Warning: contains dark themes, please do not read if violence offends you or may have a triggering effect.
A/N: First of all, I would like to apologize for not posting for so long. For a long while, I could not write at all, having come across some mental block. It's a bit better now, but I'm still struggling. Therefore, I can make no promises about the frequency of new chapters, but I will try my best to post one each week.
Secondly, thank you very much for sticking with Rose and me for so long.
Thirdly, a friend of mine recently began writing this same story, told from Arielle's point of view. It's very different but also very interesting, so please give it a chance. The first chapter is up, and you can look it up under the title The Gryffindor Lioness. Her pen name is FireLadyMoon.
And finally, please let me know what you think, I greatly appreciate your opinion.
Enjoy.
Chapter 39: Knockturn Alley
Minutes turned into hours. Hours, in their turn, morphed into days. Days gathered into a week. And for all this time, Dolores Umbridge remained silent. That is not to say that she was not angry. Merlin, she was seething.
But in spite of my every guess, however well founded, Dolores proved to poses more intelligence than that found in your common toad. It was to my knowledge that Dolores dearest departed from the castle with all haste merely ten minutes after our little disagreement, scurrying off in search of aid and backing. It was also to my knowledge that she would have a hard time finding either, for she knew not where to look. Not one highly ranked ministry official would stand by Dolores, if I were the one they were to stand against. Including Cornelius himself. Thus, Dolores would soon realise that her hands were tied. She was powerless against me.
But the kind of power one needed to subdue worms was not the kind of power that won one a war. No, that sort of power wouldn't do at all. I would need to make a name for myself in circles much closer, much smaller and much darker than that of the Ministry, if not to win the war, than at least to stay faithful to the old blood that rushed through my veins.
I had found myself hesitant in approaching these circles thus far, judging them to be out of my reach.
I would not be welcomed for my youth. More importantly, more backwardly even, I would not be welcomed because I was not born a man. How peculiar it was that they saw it fit to measure my worth in my sex. How peculiar indeed that women were seen as lesser than men. But so it was, and so it had always been.
Yet the life of a friend proved to be all of the impetus I needed. A little over a week after my little disagreement with Dolores I decided that time had come for Arielle to be instructed in the arts of Dark Magic. And for that, I would need very specific artefacts.
Thus, instead of joining my peers in a stroll through the Hogsmead streets on that sunny Saturday, I chose to take a Portkey, courtesy of Grandfather, and tread across the dark, cobbled street of Knockturn Alley.
In spite of their immediate proximity, Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were nothing alike, so much so that they could well belong to two different cities. As one made that perilous step over the invisible threshold that separated Knockturn Alley from its docile neighbour, one seemed to find oneself in another world. Here, the chatter and bustle from the crowded streets of Diagon Alley found substitution in hushed voices, crackle of fire in torches set alight on tiny nooks of the walls, sound of heavy feet treading across paved ground and the rustle of cloth as figures moved hurriedly along, not one faltering in their steps to greet an old friend. This street was always much darker than the other, the narrow path through it shadowed greatly by sloping roofs. All in all, Konckturn Alley offered quite a frightful sight, and if one was faint of heart it was surely best to avoid its entrance in a wide arch.
The description I had offered here was true for the outer parts of the shadowy street, those closest to the light of day offered by Diagon Alley. The further you travelled down this street, the fewer people you met, a silent terror creeping into your soul, its origin the walls themselves. The windows of shops here were barren, curtained, and you could not help but feel as if someone, somewhere was observing you. Which, come to think of it, did not seem that unlikely an option.
I had walked down this street many a time with Grandfather, but never alone. This time too, I had not chosen to walk alone. As one could reasonably gather, Knockturn alley was a dangerous place where each step should be made with a healthy dose of uncertainty, and I could trust but one creature to accompany me on my cold path. As one of the deadliest snakes known to both muggle and wizarding world alike, Serpen was more than qualified for the task.
It was my experience that nothing scared men quite like a two metre long snake whose bite promised an excruciating, slow death. So the two of us walked, side by side, undisturbed on our way for the most part. We had to stop here and there, cautiously sliding back to the wall so as to allow passage to figures carrying this or that suspicious package. More often than not, such packages oozed some red slime, made awful screeching noises or produced puffs of smoke. I judged it best to move out of the way.
After about ten minutes of steady progress, we found ourselves at the end of the secluded street. It was a small square, with narrow, tall, semi-attached buildings. I turned left at the entrance to the square, counting three buildings before coming to a stop in front of the fourth.
