Depart, I say," she said in the same voice of authority. "I have opened the way for thee. Thy time here is finally at an end. Thou must obey. Go!"
She pointed to the window she had just cut into the World Beyond, using the hand that held the Knife. The infinitesimally fine edges glittered in the candlelight, and the flat of the lethal blade was clouded with shifting smoky hues.
The shadowy creature hovering near Bryony gave a howl of rage and lunged towards Lucius, who, not expecting this attack, lost his footing and stumbled against the bedpost. But it was a last act of rebellion, for the shadow was now drawn helplessly towards the window between the worlds, where it distorted into a flat ribbon of ectoplasm and was forced through into the World Beyond.
There Gabrielle saw them waiting; the gods themselves: Anubis, Thoth, Maat; and beside them the demon Ammut. This would be Voldemort's final judgement. Anubis, the jackal-headed Guardian of the Underworld, would lead Voldemort to the Scales of Maat, the goddess of Truth and Justice. Gabrielle saw that Voldemort had now transformed into the Egyptian snake monster of perpetual darkness and evil; he who tried daily to prevent Ra the sun from rising once more. There was no doubt in Gabrielle's mind that his black heart would be found heavier than the Feather of Maat, and once this judgement was recorded by Thoth, Arbiter of Justice, Voldemort's soul would deservedly be torn apart and devoured by the crocodile-headed Ammut.
She was about to turn away, but then realised that she would be the sole witness from the World of the Living. She must watch, in order to be certain of Voldemort's demise.
So Gabrielle stood, expressionless, and it was as she knew it would be. She was sickened by the sight and sounds of Voldemort's end, but she bore it in order to complete her assigned task.
Beside her, Lucius saw Gabrielle order the Dark Lord to his doom, using the powerful words of the ancient tongue. He saw the Knife in her hand, the blade mysterious in its swirling depths. He saw what remained of Voldemort pass through the window into the World Beyond. Then he saw Gabrielle standing like an ethereal statue, as if watching something he could not see; on her face was an expression of mild distaste. He worried that she would forget she held the Knife, for her concentration was elsewhere. Lucius watched her carefully, ready to catch the Knife or Gabrielle herself. When she swayed, he caught her, and laid her on the floor, carefully removing the Subtle Knife from her grasp: this he sheathed safely and placed in his own pocket. Then he put a cushion under her pale hair, and sat in the armchair, patiently waiting.
Lucius knew in his heart that this remarkable woman was safe, but he needed certain confirmation that all was well so that he could carry out his final task: the administration of the antidote to his daughter, who lay still as death, her bloodless skin now cold to the touch.
The antidote: Lucius suddenly realised with a shock that when he had stumbled he had heard a crunching noise. His heart in his mouth, he felt gingerly in his pocket, but instead the of the phial he had placed there, he found sharp shards of glass on which he cut his fingers in spit of his careful movements, and the phial's precious contents were soaking into his black robes.
Lucius blanched, and he felt as if his heart had been torn from his body. He let out an inhuman cry that, in contrast to the feeble noise made so recently by his late Lord, echoed around the room. His child, his precious, darling daughter, lay once more in a coma on the very edge of existence; and this time it was he that had done this to her.
Thus it was that Jane found them, scurrying as fast as she could along the corridor from her guest room, where she had been taking a leisurely bath before her fire while Lucius put Bryony to bed. She had heard that wail of despair, and had been drawn irresistibly to its source, scarcely taking taking time to cover her nakedness, so anxious was she to discover its cause. In her hastily donned dressing gown, wet hair falling like a damp curtain over her shoulders, Jane rushed into Bryony's bedroom, and stopped in horror at the sight that greeted her: Lucius' head was sunk in his hands, his shoulders shaking with grief. Jane could hardly believe her eyes and ears, for great sobs came from this man she had always thought of as strong and self-controlled. Beside him on the floor lay Gabrielle Delacour, pale and beautiful, seemingly unconscious, but evidently alive.
Jane's eyes travelled to the bed, and she gasped in horror. She moved closer, and looked down on her small charge, hoping against hope that her first impression had been mistaken; but it was not. Bryony Chang lay there, dead. Jane touched her bloodless face and hands, and she was already cold. With increasing dread, she tried in vain to find a pulse in the child's neck and in her tiny wrist; she held a hand mirror before Bryony's face, but it did not mist over.
Jane walked over to Lucius, knelt in front of his chair, and took his bloody hands in hers. She tried to speak, but firstly her mouth was too dry, and then her voice shook so that she could hardly form the words. Finally, she managed, "Lucius, I'm here. It's Jane. Lucius, I'll stay with you as long as you need me. Lucius, please look at me. Please, tell me, what happened here?"
Lucius looked up, his face streaked with tears and blood from his hand. He was too choked to speak. Jane wrapped her arms about his torso, and hugged him as tightly as she could, tears starting in her own eyes and falling unchecked down her flushed cheeks.