Hogwarts Conclusion, and a brief update
Dec. 24th, 2007 03:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unforthWell, I'm installed in my mother's apartment, my Christmas is pretty much over, and life is rumbling onward. I've spent pretty much all day engaged in the apartment hunt, and all of the places are running together in my head. I'll be leaving in a few minutes to go to a couple of open houses, and then I'm viewing a place at 3:45, and then I'm gonna try to get out to Roosevelt Island to look at a place there. I don't really think I want to live on Roosevelt Island, but it's big and cheap, and that's not bad really. It's kinda funny, I had about a 30 minute time period where I was less stressed about the apartment stuff because I'd made a phone call or two, and I was sitting and thinking I'd just wait for that to pan out. On further reflection, though, I realized that was silly. So now, I'm juggling about 8 different things at once, and more stressed out than ever. Sigh.
The holidays have been hectic, and it's slightly sad to say that I'm actually kind of glad that they are done. I've had tons to say on and off over the last few days, but now that I'm actually sitting here typing, I can't seem to think of any of it, so I guess that I'll leave it at that. Maybe when I get home this evening I'll be able to put my thoughts in to some sort of more coherent order.
Oh, and I'm completely in love with this song. It's really pretty and reminds me of Changeling.
This done, I'm taking a break, but I have pretty much made up my mind to write some sort of continuation. I finished the story last week. It's 98,800 words on the dot, which is about 300 pages. Maybe a little more. I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out. I'll probably do an edit run through it at some point, but not right now.
I opened my eyes. I wanted to scream. I had never thought to open my eyes ever again, and though I’d had mere moments to come to terms with that, when faced with a fate as a werewolf it was infinitely preferable to never open my eyes again than to live with this disease, to spend the rest of my life as a monster. I’d have given anything, in that moment, to change the events that had brought me to whatever point had enabled me to open my eyes. Starting to cry, a thought occurred to me. Maybe this was the after life. Maybe this was a dream. I might still be dead, please, just let me be dead!
A warm hand squeezed mine, offering silent support. My head jerked round to that side of the bed in which I lay, and there sat Marcus. He looked like hell. His shirt was ripped up, and blood showed through the gashes. His face was dirty and his hair a bit wild, and for a moment concern for him overwhelmed my other thoughts, and might have continued to do so if it hadn’t been clear from his face that his only thought was concern for me. “You shouldn’t be here,” I tried to say, but my tongue felt leaden and dry. I withdrew my hand from his – reluctantly, but necessarily – and reached for a water glass on a nearby table, and, seeing my aim, he passed it to me and helped me take a sip. I wanted to curse. I didn’t want his hand, and I didn’t want to accept his help. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, in fact. He had to leave, and I was preparing myself to say whatever I had to in order to make him do so. To think, I had once thought I was bad for him because I was a little selfish! How utterly ridiculous! Now, I thought I was bad for him because I was a hideous monster who would rip him to shreds when the moon became full. I almost wanted to laugh, the thought was so absurd, and I wondered if I wasn’t losing my mind.
The water felt wonderful in my throat. Marcus still said nothing, only watched me with those anxious eyes, and tried again. “You shouldn’t be here,” it came out this time.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied, “these are nothing.” He made a vague gesture at the cuts on his chest. I felt guilty that that hadn’t been what I had meant, for it should have been given how serious they looked.
“No,” I latched on to the idea. If only to buy a little time, to get him out of the room! “They don’t look like nothing, you should go to the doctor.”
“We’re at a doctor – at St. Mungo’s Hospital,” his gesture now took in the row of beds behind him and the horrible pale green walls. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t enough time, not really, for me to collect my thoughts. Perhaps had I had more time to think, I would have acted differently. As it was, I gathered all of my wits, my courage, my pain and my own horror at what I had become, and put on the most unpleasing expression I could imagine. He had taken my hand again, and now I wrenched it from his grasp and turned away. “That’s not what I meant,” I said nastily. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you here. You should leave.”
“I know what you’re doing,” he answered me firmly. I couldn’t see his face, and I almost lost my resolve in my desire to look and see his expression. “It won’t work.”
“What I’m doing?” I snorted unappealing. “You don’t know anything. Get out of here. The person you cared about? She’s dead. She’s never coming back. There’s no one here now who’ll answer to that description. You should leave.” I put everything I could in to sounding rough, rude, cruel, and, above all else, uncaring.
He made no answer for a long moment. I didn’t even glance at him the whole time. I was ripping my heart out, and as the moment stretched on I could feel my firmness bleeding out as if I’d actually done the injury. I didn’t turn to him, though, I was proud of myself for that. “You don’t need to do this,” he still spoke gently, and it cut me to the core. He sounded a little concerned, but clearly unconvinced.
Obviously, I needed to do more. Werewolves don’t need hearts. “Are you an idiot?” I snapped as meanly as I could. I rounded on him now. I’d have to look at him. My eyes – I hoped – glistened unfeelingly, like ice, and I did my best to fill my face with disdain and callousness. “Don’t you know what I am?” I laughed coldly. His concerned expression was slowly slipping in to one of pain. Inside, I cried. “It’s over, can’t you understand that? I should have died today – Delia killed herself to avoid becoming what I now am. That heart, that soul, it’s fled in the face of this. All your nobility, all your good intentions, they’re useless to me now, to what I am. I have different goals, different dreams now. You’d only be in the way.”