Most curiously, one would never guess that this was any sort of shop, for there was no sign to advertise the business, not even one to provide you with a name. There was but one small plaque on the doors which read open. Names were a scarce commodity in Knockturn Alley.
The building itself was rather unremarkable in appearance. Made from dirty grey stone and consisting of two stories, there was very little to distinguish this building from the other worn dwellings in its immediate vicinity. However, there was something, something in the air. It was intangible, just barely perceptible, but omnipresent nonetheless.
There was Dark Magic at play here and Sepren did well in sensing it. He rose beside me, swaying from side to side as if addressing some invisible threat and gave out a warning hiss. Dangerous.
I placed a hand on his head lightly, communicating a single thought. I know.
We had made an agreement, him and I. As it was my invitation that brought him to this perilous place, I made sure to convey that he was by no means obliged to follow me, were he to judge my path as endangering his personal well-being. I would not allow him to suffer because of my choices.
With one last glance at my familiar, I placed my hand softly on the doorknob and gently pushed. I was nervous, with every right might I add, but it would do me no favours to display this sentiment openly. Thus, as I stepped over the threshold, I made sure that my face was set in a carefully composed mask.
There were no bells to signal our entrance, instead I felt an ant-like sensation on my spine, possibly a detection charm we had unwittingly set off. Briefly, I noted that I had never sensed this charm in my previous visits to this establishment. Whatever the purpose of the charm, the man behind the counter seemed unruffled, giving me a chance to briefly survey the room.
It was the same exact room I had first entered with Grandfather ten years ago- dark, ominous. It was a small, square shaped room with two seemingly empty rows of shelves lining the walls on my either side. In the middle of it stood two cabinets of dark mahagony wood, each with a glass case towards the top filled with black smoke. The smoke whirled and twisted, as if it were alive.
There was a large ancient chandelier in the middle of the room, easily the most valuable object there, but I had never seen it cast a single ray of light. Instead, fire burned in the hearth of the fireplace behind the counter, this coupled with two candlesticks on the counter being the only source of light ever to be found in the dreary room.
Behind a dark mahogany desk, of the same wood as the cabinets, stood a gangling man, who always seem to wear robes two sizes too large for his thin body. His face was long and oval with a prominent nose. His hair was long, tied in a low ponytail on the base of his neck. The once dark brown hair was now tinged with grey, but I knew this colour to be no product of age. The man could be no more than thirty.
On the counter lay a spread out copy of the Daily Prophet, currently turned to some article on Quidditch with I neither understood nor bothered to make out. He had one hand raised to the surface , resting it casually on the papers as he read through the opposite page, and tapping his fingers lightly in rhythm to a melody only he could hear. The other hand was hidden from sight. Smart.
As I opened my mouth to speak, the man did the same, acknowledging my presence in the room despite the fact that he had never raised his head from his papers.
"We're closed." He said in a voice that gave the distinct sense of boredom, prompting instant dislike on my side. He had never used this tone with my grandfather.
"Not according to the sign out front." I countered, glancing from the corner of my eyes at Serpen, sensing irritation.
The man hummed indistinctly at my response, but made no move to respond. However, I would not be dissuaded this easily. Usually not one for waiting, I found myself quite willing to outlast any pig-headedness on the part of this man, if it would prove enough to assure me victory. He sought to slam these doors in my face because I was a woman. Should that be so, I will smash the bloody doors down.
After about a minute or so of my insistent staring, the man sighed, and raised his eyes to my figure. A brief examination seemed to be enough for him, in which he made no effort to hide his ogling, and he once more lowered his gaze to his papers, turning a page.
"I should have made myself clearer doll" spoke he, and I had the distinct urge to shove those papers down his patronising throat, "we are closed for you."
I allowed a small, cruel smirk to form on my lips, before responding: "I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean." Serpen gave out an angry hiss, very much understanding what the man meant.
"We don't deal with little girls" spoke the man, resuming his tapping. He seemed to be completely at ease, as if there was nothing that I could do that he had not dealt with before. I supposed it came with the post, but it was by no means correct. He had never dealt with this little girl before.
"And if I were a man of the same age, you would deal with me?" I asked, noticing a slight note of irritation in my tone.
The man looked up, this time meeting my eyes before deliberately lowering them to my chest, or rather the small part of my chest that was left exposed by my coat, and then slowly raising them to meet my insistent stare once more.
"Listen doll, you are very clearly not a man." Spoke he in a final tone, as if he had proved some point. The only thing he had managed was to add a bit more fuel to the fire that threatened to erupt from the very pores of my skin.
