Chapter Twenty-Four : Amen
Halloween, more often known as Samhain among the Pagans, of the previous year was the last time that a living soul walked in the Graveyard of Forgotten Souls. Lucius Malfoy stalls at the iron gates, and his glacier blue eyes, rimmed with crow's feet wrinkles, drift over the metropolis of tombstones and crypts, stopping momentarily at the south side. The Potter mausoleum and the Malfoy mausoleum stand with nothing but budding trees between them.
Vines with white and blue flowers grow around the broken pillars of the Potter burial chamber, and graffiti mars the walls. Moss grows to the North, and ruined rubble blocks a path to the entrance.
On the other hand, the Malfoy mausoleum is an intense spectacle. Large flowers surround it, a sea of green, white and purple. No moss grows to the North, and the marble stones are not tainted with blood or desecration. Silver letters spell out the name of the honoured family above the entrance, and a plaque there depicts an eagle holding two ribbons, one gold and the other black. The path leading to the last resting place of Lucius's ancestors and first wife and son are stepping stones without cracks, surrounded by low-growing plants.
"You're a killer, born to slash and bash and bleed like beautiful poetry, no little tinker toy could ever stop you from flying," Lucius quotes in a whisper as he takes a step into the graveyard, his boots pressing into the sodden grass. The gates swing shut in an elongated groan, and his snake-staff clicks on the stepping stones. He approaches the mausoleum in a dry silence and pauses at the entryway of his former life.
"Narcissa," he murmurs in a voice he barely recognises.
Entering the sepulchre, Lucius's heart quivers, and he considers turning back. But he feet won't listen to his mind, and he closes the door behind him. The inside of the mausoleum is dark, and worn white candles line the walls in homage. Sealed sarcophaguses border the crypt, around five in total. Most are made from grey marble or granite. The base is void of all cobwebs or dust, as though all organisms are afraid to tread on Malfoy soil.
Lighting one of the candles, Lucius takes it and sets it on a sarcophagus of marble. Running his hands over the smooth lid, he exhales slowly, his memory overcome with images of past love and past happiness. "I've come here to tell you I've let you go," he continues. "Things have changed since you walked this earth, and we now sleep on a bed of bones. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, my dear, and through our union you never had to sacrifice anything. Some people thought that was the only reason you married me, but I knew better. We knew better. Oh, we may not have showed it in public, but our family knew love as any other family. Our family knew heartbreak and sorrow, and we knew triumph. You always believed that a Malfoy is worthy of the better things in life, and it pains me now to think that you never had the chance to walk the path I have. But though you may not be with me physically, you are with me spiritually.
"I am to be married this day, Narcissa. A second wife, the second woman who has captured my fancy. I know you'd hate her, you'd think she was too young, or not worthy of me, or maybe not as beautiful as a Malfoy wife should be. Her hair may be too dark, or her breasts too large, and maybe this is why I've become enamoured with her, she is all you are not."
Lucius's eyes wander off into the distance and for a fleeting moment, Narcissa is staring back at him. Her hands are clasped before her--she never knew what to do with them--and she wears fluttering white robes which are now transparent blue, as her skin. Lucius blinks dubiously, and the ghost vanishes. He's not too sure if she was ever there, but the sad expression on her face leads him to think otherwise.
"Now, don't look at me like that, my dear. I do not wed this girl to spite you, nor to make a point. I chose her because she is not like you, and that is a pain I could not handle upon wakening every morning. To look into her eyes and see you, and knowing that I would never again hold you in my arms. She is different from you as the sun in day and the moon at night.
"I was once married to the moon, and now I am to marry the sun. There is a time in the day when the moon is always vacant from the sky, and that is the time I must walk into now."
Lucius bows his head, and the candle's flame dies with a soft breeze that passes through the cracks of the walls. Circling around him, the winds waft past his kept white-blond hair, and a woman's seductive voice purrs from all directions except those of which are closest to him.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain."