“I…” he hesitated. He was upset, but I could tell that for my sake he was still trying to be calm and supportive. Damn the man! Did he suspect that it was an act? I looked daggers at him, and he flinched. He continued, though. “I do know what you are. The doctor’s told me, and suggested that you…that I should leave. I said no, though. I won’t leave you.” This last he infused with passion. Knowing how repetitive it is to say, still I’ll repeat that it cut me to my heart. I think something of my wavering strength must have shown – given what I was recovering from, how could my strength not be wavering? – and he smiled slightly, hesitantly. It was slightly terrible to see, his face pale and scratched and dirty as it was.
“You shouldn’t bother,” I rebuked him as forcefully as I could, the moreso for my moment of weakness. “I want you to leave, so there’s no point in being stubborn. You think you know what I am? What do you know about it?”
“Enough to know what you’re doing,” his hesitancy had vanished. His concern, too, had slipped, and in its place was determination. “If you’re well enough to be doing this, then you are well enough for me to be firm. Remember, Delia, I’ve fought werewolves repeatedly while on WAP missions, werewolves created by this horror that they, Nox and his allies, are perpetuating. I’ve seen enough to know that the people who are made in to them are victims, and that they can’t help what they become, and,” he caught my eyes now and held them. I tried to continue looking cool, but it was nearly impossible. I flinched under his gaze, now, and fought down brutally a tide of tears that threatened me. “And I know it doesn’t change the person they are.” He moved from his chair to sit on the edge of my bed. “It doesn’t change who they are here,” he placed a hand on my forehead, “or here,” and the other hand on my heart. “Please, Delia,” he begged, not moving his hands, “I know what you are doing, but I also I know what I’m doing. I won’t leave you, not now, not ever. Because I love you.”
Inside me, something broke. He thought he understood, but he didn’t at all. He saw only me, and what I had become, without giving any thought to what it meant for me in a greater sense. My family would disown me when they knew. I’d be sent out from all wizarding society, an outcast, a reject, seen as unclean, dishonest, untrustworthy. I had nothing to look forward to beyond a life as a monster, alone. If I was lucky, I’d be able to pass as a muggle, or to find places where I might occasionally spend a month or two where they didn’t know me or what I was, a month or two before they realized that the werewolf didn’t appear until the newcomer came, a month or two before I was driven onwards. Every wizard knew that werewolves were inherently evil and inherently untrustworthy, knew how dangerous it was to let one be around. No promises made while human would bind the wolf, and no human was safe from injury, death, or – worst of all – the disease of lycanthropy while a werewolf roamed the night. The idea of being a monster my entire life was horrible, almost too much to bear, but I could tell that beneath it I was still me, and that given time I would learn how to adapt my life around it. But I was not strong enough to face a life time of being reviled, and I knew that I would not be doing so. I didn’t intend to be alive in the morning if I could contrive a way to accomplish it; if I couldn’t manage it in the hospital, I knew more than enough about poisons to do for myself once I was released. All of these thoughts and more flashed through my mind in an instant. “I don’t love you,” I snapped back, with all the rancor and hatred I felt for myself thrown at him. “Get out.” And I slapped him in the face as hard as I could.
His head whipped around in reaction, but he didn’t move from my side. Turning back to face me, his eyes with tears in them in reaction, he moved in a fashion essentially the exact opposite from what I had hoped. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. And he kissed me.
I choked on a sob before the kiss had even ended. Tears streamed from my eyes. He didn’t let go of the hug, though, and I cried in to his shoulder, my body shaking, my clawed back protesting painfully. “You have to,” I managed around my tears. “You don’t know what you are doing, you have to leave! Please,” I begged.
He met my protestations stoically, though, and said nothing, while I continued to cry. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t seem to make myself do so. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want him to let me go. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and would do anything if he’d stay, but I had enough of presence of mind to hold those words back. I still thought to end it all before I could drag him down with me. Weakly, I tried to push him away. “Go,” I half-whimpered. “You have to go.”
His arms tightened, though, instead of letting me go. “I do know what I’m doing,” he answered firmly. “I know you think you are protecting me, I know you think that this is the only way. Knowing you, you are planning something idiotic right at this moment, and I can’t let you do that. You think I don’t know what is coming? I think, perhaps, I know more than you. Your parents left half an hour ago, left when the doctors told them they thought you’d be waking up soon. They didn’t want to have to talk to their dead daughter. That, they agreed, was what they would tell the world; better from them to name you dead than the world to find out that they had given birth to what you are. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? They told me I should leave, too, and when I said no, they – thinking they were doing me a kindness – went to a lot of effort to explain to me thoroughly how utterly stupid I was being, and how blind I was, and that I had to leave.” He sounded angry about it, though I couldn’t see his face. “I told them that they should be ashamed of themselves, and that they had no right to call themselves your parents, and had no right to have a daughter like you. They didn’t appreciate that much – I suppose I shouldn’t have said it, it was wrong of me – but I was so angry with them, to decide it was better to call you dead than to help you, to try to insist that I should do the same. I knew you hadn’t changed; it’s been hours, how could you possibly have changed?”