"I shall take the liberty of assuming that was a yes." I replied, on the verge of snapping at the chauvinistic arse in front of me.
It seemed that I had once more lost all interest in his eyes, and he lowered his eyes to his papers again, this time reading some article in the gossip column, giving out one more indistinct hum. This was not going to end this way. Serpen seemed to agree, rising by my side, ready to strike. Not yet.
"How rude of me" I responded, now genuinely cross, "I forgot to mention my name. Perhaps it will change your mind on this matter. I am Rosalind Valeria Kersey, daughter of Desmond, granddaughter of Kenneth."
Once more, the man did not deem it worth his effort to look up. "I know who you are," he said, making me chant dark curses as a means of self-control. "We're still closed."
"I am a Kersey!" I snapped, not bothering to hide my hostility any longer "The heiress to the Kersey name, you will show me respect!"
The man sighed, looking for all the world as if I were some pesky fly that simply would not leave him in peace. I was going to tear him apart, limb by limb.
"Listen doll, you are a Kersey, not the Kersey. I will make it simple, you don't scare me." Said he, finally looking up.
"Come again?" I hissed, my face morphing with furry.
"There is only one Kersey that I fear doll, and you're not him." He said, once more looking away, "And I am not about to anger Kenneth Kersey by selling his darling little granddaughter a toy that could take that pretty blond head off of her pretty little shoulders, alright?"
It was time this man learnt that there was another Kersey he really ought to fear. "I see that we will reach no agreement." I spoke, making to open my purse "You seem to be unable to hear words of reason, perhaps then I should allow my wand to do the speaking for me."
But it seemed he had seen this coming. He raised his right hand from behind his counter, revealing that he had been holding onto his wand this entire time, a wand that was now pointed at me.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you doll" spoke he, aiming his wand at my heart. "I already have my wand out, don't make me use it. Be a good little girl and lower your hands."
I did as I was told, noticing that Serpen was swaying from side to side, moments from biting. Settle down, this one is mine.
"'At a girl." Spoke the man, thinking he had won.
This prompted a small smile on my face, and for the first time, the man looked alarmed. As he should be, for I never needed my wand in the first place. I allowed my magic to seep out freely, and as it made contact with the chandelier above it, the light began shaking violently. As my smile grew, so did the noise from the shivering glass above our heads.
True fright appeared on the man's face and he raised his hand, holding his wand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. This room was protected with powerful, dark magic, and I was currently turning it against its caster. I smiled even wider at his gesture, this time showing teeth, revelling in his fear.
He opened his mouth, uttering "Tene-", but I was quicker. I raised my right hand, gently flicking my wrist and sending his wand flying from his hand, and past me, crashing against the wall to our right.
"Did you honestly believe I needed a wand?" I spoke, pure pleasure dripping from every word.
The man before me was terrified. He had paled visibly, his hands were shaking and I could make out drops of sweat beginning to form on his brow. It would hardly surprise me if he had wet himself. How delightful.
"You. Will. Learn. To. Show. Me." I spoke, and with each word the noise increased ever more, with the glass windows behind us shaking and the cabinets rattling in their place. "Respect." As I spoke this, I cast a wordless, wandless Bombarda hex, and the air between us was filled with shards of glass momentarily.
As they travelled towards the man, or myself and my familiar for that matter, they would abruptly change their course and swivel past us. The man seemed unable to tear his eyes from my figure, possibly fearing my next move would result in his death.
"My, my "I spoke causally, as if seeing this mess for the first time. "what a mess you've made. Now, " I looked up "shall we discuss business?"
He seemed unable to voice his response, and I tilted my head in mockery.
"Y-yes." Managed the man.
"Yes...?" I asked, prompting him to address me.
"Y-yes, m-miss Kersey." Stuttered the man, on the verge of losing his consciousness.
"'At a boy." I replied, mirroring his condescending tone. "I trust there will be no more of these unfortunate misunderstandings," with this, I glanced about myself, an expression of mock worry settling on my features, "you have so little of your shop left."
My eyes returned to the shopkeeper at this, a smirk pulling irresistibly on my lips. With the pallor of his skin, sweat on his forehead and dilation of his pupils, the man stood in perfect picture of horror. A brilliant sight indeed.
Serpen gave a hiss at this, but I found no mirth in the sound. Instead, he chose to voice distress.
But before I had time to ponder my moody familiar, who was acting perfectly irrationally at such an amusing occasion, the shopkeeper managed to gather his wits enough to form a coherent sentence.
