Author's Notes: Better Not Knowing is completed, save for any corrections which are needed. Thank you for reading thus far, I hope that you have enjoyed your ramble through this tale. A special thank you to Silent falcon (falcon falmorgan) for her patience and perseverance, and to all those who have made suggestions, criticisms and offered their opinions, they were all very much appreciated.
"Ah" crooned a teasingly familiar voice, "you're awake."
Her eyes, after much coercion, focused on a bearded face with twinkling, piercing blue eyes and a concerned expression. She grimaced as bile rose up into her mouth and tried to swallow, but her mouth was painfully dry. The acid burnt, and with it came rolling, growing waves of nausea. She knew that face! The details eluded her. Just as the face of that haggard looking man had paralysed her while some instinct had demanded that she run. She moaned softly and closed her eyes. Tears threatened, but she'd learnt a long time ago that they were a waste and, so all that occurred to indicate her distress was the almost painful sting in her eyes and one stifled dry sob. She tried to summon the anger, the hate, that had fuelled her for so long, but it was gone. She opened her eyes and looked up at the cracked, dirty, stained ceiling.
"We restrained you with Malleus," Dumbledore saw her eyes widen slightly. "Ah, I see that you are familiar with the curse."
She wanted to shake her head in denial, feeling terrified that she couldn't summon the disbelief and ignorance that she would have expected. She somehow knew what he had meant; understood the unfamiliar word. Who was this man? Why did she thrum with terror and yet yearn to cleave to him as if he were some long sought saviour?
"As you will know, then, the curse is debilitating, but will dissipate with time." He stood and loomed over her. "Time that you should spend considering your position, Ophelia."
She felt her eyes bulge and her breath catch in her throat. That name! Ophelia. It was like an answer to a question she hadn't known she was asking. Part panicking and part jubilant she looked deeply into the man's eyes. She saw something flicker in the glistening blue, it evaporated too quickly define, but she found that it only heightened her dread and desperation. He, in turn, seemed to bore into her mind, his gaze was startlingly intense and under his scrutiny she felt exposed and raw.
"I can understand that this is a terrifying ordeal for you," his deep voice cracked with the effort of restraining some emotion. "I can only offer you the comfort, that what we do will benefit many, yourself included."
She found that her mind was flooded with scraps of tattered memories, of dreams and nightmares that she had thought long buried. His face was there in amongst the carnage of wrecked thoughts. She shuddered and felt herself heave, at which point the bizarre mental cascade ceased, and all she had to focus on were the sounds of their breathing. He had averted his gaze and was staring blankly at the dark, stained duvet.
Her throat seemed frozen and any sounds or words she wanted to make struggled and died in her reluctant throat. After what felt like an age he turned back to her, smiling sadly and his eyes seemingly less penetrating, but glistening all the more.
"We have something for you to drink." His face contorted at the fear flaring in her eyes. "I have sat many a night wondering if there was another way, wondering if this vile act is absolutely necessary, and I have to say that I cannot find an argument potent enough to stay my hand."
Inside she screamed and writhed, inside she begged and pleaded, inside she withered and died.
"I can promise you that you will be released, you will find peace with yourself."
I'm going to die, her mind screamed. This man is going to kill me! No! No! Please no! Please! Help me! Someone! No!
The bearded man, who looked so serene and gentle as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out what looked like a black bulb vase from his inner breast pocket. He looked at it and his expression was so calm, as if it was nothing more sinister than a cup of warm milk and he was about to tell a bedtime story.
Get away! Let me go!
She tried to move, tried to slither away, but whatever thing held her was too strong. Her eyes were fixed on the strange black vase held delicately in his thin fingers. Her tears, streaming down her face, were the only things free to move.
"You will drink this, before the others arrive; they must remain blameless."
No; please don't! I don't know what you want! I don't know! Why? No! No! Oh God! No! Why? Why? Why?
Her head felt that it would burst under the pressure of her thoughts and mental pleas and cries, her heart thundered deep within her chest, and sweat ran in rivulets from her body. She watched and wept as he leant forward and gently slid a hand behind her neck. He placed the lip of the bottle against her lips as he tugged tenderly, lifting her head so that it tilted back.
Why me? Who are you? Bastard! Get it away! Stop! Don't hurt me! Oh God! Don't kill me … please … no …. Stop.
"I cannot ask for forgiveness, indeed I do not require it, but I do hope that in time you will understand why I have to do this." His voice was barely a whisper, but in her fear and terror her senses seemed amplified and immense.
No…. no….. no….. no …… no.
Her vision blurred with copious tears and her mind exploded, leaving numbness as the cold liquid poured into her mouth and her treacherous throat swallowed.
Oh sweet Merlin! …. No…..
Merlin?
Never mind … hush! Let me come back! It's been so long! So long ….. back ….
Who are you?
I'm Ophelia, dear Veronica; and, my dear; …. I was here first!
He was so lost in the sight of her eyelids fluttering closed, squeezing the last tears from her lashes, and how her frantic breaths slowed that he failed to register the first knock on the door. At the second, more insistent, rap he slowly lowered her head and released his grip on her neck. He waved a hand and the lock clicked open, he fancied that there was a longer pause than necessary before the door swung open.
He glanced up and saw Minerva standing straight and focused and Lupin silhouetted in the doorframe.
"The potion will take several hours to have an affect, and then, according to what we know, take a few days to run its course," Dumbledore said as he eased himself up off the bed. "I expect that she will suffer as her memories germinate and evolve; it will be distressing for you to watch."
"Severus explained it," Minerva said soothingly.
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "We have a very limited idea of who she was and is now; the woman she will become is beyond our ability to fathom. Be careful and wary!" he warned sternly. "Poppy has been told that she may be needed, but other than that she knows nothing; therefore, be assured that she is available, but only if you need her. Severus is also prepared for any emergencies that may occur due to a reaction to the potion. I will send Alastor up shortly. Please take care—of her and yourselves." He smiled reassuringly at them both and then swept out of the room; the door clicking shut behind him was a relief. He met Moody on the stairs, the grim Auror bristling and wand at the ready.
"Well?" Moody queried sternly.
"I doubt that she remembers much at all; the memories I managed to catch are few and fractured. She has an intuitive grasp of magic; she knows that she can do things that others cannot and she has mastered the art of using it." Dumbledore spoke quickly and simply; the last few minutes with her had been incredibly draining. "To her the dreams and nightmares that have teased and plagued her are mere fancies, and not the memories of her former life. The adjustment will be harsh."
"You think that she will help us?"
"Alastor, dear friend," he said, placing his arm across the shorter man's shoulders as they stood on the stairs. "One thing that we have learnt about Ophelia Black is that she is an incredibly intelligent and sensible woman. She will help us because the consequences of not aiding us are terrible."
"Aye," Moody agreed sadly.
"Choice is a liberty for us all; we must do what we must do." Dumbledore paused and looked up at the shadowed door and the mystery behind it. "We have her and Tom does not, and if that is all the good that comes of this then we must cling to that; how she wishes to move from here is up to her. It is a choice of sorts, not a fair one or an easy one, and, most likely, the last choice she will have." He stroked his beard and smiled sadly. "We face the future better armed and prepared, and hopefully we will live to regret the cost; but for now we will be content with what we have."