“I have changed,” I was glad for the crack. “You can’t imagine how it feels, you can’t imagine what it’s like. If you are near me the next time I change, I’ll kill you. I won’t be able to help it. You mustn’t be near me what that happens – hours?” What he had said sank in. “When I change tonight! You have to leave before then.”
“I will,” he said sadly, “though I want nothing less in the world. I’ll leave when the moon rises, and return at dawn, only and entirely because I have no choice, though it pains me immensely.”
“Yes,” I grasped this opening. “Leave! But don’t come back.”
He pushed me to arms length, his hands on my shoulders. “Do you love me?” he replied firmly.
A shudder ran through my body. I couldn’t lie to him, so I resolved not to answer instead. “You have to go!”
“Do you love me?” he emphasized each word. His hands gripped me so hard that it hurt. Tears leaked from my eyes. I turned my face from his and didn’t answer him. “Delia!” I snapped back up; his tone could not be denied. My eyes met his, and I felt like I was falling in to them. There was no accusation there, though I had expected there would be. There was no anger, there was no rebuke, there was no fear. I don’t think I could have answered him if I had seen fear; I think that would have been the worst of all. Instead, though, all I saw was strength and courage and hope and love. The man, I decided, was completely insane. “Do you love me?”
“I do.”
What else could I have said? His face broke in to an angelic smile, and there were tears in his eyes. He was so busy being strong it was easy to forget, that he was little older than me and had been under as much strain as I of late. “Then I will never leave.”
And as he leaned forward to kiss me again, I surrendered completely. If I couldn’t make him leave, if I couldn’t protect him from myself, if he really knew what was in store for me – for us – than what else could I do but give in? Trembling, I accepted the kiss; when it was finished – which was not for some time, I think, it was not at all the modest kiss of that afternoon – he held me close, and we spoke quietly.
He told me about what he knew of the battle. The zeppelins had all been destroyed; his injuries – he told me after I asked – had been sustained when one had been blown up very near him. He didn’t say it outright, but he implied that this was due to Katrina, and that she might have done it intentionally; both he and James Ferguson had been hurt in the blast. He knew less of my team, though he knew they had fled not long after I had fallen. Celestine had taken up my body and Deletrious had taken Caius. Lycia had been using the necklace she had to control some of the wolves, but whatever she was doing didn’t effect all of them. I laughed then – had I known that, I might not have attacked Caius. I asked about that, where Caius was, and he told me that I had been right, in fact, for Deletrious – after, thankfully, retrieving the mirror so he could defend himself – had been attacked and had barely escaped, and that his attackers had taken Caius from him and fled. It seemed clear, indeed, that Caius had been a traitor. Marcus thought it possible that Katrina was one too, though it was more difficult to tell, for she had not been retrieved. We had, in the end, won, though at a high price. Hogwarts had fallen. No one had seen the Headmaster – whose 24 hours were not two-thirds done – since before the battle had finished. Miraculously, though, not a single student had died. The worst that had happened had happened to me. I couldn’t, somehow, find much joy in that.
“Did my parents…did they really…” I couldn’t finish, and he didn’t answer me but with a nod. I shouldn’t have been surprised. No, indeed, I was only surprised that they hadn’t out and out disowned me. In truth, I was rather pleased that they were only intending to pretend I was dead.
When the conversation ended, neither of us broached a new topic, and instead we sat quietly looking, I’m sure, horribly lovey. Sometime later, there was a knock on the door.
A doctor, wild haired in white and red robes, stuck a head in to the room. “Ms. Prince?” he looked at me, though his eyes didn’t quite focus. I had the uneasy feeling that this was the only doctor who had been willing to take care of me. “Yes, indeed, awake after all. Are you able to accept a guest?” I nodded. “Very good, very good. Mr. Reli…” he paused, trying to remember the name. “Mr…Reliosh, are you sure you won’t submit to treatment? Those wounds will become infected if you don’t accept healing.” I started guiltily. Despite them bleeding slightly and standing out against his slashed robes, I had still managed to get so wrapped up in everything else that I had largely forgotten about Marcus’ injuries.
He didn’t answer, but instead looked at me. “Go on,” I smiled. My face, still pale from the nights’ events and tracked with tears from our conversation, must have looked wretched. Marcus looked skeptical. “It’s alright, truly.” He nodded, and squeezed my hand. I looked at the doctor. “Mr. Relious,” I emphasized the name, though the doctor didn’t seem to notice, “will accompany you. Please show in my visitor.”
“Yes, of course,” the doctor smiled, and my opinion of him warmed slightly. Even if he was a bit odd, he at least seemed to be treating me like he would have any other patient.