"If I may ask," spoke the man, his eyes raising briefly to meet mine, only to drop in fear the moment they met my insistent stare "what goods might you require Lady Kersey?"
My, my, what an intelligent little critter. Although unmistakably nervous- the man had been wringing his hands incessantly all the while- he seemed rather quick in overcoming his fear. I suppose fear was an inextricable part of this business. One could even regard it as a necessity.
I raised my chin lightly at the question, a smile once more settling on my lips.
"I am in need of a set of Nymph tears and some Gemini Simulacrum beetles" I replied, observing the shopkeeper intently "I do hope you have some in store."
The man kept his eyes on the counter, but his features were once more under control. He betrayed no sign of surprise or curiosity, or any other emotion for that matter, and I supposed this was one of the least dangerous orders he had received in a while. Yet I found them most adequate for the purpose at hand.
The shopkeeper, whose name I had never learnt and more than likely never will, inclined his head in response. Names were indeed a scarce commodity in Knockturn Alley.
"Please wait here while I see to your order Madam" he spoke, before once more inclining his head and disappearing behind a dark curtain.
The manner in which he addressed me had changed beyond recognition, having learnt what the rest of his kind will learn soon enough. To respect a witch.
I was delighted with this result, I truly was. I could not have hoped for this meeting to go this well. These were dark people, darker than any I would dream of admitting to know. But I was forced to meet them, to make them acknowledge me and earn their respect.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember hearing Serpen hiss once more.
This man in particular was most important for he was the owner of the only shop of this kind in Britain. He dealt in rare, most coveted dark artefacts. They were mostly foreign goods, and most difficult to acquire. For example, the Nymph tears that I had ordered could be found only off the coast of a small Japanese island, while the beetles were found in the depths of the Amazonian tropical forest. Consequently, each cost quite a sum. But money was of no matter if by spending it I can assure Arielle's safety. At least for a little while, I wanted her to be safe.
Insistent hissing from my left finally managed to draw my attention, and I glanced to my familiar, only to find him coiled in a small circle. As his eyes met mine, his thoughts finally managed to break through the delighted haze that pervaded my mind. He pushed one single thought in my mind, sobering me promptly.
Blood.
As soon as my dazed mind grasped the meaning of his message, I hissed in pain, my left arm simply burning with pain. This could only be some cutting curse, I thought, reaching with my right hand to my left arm and lifting it gingerly. It was paralyzed with pain, and was perfectly useless. Bloody hell. It was only then that I noticed blood trickling down my arm, to my wrist and past it to my fingers, dying them red. Beneath my arm, right next to my left foot, formed a small puddle of blood.
I got too careless.
Thankfully, the man was by far too distracted to notice the bleeding, rather more preoccupied with keeping his own blood from spilling. But he would have time to collect his bearings, and would surely return much calmer than he had left. He could not be allowed to notice that my curses rebounded.
Serpen was the only one out of us three who had kept a clear head, and I was once more deeply grateful for his help. He indebted me more with each day, and it tore at me to acknowledge that the ultimate result of my schemes would be his bitter betrayal.
"Thank you my friend" I whispered, quickly brandishing my wand.
I had little time to control the damage I so unwittingly caused. "Vulnera Sanentur!" I hissed, aiming my wand at my arm, only to clench my teeth in a desperate attempt to fight back a scream. Not only did this spell not help me, it festered the already by far too painful wounds. This was a darker curse than I had hoped, one which necessitated immediate action.
"Moror Curentamque!" I spoke, this time using a much darker, much more difficult spell, observing as red light enveloped my arm. But its effect was only a temporary pause of bleeding, not its stop, and this shopping trip needed to end as soon as possible.
The small puddle of blood on the floor vanished with a silent wave of my wand, leaving me just enough time to utter a silent illusion spell before the shopkeeper returned.
In his hands he carried a small box of some light wood, possibly cypress, and a black velvet pouch tied with a single purple string. The box was dusty, indicating that it had been stored for quite some time, and he set it gently on the counter, along with the pouch which displayed clear signs of life hidden within it. I watched for a moment or two as the pouch wriggled in its place, before stilling.
"I trust there is no reason for me to doubt the quality of these goods?" I asked, raising my gaze from his goods to the shopkeeper himself.
He raised his gaze as well, finally gathering enough courage to meet mine.
"I sell only goods of highest quality Madam" replied he, holding my gaze for a moment or two more, "in this business, we wager our lives on the quality of our goods."