Lucius's eyes widen, but not in fear. He rises to his feet, and grabs for his staff, which he had set against the entry. Glancing warily around the mausoleum, the voice seems to follow, chanting out its death poem. Though the voice does belong to Narcissa, Lucius doesn't acknowledge it. This is the voice of a woman who has known only sorrow in her short life.
"When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night."
"Show yourself!" Famous last words.
The voice deepens, till it becomes the eerie tone heard last Halloween by Rae, Adrian, and Marcus. It echoes around him, rustling the tails of his black dress robes, and he angrily searches the room for a sign of life. His hair whips around him, and his pupils dilate in rage.
"Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die. . . ."
But the sign of life he finds is not that of a transparent blue ghost.
"Sir?" Gene Avery appears at the sepulchre's doorway. "We're ready to start."
Lucius jumps slightly, flustered. With his hand going to his wand, he spins around and stares at his Best Man. It takes a moment for Lucius to identify Gene. His heart hammers inside his chest, and he takes a deep breath, holding it, to slow his breathing.
"Are you all right, Lucius?" Gene asks, his voice showing his concern.
Lucius nods, and the colour flushes back into his cheeks. With a fleeting look at Narcissa's coffin, he follows Gene from the mausoleum, the death poem still ringing in his ears.
The ghost of Narcissa Malfoy watches with watery eyes as her husband departs from her life. "You need not ask for my permission to remarry, Lucius. All I have ever wanted was your happiness. I forgive you for the choices you will make in this life, and I will be contented to know that I will always own your heart."
From the shadows emerges another ghost. A male, his hair is disarrayed and his arms are crossed over his chest. He had followed his mother's soul from the Summerland, curious to see why she quickly fled to Earth. Draco snorts. "You may forgive him, Mother. But I never will."
Lord make me an instrument of your peace.
The circular chamber is constructed in the heart of the castle, its stone walls two inches thick. Incense coils hang at five points from the ceiling, forming a star if they happened to be joined by invisible hands. The feminine aroma of jasmine fills the warm air; the grey smoke ascends around the room in helixes, only to fade in drafts of air. A rectangular table made from granite is placed in the centre of the room, and upon the table is a silver tray of freshly cut fruits and a rose-scented water bowl. Both have been left untouched by the bride.
Marie Amitri's stomach violently lurches with each thought and movement. She paces several lengths of the room, the train of her dress following her as a young child would follow its mother. Wringing her hands, she plays nervously with her white-gold rings and bracelet. She dismissed her two aides less than thirty minutes ago; she doesn't want to answer their inane questions.
Marie's wedding gown is a gift from her mother, and is something new. It's sparkling white with crystals in a pattern that fades as it descends toward the hem. No straps cross her delicate shoulders, and the fabric is close-fitting, hugging her curves and accentuating her breasts. Dark lines of cleavage shadow beneath the soft fabric, and Marie yanks the dress up at her chest. The gown flares out past her knees, but her footsteps are still small, deliberate in her glass heels.
The bride's hair dark hair was elegantly styled by Olivia Greingrass into tight curls that bob just past her ears. Olivia, who has been known around the castle as the make-up artist and consultant, also painted her face with crushed blueberries and strawberries, and rather more mascara than Marie fancied. In her ears, Marie wears diamond-topaz earrings--something old.
Where there is hatred let me sow love.
Where there is injury—pardon.
Where there is doubt—faith.
Where there is despair—hope.
Where there is darkness—light.
And where there is sadness—joy.
At the same moment as Marie listlessly picks at the fruits, selecting a piece of a kiwi, Rae Landon bursts through the iron grill-styled sugar pine doors. Marie doesn't look up; she chews the kiwi in slow silence, keeping Rae waiting.
"Why would you make me a bridesmaid?" demands a frustrated Rae.
"Because I don't like you," Marie replies simply. She smirks, cocking her head.