The silence that filled the room when the door closed behind the doctor and Marcus was a little too absolute for my taste. I was surprised how overwhelmingly alone I felt, and I thought perhaps I’d not have needed poison to kill me had Marcus left; surely this feeling of desolation and loneliness alone would have been adequate to complete my demise. It was very different sadness than it might have been if I had driven Marcus off, but as it was without his strength to support me, all the weight of what had happened seemed to settle on my shoulders, horror at what I had become, terror at the life of wandering and poverty that awaited me. Before my thoughts proceeded far, though, the door opened. The last person I expected to see came in.
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus didn’t look his best. His skin had taken on a distinctly greenish cast, and the faint smell of decay wafted after him. He seemed in places bloated, and in places slightly desiccated, and I had the horrifying thought of hoping he wasn’t aware of the way in which his body was decomposing while his half-life lingered on. I wondered how much time he had left of his 24 hours, but didn’t have the heart to ask. He came and sat down in the chair vacated by Marcus, and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand, which I thought was in part due to his zombification.
“Ms. Prince,” he shifted a little uncomfortably. “I have very little time remaining to me, but I felt it only right that I acquaint you with certain information first hand, though you will learn of it soon enough from other sources as well. I cannot but feel that your current condition is in large part my own fault, and this brings me a great deal of guilt. Nox…” his voice was momentarily tinged with fury. “I should have done something about Palucid Nox years ago. Yet now, the school has been taken, the students have fled, and I have mere hours – perhaps less – when I will be once more nothing but a cadaver. There is nothing I can do that I have not yet done about these things. However, as to your own condition, there are actions I could – I actions I have – taken. After the defense of the school was completed, I had a discussion with my solicitor. As you are no doubt aware, I have not a family of my own. My estates and entail had gone to the Black family, to be distributed appropriately. This is no longer the case. I hope that it can in some small way make amends for what you have suffered to receive, with my blessings, my estates and – as I have learned that your family will not permit you to use the name Prince – I would be honored if you would accept the name Nigellus in its place.”
The Headmaster spoke feelingly, though with all of his usual brusqueness. I cannot easily explain what I thought as I heard this speech. It have my situation so kindly accepted by one with pure blood and its accompanying prejudices, to see the Headmaster again, to be welcomed in to his family, was more than I had ever dreamt of. In an instant, the life of wandering I had feared fell away, to be replaced instead by a life of hermitage and solitude. This, to me, was not nearly as unappealing. In a comfortable home to all my own, with a place where I would not be driven away, I could take steps to protect those around me, with financial support I could live my life and perhaps have the chance to pursue some of those purposes that had always been my goal. Gratitude, and, indeed, love, overwhelmed me. My mentor was a great man.
“What does the Black family feel about this, sir?”
“Well,” the Headmaster said a little vaguely. “They are not yet acquainted with the details, since the will will not be read until I am deceased, actually deceased. As it is, I expect that they will contest it, but I have made certain it is all quite legal, and written out several letters to that effect. I suspect that this will result in my posthumously being disowned. I consider that the price for the mistakes that I have made, prices that were my due, I think.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Headmaster.” I tried to suffuse my thanks with all the gratitude and affection which I felt for my mentor. Judging by his expression, I rather succeeded.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he apologized, rising, “I fear that my time is nearly past, now, and there are several more things that need my attention. Be well, Ms. Prince.” And I watched the Headmaster turn and leave. I never saw him again, nor was I even permitted to attend the funeral.
It was much later when Marcus joined me, but I was pleased to see that his injuries had been bound. He looked angry, though. I had heard some shouting from the hallway without being able to make out more than the general tone of the conversation, and now I realized that Marcus had been one of the participants in the fight. “Is everything alright?” I asked worriedly. “What time is it?” I had realized, as I lay there, that as the day passed the danger to myself and those around me increased. I suspected that this related to Marcus’ dishumor, and my guess proved to be right.
“The staff at St. Mungo’s will not allow you to remain the night. They claim they have no secure rooms – despite the fact that I found them myself,” he snapped. “They’re rather unpleasant rooms, more like prison cells than rooms for the ill, but they exist. The staff, though, say only the insane are kept there, and will not see you transferred. No, they insist on your removal.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to say all of this to you. I’ve been trying to think of where you could be removed to. I thought perhaps my parents…”
I smiled gently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, “I would never endanger your family, your sisters, with such a foolish move.”
“You’re right, of course,” he sighed. “But do you have anywhere to go?”
I thought about it. It was strange to realize that, unlike so few hours ago, my situation suddenly seemed much more manageable. Marcus wasn’t going to leave me, and the Headmaster had provided for my future. The combination had given me some stability, some vague sense of peace of mind, that now made it possible to at least think of something other than killing myself as soon as possible. The will to live, they say, is strong.
“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s not officially in my possession yet, but the guest who came – the Headmaster – has given me a home. He has left his estate to me in his will.”
“Truly? That’s wonderful!”
“I was shocked,” I admitted. “Though the terms of the will are, perhaps, problematic, still he is certain it will come in to my possession. I can remove there, and find some place in the house where I can be suitably constrained.”