I smiled once more, reaching into the pocket of my coat. I was most careful to use my right hand, for the pain was too great at this point to allow for any kind of employment of my left arm. I had minutes left.
"That is a dangerous wager" I responded, producing a rather hefty pouch of my own. "someone might just take you up on it."
With this said, I placed my pouch on the counter, hearing the sound of metal meeting metal as numerous galleons scraped against one another.
"I trust this will be enough." I spoke, my nerves once more greatly strained. Not one of these products had a set price. Instead, the price paid for each was a matter of agreement between the patron and the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper's acceptance or rejection of an offered sum could lead to great tension and great damage. To either.
He never reached for the pouch, not even making a single gesture of that kind, simply regarding it intently, as if he could somehow see through the fabric and count each galleon hidden within its premises.
I could not have more than three minutes.
"Thank you for choosing my humble facilities Madam" spoke the man finally, after what could only have been eternity. If I dawdled around here like a fool for a moment longer, I'd lose my bloody arm. Not to mention the pain.
I reached for my items finally, fighting to put them away at a reasonable speed. It would not do for me to run out of this store, no matter my urgency. The deal was not over yet.
With a great burden lifted from my heart, I spun on my heel, making to leave.
Yet something else remained to be said.
I walked slowly towards the doors, and just as I reached them, I stopped in my tracks, turning to observe the shopkeeper once more.
"Forgive me if I am wrong, but I assume a man of your disposition would recognize the species my familiar belongs to." I said, holding the man's gaze for a second or two. He then closed his eyes and slowly and deliberately inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"Very well. Then I do must warn you that I shall come to shop here again. Should you be as downright foolish as to show me the same disrespect that you have shown me today " I smiled, watching as his eyes snapped open, enjoying the sheen his skin assumed on account of all that perspiration "I will allow him to dine on your flesh. And he has such a healthy appetite."
For a moment or two, he was motionless, before inclining his head in acknowledgement one final time.
I smiled once more before disappearing behind the old, wooden doors of the shop.
I could not run, it was simply not possible.
No one runs in Knockturn Alley.
But I had to hurry, I had to run, because it might already be too late.
In any case, I thought as Serpen hissed in distress, slithering to my left, I would never make it to the end of Knockturn Alley.
Small beads of cold sweat appeared on my forehead as I trod across the cobbled street that seemed to be narrowing ever more with each step.
As I walked, my vision swimming from the effort and my steps wavering ever more, panic festered in my heart. I was not this scared in a long, long time.
Because there was no more pain.
I could not feel my arm any more. I turned my head, in the same time needing to look and not being able to do so, to see my left sleeve darkening in colour. The counter curse had worn off and blood was now streaming down the length of my arm. As I moved, blood dropped from my fingers to the cobbles beneath my feet, marking my way. But even if I could think, I would spare not one thought on the trail, for blood was as common as rain here.
It just so happened that thinking became more and more laborious with each passing second. Mist seemed to gather at the very edges of my line of sight, giving rise to yet another wave of panic. Not only would I lose my arm, thus endangering us all, at this rate of blood loss, I would be dead in minutes.
Somewhere, a snake hissed.
I could not die here, not like this. It was not yet time, I had so much to do. I was never closer to death and Merlin, I never struggled to live more than I did now.
Please, I cannot die like this. Mother, I do not want to die like this.
Sudden sharp pain in my ankle brought me out of these dangerous thoughts, and I glanced at my feet in time to see Serpen uncoiling from my ankle. He had wrapped himself around my flesh tightly enough to bring my bones to the point of breaking. And it hurt, Merlin it hurt. Serpen had never tried to hurt me before.
And he saved my life.
This new pain sobered me and I acknowledged that he had been trying to gain my attention from the moment I stepped out of that dreary shop.
I was losing my mind to this senseless panic, but thankfully, he was not.
There, I heard him think, and I followed his line of sight to a small secluded nook in the street just big enough for me to slip into. Never have I noticed it in all my trips through this dark alley, but I needed help, and Serpen would always help me.
I made my way to the small alcove, slowly climbing in it, feeling my coat catch on something and distantly recognizing the sound of fabric tearing.
Once safely hidden from prying eyes, I took a deep breath, struggling to overcome my fear. If I could not manage even this much, I was perfectly pathetic.
I pointed my wand at the Alley, doing my best not to notice that it was shaking. I closed my eyes, once more took a deep breath before casting an illusion over my little shelter. It was another spell that would be characterized as Dark Arts, but too much was at stake here for me to risk exposure.
