Chapter Two: Her Story
Dumbledore was not a wizard who could be easily surprised, yet he had to admit he was taken aback by her pronouncement, particularly coupled with the burning desperation in her eyes. The poor girl could barely speak or keep herself from shaking, but Dumbledore's compassion was tempered by a healthy wariness.
"Do continue, Miss Mayhem. Tell me what brings you here, with this most intriguing request," was all he said.
"It's true, I do come from an old and pure-blooded wizarding family. What Lucius neglected to mention is that we could only be considered "respectable" among the darkest of circles. From the moment I could listen, I was taught to hate. From the moment I could speak, I was trained in the dark arts."
"Shortly after he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle met and befriended my parents, who were a young couple at the time, ambitious to climb up the ladder of wizarding elites. The three of them became the best of friends, as they plotted and murdered their way into positions of leadership. My father, in particular, was a crucial part of Lor-- I mean, Voldemort's rise to power, until the whole wizarding world nearly succumbed to his reign of terror. During that time I lived with my family at Voldemort's compound and . . . and . . . I was . . . "
Addy's voice failed her, her mind flooding with gruesome memories. Her skin was cold and clammy and it had become increasingly difficult to draw a proper breath. For the thousandth time she prayed to the Gods to let her fall into a deep swoon from which there was no recovery - - just a final relief from the guilt that weighed so heavily it threatened to crush her.
But she didn't faint. Instead, she felt a resurgence of will, as Dumbledore's voice cut through the screaming ghosts echoing through her head and snapped her back to the present moment: "You were a Death Eater, Miss Mayhem."
"Yes," she replied, forcing herself to look him in the eye. With a short, mirthless laugh, she continued, "I was one of the best. They said I was destined for 'greatness.'" This last word was uttered with so much bitterness, it burned Albus' ears to hear it.
"We lived like royalty, basking in the power and prestige of Voldemort's innermost circle. And then, Voldemort miscalculated. He forgot how powerful a mother's love could be, or perhaps he never knew. He underestimated it and was nearly defeated by a baby . . . a tiny baby. We called it the Falling Day, and my family and I scurried away like all the other rats, to the far corners of the earth."
"We fled first to Romania, but were nearly caught by Aurors. We were on the run for several months, until we finally escaped to India, where we lived as Muggles in the countryside for the next 10 years. I think my father was, by that time, quite insane, yet if he hadn't been, living with poverty stricken Muggles would have surely pushed him over the edge."
As her story unfolded, Adelaide slipped into a trance-like state, staring into the space before her as she spoke. She appeared to be watching her life go by in her own private screening, each memory reflected in her expression. As she spoke of her father's insanity, a faint suggestion of a rueful smile crept over her lips, before fading.
"Father became obsessed with figuring out what had happened in the aftermath of Falling Day, chasing after any news he could find of Voldemort and the other surviving Death Eaters. He tried desperately to piece together the shards of stories he was able to uncover, and to figure out who was on top . . . who was leading the resurrection of evil, and how. Your Aurors were good. They made it nearly impossible to get or send information. Nearly."
"But my mother and I were busy adapting to Muggle life. Too afraid to practice magic, lest we be discovered by Aurors, we learned to grow food on our tiny plot of land, raise animals, cook and make our own clothes. There was an old woman in our village who was a Healer, and she agreed to give me lessons in exchange for food. I learned all about medicinal plants and practices from her - - 'Muggle Magic,' I called it. Over the years I became as good at healing as I had been at the dark arts . . . maybe even better. The difference was that my new practice gave me things I'd never had: joy . . . pride . . . respect for life . . . an understanding of universal connections."
"After a few years, I actually was able to enjoy stretches of hours, sometimes nearly a whole day, where I simply forgot about being a Death Eater. Forgot about fear, torture, death, deception, hunger, ambition and all the things that still drove my father. Slowly, over the years, he put together the news that Voldemort had survived, and although weak, was plotting his return to power, aided by a few key Death Eaters who had remained loyal. He couldn't bear the thought of being replaced. So one day, my mother and I woke up, and he was gone. His note said he could no longer hide like a coward in the wilds of India when his master needed him. He would return for us when the time was right.