With Marcus’ help, this plan was speedily enacted. Though my wounds were not entirely healed yet, still the Healer’s at St. Mungos were very much interested in seeing me depart, and I doubt anyone has gone through the paperwork as fast. They even waved the normal 1 sickle fee they charged for Flu Powder, and less than an hour saw me saying my farewells to Marcus. I was willing to accept his companionship, and willing to share my love and his, but there was no way that I would allow him to be near me during the full moon. It had taken little enough effort to convince him of this, for which I was heartily glad.
“I will come in three days,” he promised me. “And we will discuss what we are to do next.”
“Do next?” I asked. “What ever do you mean?”
“We can’t leave things as they are now,” he said firmly, with a smile. “The school fallen, the German’s are winning, Nox is on the loose, willing to use all manner of automata and dark arts to get his way – no, something must be done!” I frowned. I wasn’t sure that we were the ones to do this. More than ever in my life I wanted little more than some peace, quiet, and solitude. I had thought that I had found that, but judging by the fire in his voice my hopes were not to be.
“We can discuss that later,” I said finally. I shifted, a little pointedly, to emphasize that – due to the only partially healed in jury in my leg – I found standing to be painful, and Marcus started.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Here, let me help you.”
We walked together to the fireplace, where a staff member was waiting for us, looking very anxious for my departure. This didn’t stop her, however, from actually gasping in amazement when Marcus and I parted with a kiss. I reminded myself that I would just have to get used to such things, just I would have to get used to whatever was awaiting me this evening when darkness fell. Still, even as I stepped to the fire place, even as I waved at the man that I loved with all my heart, even as I considered that in hours I would become a monster, even as I considered the imprudence of installing myself in a home that had been mine for mere hours and where there were those who would surely attempt to drive me out, one other thought seemed to whisper in the background. Something must be done, Marcus’ words still rang in my ears. Something must be done about Nox, about Germany, about the school, to protect the students, about the Werewolves. Something must be done, and I was, I realized with firm resolve, prepared to do it.
The holidays have been hectic, and it's slightly sad to say that I'm actually kind of glad that they are done. I've had tons to say on and off over the last few days, but now that I'm actually sitting here typing, I can't seem to think of any of it, so I guess that I'll leave it at that. Maybe when I get home this evening I'll be able to put my thoughts in to some sort of more coherent order.
Oh, and I'm completely in love with this song. It's really pretty and reminds me of Changeling.
This done, I'm taking a break, but I have pretty much made up my mind to write some sort of continuation. I finished the story last week. It's 98,800 words on the dot, which is about 300 pages. Maybe a little more. I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out. I'll probably do an edit run through it at some point, but not right now.
I opened my eyes. I wanted to scream. I had never thought to open my eyes ever again, and though I’d had mere moments to come to terms with that, when faced with a fate as a werewolf it was infinitely preferable to never open my eyes again than to live with this disease, to spend the rest of my life as a monster. I’d have given anything, in that moment, to change the events that had brought me to whatever point had enabled me to open my eyes. Starting to cry, a thought occurred to me. Maybe this was the after life. Maybe this was a dream. I might still be dead, please, just let me be dead!
A warm hand squeezed mine, offering silent support. My head jerked round to that side of the bed in which I lay, and there sat Marcus. He looked like hell. His shirt was ripped up, and blood showed through the gashes. His face was dirty and his hair a bit wild, and for a moment concern for him overwhelmed my other thoughts, and might have continued to do so if it hadn’t been clear from his face that his only thought was concern for me. “You shouldn’t be here,” I tried to say, but my tongue felt leaden and dry. I withdrew my hand from his – reluctantly, but necessarily – and reached for a water glass on a nearby table, and, seeing my aim, he passed it to me and helped me take a sip. I wanted to curse. I didn’t want his hand, and I didn’t want to accept his help. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, in fact. He had to leave, and I was preparing myself to say whatever I had to in order to make him do so. To think, I had once thought I was bad for him because I was a little selfish! How utterly ridiculous! Now, I thought I was bad for him because I was a hideous monster who would rip him to shreds when the moon became full. I almost wanted to laugh, the thought was so absurd, and I wondered if I wasn’t losing my mind.
The water felt wonderful in my throat. Marcus still said nothing, only watched me with those anxious eyes, and tried again. “You shouldn’t be here,” it came out this time.
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied, “these are nothing.” He made a vague gesture at the cuts on his chest. I felt guilty that that hadn’t been what I had meant, for it should have been given how serious they looked.
“No,” I latched on to the idea. If only to buy a little time, to get him out of the room! “They don’t look like nothing, you should go to the doctor.”
“We’re at a doctor – at St. Mungo’s Hospital,” his gesture now took in the row of beds behind him and the horrible pale green walls. “It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t enough time, not really, for me to collect my thoughts. Perhaps had I had more time to think, I would have acted differently. As it was, I gathered all of my wits, my courage, my pain and my own horror at what I had become, and put on the most unpleasing expression I could imagine. He had taken my hand again, and now I wrenched it from his grasp and turned away. “That’s not what I meant,” I said nastily. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you here. You should leave.”