Another deep breath, and I focused my gaze on my left arm. The sleeve was now drenched, and I raised my wand at it, muttering "Diffindo!"
Thankfully, I had enough composure left to control the effects of my spell, creating a circular gash, cutting off the fabric. The coat was a lost cause at any rate.
But the fabric would not come off that easily, and I had to levitate my wand in front of me, using my right hand to remove my sleeve. My arm, or what was left of it, was covered in blood. I could not heal myself if I could not even make out the wounds.
"Moror Curentamque!" I hissed once more, knowing that this time, the spell would not fail me. By the time it wore off, I would be healed, or dead. A simple cleaning spell revealed to me the exact extent of my injuries.
My arm was not cut, it was mangled. There were numerous cuts on my skin, as if somebody had sharpened a knife against it. Some were shallow, others reached to my bones.
But they were by no means random, and I swore out right, recognizing a pattern. That was an All-cutter curse, that was a bloody All-cutter. Had I been any less adept at Dark Arts, I would have been torn to shreds. This was not a dark curse, this went beyond dark. Bloody sadistic bastard, I should have killed him then and there.
An All –cutter was one of the last classes of Dark Curses, forbidden even to some of our kin for it cut through everything. Some say it could even cut through a diamond.
Great darkness was needed to produce such a curse, and even greater to overturn it. Fortunately, I was well versed in darkness of all kinds.
"Praefervidus lacertus!" I spoke, aiming my wand at the deepest cut, just below my elbow. I braced myself for the pain, but I knew it to be to no avail. Nothing could prepare me for this kind of pain.
At first, I felt nothing, my arm little more than flesh hanging loosely from my bones. But as two ends of my wound moved to join, finally meeting and merging with small, grey puffs of smoke, the burning began. It started as warmth on my skin, echoing the invisible fire, but as the flesh healed without a single scar, the warmth turned into heat. I knew that the next casting would produce the same amount of pain as a light burn, but I had no choice.
Dark Arts always have a price.
A deep breath, and I cast again "Praefervidus lacertus!".
I watched as flesh burnt together once more, breathing through grit teeth as the heat grew. There were so many gashes, I thought, taking a deep breath, and I was a downright fool.
Who uses wandless magic to overturn unknown Dark Arts, I thought, gritting my teeth tightly in response to the ever intensifying pain.
I cast again and again, sliding down the wall and squatting, folding in on myself in an effort to stop the pain, and casting again.
Two casts away from the end of this excruciating ordeal, and my skin was aflame. I could not do it, by Merlin, I could not. I took deep breaths, feeling my stomach turn. If I cast again, I'd surely lose my lunch. If not my nerve.
"Praef-" I started, swallowing hard and cutting myself off mid-sentence. I couldn't do it, I couldn't. The pain itself would drive me insane.
No one honestly attempts to overturn an all-cutter. The victim is most often left to bleed out, for the alternative is even greater pain. Most cannot bear it.
I could not.
Serpen hissed, attracting my attention once more. His insistent stare told me what I refused to tell myself. I had to cast again. Dark Arts healing is very peculiar, as it must not be interrupted. If the spell is not completed, all of the positive effects vanish. If I could not cast again, I would die.
I glanced once more at my familiar, seeing resolve settle in his eyes. I would cast again. He knew I would.
Another deep breath.
"Praefervidus lacertus!" I cast, and buried my head in my legs, holding my arm away from myself, wishing to lose it, if it could only stop the pain.
One more time. Please, give me strength, I just need to cast one more time. Please, if there is anyone there, please.
I swear, my arm was ablaze. I could not see the flames, but they were there. Serpen was hissing somewhere, I could not tell where. I could not tell anything, I could not think, my world was centred around the pain. Please make it stop.
Melody. Arielle. Grandfather. Claudia.
I had to cast again.
Daphne. Astoria.
I cannot.
The Slytherin House.
I would rather die.
Serpen.
I had to live, he would die as well. Merlin, it was never more difficult to raise my wand. Please.
Blaise.
"Praefervidus lacertus!" I whispered, for a moment feeling nothing. And then it started, and I screamed. It did not feel like I was screaming, it felt like it was some other voice, some other tortured soul.
But it was me, and the pain raged through every cell of my body. And then it stopped. There was no more pain and no more blood.
I won.
How amusing, I thought, chuckling to myself. It could not cut through me.
I remained squatting in the little alcove for a while longer. I was in no hurry, and there really was no way for me to tell time. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat, and I tired quickly of counting the slow, laborious beats.