"With my father gone and my healing skills growing each day, the next few years were the happiest I've ever known. Then one morning, about two years ago, my mother and I looked up from the garden to see my father walking down the road, a mad and wicked grin on his face and in his eyes. By evening, we had abandoned our hut, our garden, and my teacher, and without a trace left behind, we were back in Voldemort's lair, kissing his hideous hands and feet and telling him how glorious it was that he'd regained his strength. "
"The thing is, I didn't want to be a Death Eater any more. When I was younger, before Falling Day, I had looked on Voldemort as a sort of Uncle, and a King and Master as well. I would do anything to please him and my father, and they fawned over me so, telling me what an excellent dark wizard I was, and how I had the potential to become a great legend among Death Eaters. It had been intoxicating, when I was young."
"But now, I was a Healer, a good one. I didn't want any part of death and destruction. I'd have been happy to have my old hut and my old teacher back. When I looked at my father, all I could see was a madman. When I looked at Voldemort, all I could see was a monster."
I tried to run away, but each time I was captured and tortured, until I was basically a prisoner at Voldemort's compound. I was forced to use both my curative skills and my knowledge of dark magic to heal other Death Eaters who had been harmed in the recent violent outbursts and attacks. Any time I had a case that was beyond repair, I suffered Crucio, but it was worth it, honestly, just to know that one less Death Eater would be going out to wreak havoc another day.
"I was weak, I was a coward. I should have resisted, should have killed every one of my "patients" until Crucio had pushed me over into madness. But my father and Voldemort were too smart for that. My unique combination of skills was too valuable, and I think it's even possible that they had designs on making me Voldemort's Queen once his ascent to absolute power was complete. So they kept me sane and safe and locked away, while my self- loathing grew every day. I even tried to kill myself but it . . . it . . . it didn't work."
At this last statement, Dumbledore saw a very dark shadow cloud her eyes. Her left arm twitched instinctively, looking as though it might grasp at her heart, before sinking back into her lap. The thought of being Voldemort's queen always turned Addy's stomach, and she had to swallow hard before continuing.
"Then one day, I overheard Lucius Malfoy speaking with Voldemort - - something about the activities going on here at Hogwarts. Over the years I had figured out that Harry Potter was here, and Voldemort wanted his revenge, but that you were protecting the boy. Not only that, but in the past year, I've pieced together that there might be some kind of resistance group that seems to have its center here at Hogwarts. I also know there's another Death Eater involved with the school - - it could be Lucius, but perhaps there is another as well . . . it's unclear."
At this, Dumbledore chose to remain silent. There would be plenty of time for introductions and explanations, IF he decided to believe her. He regarded this tiny woman who was bearing her soul from across his desk. Her left hand clutched the arm of the chair with white knuckles. Her green eyes were on fire.
Adelaide continued, her fevered voice rising, "I formulated my plan, and gave the appearance of taking a keener interest in the plotting of Death Eater attacks and field movements, so that I could learn more about Voldemort's strategy. I also became a lot better at eavesdropping. And I learned a lot from the dying words of witches and wizards under my care, who had switched loyalties so many times, they could no longer remember which side they were on. That information I kept to myself, which puts me more in the know about some things than Voldemort himself. That's how I was able to learn about some of his future plans - - information that you and your group can surely use!" She looked up at Dumbledore plaintively.
"I convinced Voldemort to use Lucius to get me into Hogwarts. Here, I told him, I could keep tabs on you and the actions of your resistance fighters, reporting crucial information back to the compound. Slowly but surely he agreed to let me do it. And so you saw that I had to suffer a trip here with Lucius Malfoy, all the while pretending to be utterly charmed by him.
Suddenly, she looked him square in the eye. Here voice was steady, yet barely contained. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I will NOT go back into service for that beast. I will NOT so much as bandage the little toe of another Death Eater. I WILL NOT BE A PARTY TO EVIL ANY LONGER!"
With that, the fire left her, and she slumped in her chair. "You've listened to my whole story, and for that I'm grateful. It is an unexpected relief just to tell it. I have just one more favor I must ask of you." Dumbledore raised a furry eyebrow at her.
"I know what I am, what I've done. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you didn't believe that I truly want to help you and serve your side of this battle. In light of my past, I probably warrant getting sent back to Voldemort's dungeons, to meet whatever fate my failure would bring me there."
I deserve neither your trust, nor your mercy, but I'm afraid I must ask you for one or the other. You see, you are my only hope. If you don't believe me.if you can't find a way to trust me.I must ask you to kill me. I will not go back to Voldemort, and as we both know, there is no way to hide from him, especially not now that he has regained so much power. His fingers stretch wide . . . perhaps wider than you suspect. I have heard that you are wise and merciful, so if you do not believe my story and accept me, please show me the mercy of arranging for my death."