The bridesmaid dresses are the greenest green, and horrendous, rose-shaped bows are sewn onto the right lapel. The sleeves of the monstrosities are semi-transparent and resemble large, reptilian scales. As the beautiful wedding dress, it flows out at the knees, but this has too many frills for anyone's tastes.
"Is there a reason you disgrace me with your presence?" Marie inquires coolly.
Rae tugs at the itchy dress, which could be of a lower cut for her tastes. Her hair is pulled tightly back with an unsightly green clip, a style not very becoming for the Slytherin, and Olivia did her make-up to match the bride's. "Unfortunately I'm here on . . . business, ordered by Malfoy," she amends, her voice softening as she stares at Marie's gown with baffled blue eyes. "You're in white." Everyone knows that brides wear white to show their purity, and Rae doesn't consider Marie to be pure. "Are you trying to match with every other kitchen appliance?"
Marie scowls, her dark eyes narrowing to mascara-caked slits. "And what colour would your dress be if you ever married? Charcoal black? Obsidian, maybe? I've only slept with one man this half-decade, but how many have you taken between your sheets? I doubt you can count that high."
Now it's Rae's turn to glare, but she chooses not to retort. The less time she's in Marie's presence, the better for the disgruntled bridesmaid. "I didn't come to argue." She dismisses Marie snappily. Turning her palm out, she tosses Marie a flat box wrapped in silver foil and topped with a tactless bow. It's an act that seems to pain her, and she cringes, the green dress rustling.
"What's this?" Marie warily takes the offering, removes the bow and drops it to the carpeted floor. Lifting the top, she withdraws an old pendant suspended on a silver chain. It is silver, shaped like a raven with his wings extended, ready to take flight, and is encrusted with sapphires and obsidian.
"Something old and something borrowed. It's been in Adrian's family for generations, he gave it to me a few Yuletides ago. I'm lending it to you for your wedding day, by order of Malfoy," Rae replies boorishly, preoccupied with the room. She doesn't want to be here. She sees no reason to lend something to the bride. She sees no reason to be a bridesmaid. This is a strange and unusual form of punishment.
"You don't have to do this." Marie shoves the box back towards Rae.
Rae frowns, and forces the words from her mouth, as one would carry pain with honour and without word. "Yes. I do. You couldn't get married otherwise. Isn't it tradition? You must have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue," she says, reciting the traditional rhyme with a flippant hand gesture. "Besides, Malfoy is making me."
Marie forces a weak smile. "Yes. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank Malfoy."
Such simple words in the brief exchange, but they are a tremendous pain to be spoken between those who have no need or fancy for each other.
Rae clears her throat. "Don't think anything has changed between us. I still loathe you." She spins on her green high heels, her footsteps sounding out the chamber. Halfway through the door with her hand on the iron handle, she hears Marie's voice.
"And I, you."
Marie watches Rae depart, and listens to her rhythmic footfalls ricochet down the corridors till they disappear in the distance. Turning back to the full-length mirror, she grabs for some tissues. Stuffing some inside of her strapless bra, she uses the others to dab sweat from her armpits before applying another layer of anti-perspirant.
Marie sighs as ghosts from the past drift by her.
O divine master grant that I may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive--
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it's in dying that we are born into eternal life.
When Marie was younger, she didn't have any friends. The children on her street didn't like her; and that suited Marie fine. She never fancied them, either.
At Hogwarts, it'll be different, Marie thought. There, fat children will bow to me.
But "children" turned out to be a lonely child. It was in her second year that Marie convinced some skinny Hufflepuff who mispronounced her name that she was the daughter of some long-forgotten Egyptian Goddess. Of course, this Justin bowed before her and followed her around for the many weeks to come. But less than three months after her new-found godhood, her bubble burst when Justin realised that Gods aren't human, Gods don't bleed. And right when Marie pricked her finger while cutting herbs in Herbology, her world fell apart. She then decided that being bowed down to was no longer in her tastes, and being a child, she forgot the affair the next day.