My breathing evened out with time, taking less and less effort. The nausea was gone, but as I attempted to shift my weight, my vision swam. Therefore, I leaned my head back against the cold wall, welcoming the cooling sensation.
But I lost a lot of blood, almost too much. Thus, there really was no point in delaying the inevitable, I thought, pushing myself up to my feet. I had not expected this small action to be such a struggle, and I dug my fingers into the stone, holding myself steady. This was not good, not good at all.
I needed a blood-replenishing potion, but as it happened, I had none on my person. Another habit I would need to adopt. Even more inconveniently, I could purchase said potion only in shops close to the end of the Alley. I had no use for it once I got that far.
One deep breath, and then another.
Serpen hissed next to my foot, inquiring about my state. He had no way of helping and that irked him greatly. He did not understand that he had helped me greatly, indebting me for life.
"Settle down little snake" I whispered, slowly removing one hand from the stone wall and reaching down to him. He met me half-way, overwhelmed with relief as he once more felt my touch.
Inhaling deeply once more, I released my hold on the wall. For a moment, I swayed in my steps, but soon regained my balance.
I could stand, but walking… that might prove beyond challenging. Walking as could be expected from one of my position… completely impossible.
If only Claudia were here, she'd know what to do. I undertook her training, teaching her what I deemed to be of most use to her in her healing, but never once asked her to teach me some Art of her own. Merlin, I wished I had been smarter. I wished she had taught me at least one spell I could use now.
But she had.
A small smile of relief pulled on my lips and I once more raised my wand, aiming it at my chest.
"Recreo!" I whispered, watching in relief as lime green mist materialized from the tip of my wand, enveloping my chest. The effects were instantaneous, and though it could do nothing for the blood-loss, the spell could delay its consequences. My vision instantly became more focused, no more daze to cloud my mind.
Thanking the little raven in my mind, I once more lowered myself to the floor, this time doing so with much less effort. I retrieved my purse, blatantly ignoring my coat. Torn to shreds as it was, it was of no more use to me.
Standing up once more, I did what I could to fix my appearance. Somewhat satisfied with the result, I once more glanced at my familiar, a small smile appearing on my lips.
"Let us go home my friend" I spoke, meeting his emerald gaze.
We climbed out of the little alcove, looking for all the world as if we had emerged from a leisurely stroll. I enjoyed the solitude, but I knew it could not last.
Indeed, as we slowly made our way to the heart of the street, we encountered more and more company. Fortunately, the street widened as well, leaving us with a small circle of personal space.
Serpen was not such an oddity here, and try as he might, he could not inspire much craved fear. There were much darker creature roaming this street. It was by no means crowded, but unwanted contact was incredibly difficult to avoid.
I was a little annoyed by this, but had no way of telling that in mere minutes, I would be furious.
Now, there is an important note to be made here. Normally, I move out of no one's way. If collision is to be avoided, the other person would move, or I would move them. Arielle excepted.
But these were no normal circumstances. Knockturn Alley has always had a different code of behaviour. Here, each person moves slightly to avoid collision, there can simply be no room for arrogance. You can never know who, or better yet what, the other party is. Thus, we all did our best not to touch anyone, or anything.
One could therefore understand my shock as one man, coming my way, had no such common courtesy. I moved out of the way slightly, expecting him to do the same. Yet as he passed me, he made not even the slightest effort to avoid bumping into me and nearly sending me toppling to the ground.
His arm collided with my shoulder at a point by far too close to my collar bone, sending me staggering backwards and nearly knocking my shoulder out of its socket.
Surprise gave way to furry in mere seconds as I deduced the only possible reason for this behaviour.
He considered me weak.
I was going to butcher him then and there. Serpen let out a low, threatening hiss, mirroring my rage. There would be hell to pay.
"How rude" I spoke, catching my balance and turning around slowly to observe as the man walked away undisturbed "does common courtesy escape you?"
He did not even falter in his steps, merely throwing over his shoulder "You'll find no ball gowns here girlie."
Bloody chauvinistic arse, I'll colour the street red with his blood.
"I should take it then that you have no intention of apologizing?" I replied, my tone turning ice cold, yet seemingly having little to no effect on the ape of a man.
This seemed to amuse him enough to have him stop in his steps, turning to face me, for the first time showing me whom I was addressing.
As my eyes fell upon thick –lidded dark grey eyes, something in me snapped.
For before me stood none other than Edmund Rosier, a known Death Eater and member of the Inner Circle. More importantly, he was the father of Violetta Rosier.