Dumbledore was not a wizard who could be easily surprised, yet he had to admit he was taken aback by her pronouncement, particularly coupled with the burning desperation in her eyes. The poor girl could barely speak or keep herself from shaking, but Dumbledore's compassion was tempered by a healthy wariness.
"Do continue, Miss Mayhem. Tell me what brings you here, with this most intriguing request," was all he said.
"It's true, I do come from an old and pure-blooded wizarding family. What Lucius neglected to mention is that we could only be considered "respectable" among the darkest of circles. From the moment I could listen, I was taught to hate. From the moment I could speak, I was trained in the dark arts."
"Shortly after he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle met and befriended my parents, who were a young couple at the time, ambitious to climb up the ladder of wizarding elites. The three of them became the best of friends, as they plotted and murdered their way into positions of leadership. My father, in particular, was a crucial part of Lor-- I mean, Voldemort's rise to power, until the whole wizarding world nearly succumbed to his reign of terror. During that time I lived with my family at Voldemort's compound and . . . and . . . I was . . . "
Addy's voice failed her, her mind flooding with gruesome memories. Her skin was cold and clammy and it had become increasingly difficult to draw a proper breath. For the thousandth time she prayed to the Gods to let her fall into a deep swoon from which there was no recovery - - just a final relief from the guilt that weighed so heavily it threatened to crush her.
But she didn't faint. Instead, she felt a resurgence of will, as Dumbledore's voice cut through the screaming ghosts echoing through her head and snapped her back to the present moment: "You were a Death Eater, Miss Mayhem."
"Yes," she replied, forcing herself to look him in the eye. With a short, mirthless laugh, she continued, "I was one of the best. They said I was destined for 'greatness.'" This last word was uttered with so much bitterness, it burned Albus' ears to hear it.
"We lived like royalty, basking in the power and prestige of Voldemort's innermost circle. And then, Voldemort miscalculated. He forgot how powerful a mother's love could be, or perhaps he never knew. He underestimated it and was nearly defeated by a baby . . . a tiny baby. We called it the Falling Day, and my family and I scurried away like all the other rats, to the far corners of the earth."
"We fled first to Romania, but were nearly caught by Aurors. We were on the run for several months, until we finally escaped to India, where we lived as Muggles in the countryside for the next 10 years. I think my father was, by that time, quite insane, yet if he hadn't been, living with poverty stricken Muggles would have surely pushed him over the edge."
As her story unfolded, Adelaide slipped into a trance-like state, staring into the space before her as she spoke. She appeared to be watching her life go by in her own private screening, each memory reflected in her expression. As she spoke of her father's insanity, a faint suggestion of a rueful smile crept over her lips, before fading.
"Father became obsessed with figuring out what had happened in the aftermath of Falling Day, chasing after any news he could find of Voldemort and the other surviving Death Eaters. He tried desperately to piece together the shards of stories he was able to uncover, and to figure out who was on top . . . who was leading the resurrection of evil, and how. Your Aurors were good. They made it nearly impossible to get or send information. Nearly."
"But my mother and I were busy adapting to Muggle life. Too afraid to practice magic, lest we be discovered by Aurors, we learned to grow food on our tiny plot of land, raise animals, cook and make our own clothes. There was an old woman in our village who was a Healer, and she agreed to give me lessons in exchange for food. I learned all about medicinal plants and practices from her - - 'Muggle Magic,' I called it. Over the years I became as good at healing as I had been at the dark arts . . . maybe even better. The difference was that my new practice gave me things I'd never had: joy . . . pride . . . respect for life . . . an understanding of universal connections."
"After a few years, I actually was able to enjoy stretches of hours, sometimes nearly a whole day, where I simply forgot about being a Death Eater. Forgot about fear, torture, death, deception, hunger, ambition and all the things that still drove my father. Slowly, over the years, he put together the news that Voldemort had survived, and although weak, was plotting his return to power, aided by a few key Death Eaters who had remained loyal. He couldn't bear the thought of being replaced. So one day, my mother and I woke up, and he was gone. His note said he could no longer hide like a coward in the wilds of India when his master needed him. He would return for us when the time was right.