Marie was by far the most important aspect of Jerrell Amitri's life, and was up until the day he left this earth. The death of Marie's father was something that she never understood. In cartoons, people always came back after death. The coyote always had one more trick up his sleeve after falling off the side of a cliff; the cat was never really killed by the bulldog, he always came back to get that tweety bird. So, a sixteen-year-old Marie waited at her father's grave, and cried when she realised that he was never coming back.
Cartoons lie.
She then felt the heat of anger and betrayal come over her, and she didn't care that she was the new whore to a contented Malfoy after the untimely death of his wife. Narcissa was an untouchable beauty, and Marie never understood why Lucius, a man named after the devil-figure, wanted her.
She can remember vividly the first time she set her eyes on Lucius. It was during a trip to Knockturn Alley with her father. They were in some shop that she cannot remember the name of, and she was ordered not to touch anything. This didn't come at a surprise, so Marie kept her hands clasped in front of her Ravenclaw robes and ravished the merchandise with her eyes.
Lucius and Jerrell were never on speaking terms, for if truth were told, they detested each other with an unspoken passion. Upon meeting Marie, Lucius was suspiciously over-pleasant that day, and Draco was as unpleasant as usual. Marie remembers everything that Draco ever said to her. "Don't expect me to call you mother," were Draco's only words to his father's new mistress, and he sniffed haughtily at her.
The night after she left Hogwarts, Marie moved into the Malfoy Manor and was surprised that the horrors she heard about weren't true. Skeletons didn't litter every corner, and spiders weren't as larger as one's fist. The walls neither bled, nor were adorned with devices of medieval torture. In fact, the Malfoy Manor was filled with nothing but the best. Expensive furniture and exquisite paintings provided each chamber with a feeling of stature. The manor didn't use electricity; instead, thousands of candles lined the walls, imparting a soft, warm light in the castle. Velvet curtains of all colours covered the bay windows, and beautiful flowers grew in the gardens. When Marie was first brought into the manor, she thought she was a prisoner, but she was soon to learn that Lucius provided her with everything she could ever want--the finest jewelry, food from all the corners of the world, and the privacy of her own wing of the house. Of course, Lucius expected certain things in return for his generosity.
The Malfoy's house elves quickly became enamoured with her. People in the alleys bowed to her when she walked with Lucius. The Death Eaters now bowed to her as well, some of her aides went as far as calling her "Your Majesty."
So, she is a goddess after all.
This was what her father wanted her to have.
And in trying to save her, he actually set her free.
A small smile plays across Marie's crimson lips when she realises this and realises that maybe now everything will be all right. Her son will have a father, he will have aides who will wait on him at all times, he will have more than Marie could have ever given him if she didn't marry Lucius. The gods dealt her a lousy hand, but after a few turns she came out on top, her hopes achieved.
With her back to the mirror, she begins to recite the vows, which were co-written by Blaise Zabini-Finnigan and Pansy Parkinson, for the last time before the ceremony.
"Now most things are larger than
the promise of a woman and a man,
but you and I, through burning plains,
through darkness of the earth,
affirm this world, its people,
the heavens that gave them birth,
the breath that passes between us,
this alter that we stand,
all these things were made larger by
the promise of a woman to a man."
Marie's quite fond of the vows but chuckles to herself after rehearsing them. They are merely a ploy, a performance for the guests. For if they had written real vows, their own vows, they would not have been as beautiful as those.
A rapping on the door brings Marie back to reality, and Blaise pokes her head in, sapphire eyes emphasised by her long blue-black hair. "Miss? The High Priest is waiting, and the music has started."
Amen.
Lucius Malfoy and Marie Amitri are married three weeks after the last snowfall.
additional disclaimers: The first poem featured here is an old wiccan death poem. Its author is unknown. The second is the Prayer of St Francis. The vows are a shorter version of Goldmoon and Riverwind's wedding vows from the DragonLance Chronicles. I take ownership over none of the above.