"Apologise?" responded he, laughter in his voice "I do not have the habit of apologizing to women. Let alone untamed little girls."
"My, my, it seems you misunderstood" I spoke drawing my wand openly, making no move to hide it "I did not ask you to apologize to a woman. I asked you to apologize to your superior."
He drew his wand in a moment, a feral expression appearing on his face.
"You little insolent whore" snarled he, "I'll teach you respect! Cru-"
But he was too slow.
"Tenebrae Restringo!" I uttered, watching with pleasure as the man got thrown upwards, his wand slipping form his grip. He was suspended in mid-air, his limbs pulled sharply away from him, twisting his body in the shape of a star.
This man was a known Death Eater who tortured countless victims, doing the unspeakable. He was a chauvinistic arse who dared insult me based on my gender. Who dared question my authority.
I was the Slytherin Queen, and for that alone, I should have done what all queens do. Punish.
But, he was also the man who arranged for his daughter to be married to Alphonse. The man who made Daphne cry. Who made Daphne suffer.
For that, I would hear him scream.
"I am Rosalind, daughter of Desmond, granddaughter of Kenneth, heiress of the Kersey name." I spoke, watching with much satisfaction as terror shone from his eyes. I moved a step closer to him, Serpen hissing in amusement as well, the both of us tilting our heads to gain a better view. "Your superior in any matter of even the slightest importance."
I smiled, knowing that no help would come to him.
"You were very observant just now, I am indeed a woman. But you will learn to respect me." I spoke raising my wand and preparing to cast. "Though I must warn you, I am rumoured to be quite a ruthless teacher."
My smile grew at this, now moments away from pure entertainment.
"I like to hear my students scream." I could see his fright, I could almost hear his heart beating, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew what was coming, he was in my place many a time before. "I hear you are the same. Then I shall honour you by starting the way you always do. Crucio!"
I watched as red light blossomed from my wand, hitting the man square in the chest. For a moment, he bore the pain, before opening his mouth in a scream.
It had been a very long time since I heard someone's voice go so high. And it was marvellous.
I watched him trash his head from side to side, screaming in agony, wishing to tear his own flesh off, but not able to move a single muscle bellow his neck.
That's it, scream for me.
I flicked my wand, ending the spell, just barely conscious of a wide circle of onlookers. I did not care about them, this toy was mine. Mine alone.
His head dropped as the curse ended, and I could see saliva gather around his mouth. The street was so silent. I did not like silence.
"Crucio!" I spoke, pure euphoria warming my chest. He screamed so loud, so strong, and I watched his eyes turn into his head, leaving only white orbs in their place.
But that would not do. We could not end the fun now. I did not have nearly enough.
Once more, I flicked my wand, ending the spell.
"Are you going to apologise now?" I asked, giggling at the expression on his face "Can you even speak you insolent bastard?"
"No?" I spoke, tilting my head in disappointment "Got a little tongue-tied, have you? I'll help you out there, after all, you were screaming so lovely just now."
"Pl-please" whispered the man, not liking our game as it seemed. How boring. I liked him more when he screamed. "Me-mercy."
"Mercy?" I laughed out loud, finding this man hilarious. "I'm afraid I'm just like you cousin, that word does not exist in my vocabulary."
I laughed once more at that, unable to help myself.
"But don't worry, I'm not going to cast a Cruciatus again. I need you to stay sane, you see. I need you to tell others of what happened here. I need you to tell others what happened when you dared disrespect a Kersey."
I giggled once more, turning to Serpen who was watching in pure bliss.
"What do you think Serpen? Shall we let him keep his tongue?" I asked and my familiar hissed in approval, laughing in his own way. "But he does not need his wand hand for that does he?"
"N-No. No!" yelled the funny man. "Please, mercy. Mercy!"
I turned to him, smiling.
"I can't play for much longer, but I can stay for a little bit more." I smiled, and he screamed once more "Mercy!"
"I really need to go, but before I do, just once more, scream for me." I smiled, raising my wand lazily and sharply pulling it down "Praeveho!"
Ice blue light shot from my wand to the man, hitting him in his right shoulder, evoking his screams one final time. Unlike my first curse, this pain was very much real. I was tearing his arm off from inside, leaving only skin and bone intact. All else was… expendable.
I revelled in his screams, for they were right. Just.
After a while, the curse ended, and I let the man fall to the ground, landing in a small heap. He would never use his wand hand again.
"I'll come play again" I giggled, before turning on my heel, the crowd parting to grant me an unusual honour. A clear path.