"With my father gone and my healing skills growing each day, the next few years were the happiest I've ever known. Then one morning, about two years ago, my mother and I looked up from the garden to see my father walking down the road, a mad and wicked grin on his face and in his eyes. By evening, we had abandoned our hut, our garden, and my teacher, and without a trace left behind, we were back in Voldemort's lair, kissing his hideous hands and feet and telling him how glorious it was that he'd regained his strength. "
"The thing is, I didn't want to be a Death Eater any more. When I was younger, before Falling Day, I had looked on Voldemort as a sort of Uncle, and a King and Master as well. I would do anything to please him and my father, and they fawned over me so, telling me what an excellent dark wizard I was, and how I had the potential to become a great legend among Death Eaters. It had been intoxicating, when I was young."
"But now, I was a Healer, a good one. I didn't want any part of death and destruction. I'd have been happy to have my old hut and my old teacher back. When I looked at my father, all I could see was a madman. When I looked at Voldemort, all I could see was a monster."
I tried to run away, but each time I was captured and tortured, until I was basically a prisoner at Voldemort's compound. I was forced to use both my curative skills and my knowledge of dark magic to heal other Death Eaters who had been harmed in the recent violent outbursts and attacks. Any time I had a case that was beyond repair, I suffered Crucio, but it was worth it, honestly, just to know that one less Death Eater would be going out to wreak havoc another day.
"I was weak, I was a coward. I should have resisted, should have killed every one of my "patients" until Crucio had pushed me over into madness. But my father and Voldemort were too smart for that. My unique combination of skills was too valuable, and I think it's even possible that they had designs on making me Voldemort's Queen once his ascent to absolute power was complete. So they kept me sane and safe and locked away, while my self- loathing grew every day. I even tried to kill myself but it . . . it . . . it didn't work."
At this last statement, Dumbledore saw a very dark shadow cloud her eyes. Her left arm twitched instinctively, looking as though it might grasp at her heart, before sinking back into her lap. The thought of being Voldemort's queen always turned Addy's stomach, and she had to swallow hard before continuing.
"Then one day, I overheard Lucius Malfoy speaking with Voldemort - - something about the activities going on here at Hogwarts. Over the years I had figured out that Harry Potter was here, and Voldemort wanted his revenge, but that you were protecting the boy. Not only that, but in the past year, I've pieced together that there might be some kind of resistance group that seems to have its center here at Hogwarts. I also know there's another Death Eater involved with the school - - it could be Lucius, but perhaps there is another as well . . . it's unclear."
At this, Dumbledore chose to remain silent. There would be plenty of time for introductions and explanations, IF he decided to believe her. He regarded this tiny woman who was bearing her soul from across his desk. Her left hand clutched the arm of the chair with white knuckles. Her green eyes were on fire.
Adelaide continued, her fevered voice rising, "I formulated my plan, and gave the appearance of taking a keener interest in the plotting of Death Eater attacks and field movements, so that I could learn more about Voldemort's strategy. I also became a lot better at eavesdropping. And I learned a lot from the dying words of witches and wizards under my care, who had switched loyalties so many times, they could no longer remember which side they were on. That information I kept to myself, which puts me more in the know about some things than Voldemort himself. That's how I was able to learn about some of his future plans - - information that you and your group can surely use!" She looked up at Dumbledore plaintively.
"I convinced Voldemort to use Lucius to get me into Hogwarts. Here, I told him, I could keep tabs on you and the actions of your resistance fighters, reporting crucial information back to the compound. Slowly but surely he agreed to let me do it. And so you saw that I had to suffer a trip here with Lucius Malfoy, all the while pretending to be utterly charmed by him.
Suddenly, she looked him square in the eye. Here voice was steady, yet barely contained. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I will NOT go back into service for that beast. I will NOT so much as bandage the little toe of another Death Eater. I WILL NOT BE A PARTY TO EVIL ANY LONGER!"
With that, the fire left her, and she slumped in her chair. "You've listened to my whole story, and for that I'm grateful. It is an unexpected relief just to tell it. I have just one more favor I must ask of you." Dumbledore raised a furry eyebrow at her.
"I know what I am, what I've done. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you didn't believe that I truly want to help you and serve your side of this battle. In light of my past, I probably warrant getting sent back to Voldemort's dungeons, to meet whatever fate my failure would bring me there."
I deserve neither your trust, nor your mercy, but I'm afraid I must ask you for one or the other. You see, you are my only hope. If you don't believe me.if you can't find a way to trust me.I must ask you to kill me. I will not go back to Voldemort, and as we both know, there is no way to hide from him, especially not now that he has regained so much power. His fingers stretch wide . . . perhaps wider than you suspect. I have heard that you are wise and merciful, so if you do not believe my story and accept me, please show me the mercy of arranging for my death."