“I know what you’re doing,” he answered me firmly. I couldn’t see his face, and I almost lost my resolve in my desire to look and see his expression. “It won’t work.”
“What I’m doing?” I snorted unappealing. “You don’t know anything. Get out of here. The person you cared about? She’s dead. She’s never coming back. There’s no one here now who’ll answer to that description. You should leave.” I put everything I could in to sounding rough, rude, cruel, and, above all else, uncaring.
He made no answer for a long moment. I didn’t even glance at him the whole time. I was ripping my heart out, and as the moment stretched on I could feel my firmness bleeding out as if I’d actually done the injury. I didn’t turn to him, though, I was proud of myself for that. “You don’t need to do this,” he still spoke gently, and it cut me to the core. He sounded a little concerned, but clearly unconvinced.
Obviously, I needed to do more. Werewolves don’t need hearts. “Are you an idiot?” I snapped as meanly as I could. I rounded on him now. I’d have to look at him. My eyes – I hoped – glistened unfeelingly, like ice, and I did my best to fill my face with disdain and callousness. “Don’t you know what I am?” I laughed coldly. His concerned expression was slowly slipping in to one of pain. Inside, I cried. “It’s over, can’t you understand that? I should have died today – Delia killed herself to avoid becoming what I now am. That heart, that soul, it’s fled in the face of this. All your nobility, all your good intentions, they’re useless to me now, to what I am. I have different goals, different dreams now. You’d only be in the way.”
“I…” he hesitated. He was upset, but I could tell that for my sake he was still trying to be calm and supportive. Damn the man! Did he suspect that it was an act? I looked daggers at him, and he flinched. He continued, though. “I do know what you are. The doctor’s told me, and suggested that you…that I should leave. I said no, though. I won’t leave you.” This last he infused with passion. Knowing how repetitive it is to say, still I’ll repeat that it cut me to my heart. I think something of my wavering strength must have shown – given what I was recovering from, how could my strength not be wavering? – and he smiled slightly, hesitantly. It was slightly terrible to see, his face pale and scratched and dirty as it was.
“You shouldn’t bother,” I rebuked him as forcefully as I could, the moreso for my moment of weakness. “I want you to leave, so there’s no point in being stubborn. You think you know what I am? What do you know about it?”
“Enough to know what you’re doing,” his hesitancy had vanished. His concern, too, had slipped, and in its place was determination. “If you’re well enough to be doing this, then you are well enough for me to be firm. Remember, Delia, I’ve fought werewolves repeatedly while on WAP missions, werewolves created by this horror that they, Nox and his allies, are perpetuating. I’ve seen enough to know that the people who are made in to them are victims, and that they can’t help what they become, and,” he caught my eyes now and held them. I tried to continue looking cool, but it was nearly impossible. I flinched under his gaze, now, and fought down brutally a tide of tears that threatened me. “And I know it doesn’t change the person they are.” He moved from his chair to sit on the edge of my bed. “It doesn’t change who they are here,” he placed a hand on my forehead, “or here,” and the other hand on my heart. “Please, Delia,” he begged, not moving his hands, “I know what you are doing, but I also I know what I’m doing. I won’t leave you, not now, not ever. Because I love you.”
Inside me, something broke. He thought he understood, but he didn’t at all. He saw only me, and what I had become, without giving any thought to what it meant for me in a greater sense. My family would disown me when they knew. I’d be sent out from all wizarding society, an outcast, a reject, seen as unclean, dishonest, untrustworthy. I had nothing to look forward to beyond a life as a monster, alone. If I was lucky, I’d be able to pass as a muggle, or to find places where I might occasionally spend a month or two where they didn’t know me or what I was, a month or two before they realized that the werewolf didn’t appear until the newcomer came, a month or two before I was driven onwards. Every wizard knew that werewolves were inherently evil and inherently untrustworthy, knew how dangerous it was to let one be around. No promises made while human would bind the wolf, and no human was safe from injury, death, or – worst of all – the disease of lycanthropy while a werewolf roamed the night. The idea of being a monster my entire life was horrible, almost too much to bear, but I could tell that beneath it I was still me, and that given time I would learn how to adapt my life around it. But I was not strong enough to face a life time of being reviled, and I knew that I would not be doing so. I didn’t intend to be alive in the morning if I could contrive a way to accomplish it; if I couldn’t manage it in the hospital, I knew more than enough about poisons to do for myself once I was released. All of these thoughts and more flashed through my mind in an instant. “I don’t love you,” I snapped back, with all the rancor and hatred I felt for myself thrown at him. “Get out.” And I slapped him in the face as hard as I could.
His head whipped around in reaction, but he didn’t move from my side. Turning back to face me, his eyes with tears in them in reaction, he moved in a fashion essentially the exact opposite from what I had hoped. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. And he kissed me.
I choked on a sob before the kiss had even ended. Tears streamed from my eyes. He didn’t let go of the hug, though, and I cried in to his shoulder, my body shaking, my clawed back protesting painfully. “You have to,” I managed around my tears. “You don’t know what you are doing, you have to leave! Please,” I begged.
He met my protestations stoically, though, and said nothing, while I continued to cry. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t seem to make myself do so. I didn’t want him to leave. I didn’t want him to let me go. I wanted to tell him that I loved him and would do anything if he’d stay, but I had enough of presence of mind to hold those words back. I still thought to end it all before I could drag him down with me. Weakly, I tried to push him away. “Go,” I half-whimpered. “You have to go.”
His arms tightened, though, instead of letting me go. “I do know what I’m doing,” he answered firmly. “I know you think you are protecting me, I know you think that this is the only way. Knowing you, you are planning something idiotic right at this moment, and I can’t let you do that. You think I don’t know what is coming? I think, perhaps, I know more than you. Your parents left half an hour ago, left when the doctors told them they thought you’d be waking up soon. They didn’t want to have to talk to their dead daughter. That, they agreed, was what they would tell the world; better from them to name you dead than the world to find out that they had given birth to what you are. You think I don’t know what I’m doing? They told me I should leave, too, and when I said no, they – thinking they were doing me a kindness – went to a lot of effort to explain to me thoroughly how utterly stupid I was being, and how blind I was, and that I had to leave.” He sounded angry about it, though I couldn’t see his face. “I told them that they should be ashamed of themselves, and that they had no right to call themselves your parents, and had no right to have a daughter like you. They didn’t appreciate that much – I suppose I shouldn’t have said it, it was wrong of me – but I was so angry with them, to decide it was better to call you dead than to help you, to try to insist that I should do the same. I knew you hadn’t changed; it’s been hours, how could you possibly have changed?”
“I have changed,” I was glad for the crack. “You can’t imagine how it feels, you can’t imagine what it’s like. If you are near me the next time I change, I’ll kill you. I won’t be able to help it. You mustn’t be near me what that happens – hours?” What he had said sank in. “When I change tonight! You have to leave before then.”
“I will,” he said sadly, “though I want nothing less in the world. I’ll leave when the moon rises, and return at dawn, only and entirely because I have no choice, though it pains me immensely.”
“Yes,” I grasped this opening. “Leave! But don’t come back.”
He pushed me to arms length, his hands on my shoulders. “Do you love me?” he replied firmly.
A shudder ran through my body. I couldn’t lie to him, so I resolved not to answer instead. “You have to go!”
“Do you love me?” he emphasized each word. His hands gripped me so hard that it hurt. Tears leaked from my eyes. I turned my face from his and didn’t answer him. “Delia!” I snapped back up; his tone could not be denied. My eyes met his, and I felt like I was falling in to them. There was no accusation there, though I had expected there would be. There was no anger, there was no rebuke, there was no fear. I don’t think I could have answered him if I had seen fear; I think that would have been the worst of all. Instead, though, all I saw was strength and courage and hope and love. The man, I decided, was completely insane. “Do you love me?”
“I do.”
What else could I have said? His face broke in to an angelic smile, and there were tears in his eyes. He was so busy being strong it was easy to forget, that he was little older than me and had been under as much strain as I of late. “Then I will never leave.”
And as he leaned forward to kiss me again, I surrendered completely. If I couldn’t make him leave, if I couldn’t protect him from myself, if he really knew what was in store for me – for us – than what else could I do but give in? Trembling, I accepted the kiss; when it was finished – which was not for some time, I think, it was not at all the modest kiss of that afternoon – he held me close, and we spoke quietly.
He told me about what he knew of the battle. The zeppelins had all been destroyed; his injuries – he told me after I asked – had been sustained when one had been blown up very near him. He didn’t say it outright, but he implied that this was due to Katrina, and that she might have done it intentionally; both he and James Ferguson had been hurt in the blast. He knew less of my team, though he knew they had fled not long after I had fallen. Celestine had taken up my body and Deletrious had taken Caius. Lycia had been using the necklace she had to control some of the wolves, but whatever she was doing didn’t effect all of them. I laughed then – had I known that, I might not have attacked Caius. I asked about that, where Caius was, and he told me that I had been right, in fact, for Deletrious – after, thankfully, retrieving the mirror so he could defend himself – had been attacked and had barely escaped, and that his attackers had taken Caius from him and fled. It seemed clear, indeed, that Caius had been a traitor. Marcus thought it possible that Katrina was one too, though it was more difficult to tell, for she had not been retrieved. We had, in the end, won, though at a high price. Hogwarts had fallen. No one had seen the Headmaster – whose 24 hours were not two-thirds done – since before the battle had finished. Miraculously, though, not a single student had died. The worst that had happened had happened to me. I couldn’t, somehow, find much joy in that.
“Did my parents…did they really…” I couldn’t finish, and he didn’t answer me but with a nod. I shouldn’t have been surprised. No, indeed, I was only surprised that they hadn’t out and out disowned me. In truth, I was rather pleased that they were only intending to pretend I was dead.
When the conversation ended, neither of us broached a new topic, and instead we sat quietly looking, I’m sure, horribly lovey. Sometime later, there was a knock on the door.
A doctor, wild haired in white and red robes, stuck a head in to the room. “Ms. Prince?” he looked at me, though his eyes didn’t quite focus. I had the uneasy feeling that this was the only doctor who had been willing to take care of me. “Yes, indeed, awake after all. Are you able to accept a guest?” I nodded. “Very good, very good. Mr. Reli…” he paused, trying to remember the name. “Mr…Reliosh, are you sure you won’t submit to treatment? Those wounds will become infected if you don’t accept healing.” I started guiltily. Despite them bleeding slightly and standing out against his slashed robes, I had still managed to get so wrapped up in everything else that I had largely forgotten about Marcus’ injuries.
He didn’t answer, but instead looked at me. “Go on,” I smiled. My face, still pale from the nights’ events and tracked with tears from our conversation, must have looked wretched. Marcus looked skeptical. “It’s alright, truly.” He nodded, and squeezed my hand. I looked at the doctor. “Mr. Relious,” I emphasized the name, though the doctor didn’t seem to notice, “will accompany you. Please show in my visitor.”
“Yes, of course,” the doctor smiled, and my opinion of him warmed slightly. Even if he was a bit odd, he at least seemed to be treating me like he would have any other patient.
The silence that filled the room when the door closed behind the doctor and Marcus was a little too absolute for my taste. I was surprised how overwhelmingly alone I felt, and I thought perhaps I’d not have needed poison to kill me had Marcus left; surely this feeling of desolation and loneliness alone would have been adequate to complete my demise. It was very different sadness than it might have been if I had driven Marcus off, but as it was without his strength to support me, all the weight of what had happened seemed to settle on my shoulders, horror at what I had become, terror at the life of wandering and poverty that awaited me. Before my thoughts proceeded far, though, the door opened. The last person I expected to see came in.
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus didn’t look his best. His skin had taken on a distinctly greenish cast, and the faint smell of decay wafted after him. He seemed in places bloated, and in places slightly desiccated, and I had the horrifying thought of hoping he wasn’t aware of the way in which his body was decomposing while his half-life lingered on. I wondered how much time he had left of his 24 hours, but didn’t have the heart to ask. He came and sat down in the chair vacated by Marcus, and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand, which I thought was in part due to his zombification.
“Ms. Prince,” he shifted a little uncomfortably. “I have very little time remaining to me, but I felt it only right that I acquaint you with certain information first hand, though you will learn of it soon enough from other sources as well. I cannot but feel that your current condition is in large part my own fault, and this brings me a great deal of guilt. Nox…” his voice was momentarily tinged with fury. “I should have done something about Palucid Nox years ago. Yet now, the school has been taken, the students have fled, and I have mere hours – perhaps less – when I will be once more nothing but a cadaver. There is nothing I can do that I have not yet done about these things. However, as to your own condition, there are actions I could – I actions I have – taken. After the defense of the school was completed, I had a discussion with my solicitor. As you are no doubt aware, I have not a family of my own. My estates and entail had gone to the Black family, to be distributed appropriately. This is no longer the case. I hope that it can in some small way make amends for what you have suffered to receive, with my blessings, my estates and – as I have learned that your family will not permit you to use the name Prince – I would be honored if you would accept the name Nigellus in its place.”
The Headmaster spoke feelingly, though with all of his usual brusqueness. I cannot easily explain what I thought as I heard this speech. It have my situation so kindly accepted by one with pure blood and its accompanying prejudices, to see the Headmaster again, to be welcomed in to his family, was more than I had ever dreamt of. In an instant, the life of wandering I had feared fell away, to be replaced instead by a life of hermitage and solitude. This, to me, was not nearly as unappealing. In a comfortable home to all my own, with a place where I would not be driven away, I could take steps to protect those around me, with financial support I could live my life and perhaps have the chance to pursue some of those purposes that had always been my goal. Gratitude, and, indeed, love, overwhelmed me. My mentor was a great man.
“What does the Black family feel about this, sir?”
“Well,” the Headmaster said a little vaguely. “They are not yet acquainted with the details, since the will will not be read until I am deceased, actually deceased. As it is, I expect that they will contest it, but I have made certain it is all quite legal, and written out several letters to that effect. I suspect that this will result in my posthumously being disowned. I consider that the price for the mistakes that I have made, prices that were my due, I think.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Headmaster.” I tried to suffuse my thanks with all the gratitude and affection which I felt for my mentor. Judging by his expression, I rather succeeded.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he apologized, rising, “I fear that my time is nearly past, now, and there are several more things that need my attention. Be well, Ms. Prince.” And I watched the Headmaster turn and leave. I never saw him again, nor was I even permitted to attend the funeral.
It was much later when Marcus joined me, but I was pleased to see that his injuries had been bound. He looked angry, though. I had heard some shouting from the hallway without being able to make out more than the general tone of the conversation, and now I realized that Marcus had been one of the participants in the fight. “Is everything alright?” I asked worriedly. “What time is it?” I had realized, as I lay there, that as the day passed the danger to myself and those around me increased. I suspected that this related to Marcus’ dishumor, and my guess proved to be right.
“The staff at St. Mungo’s will not allow you to remain the night. They claim they have no secure rooms – despite the fact that I found them myself,” he snapped. “They’re rather unpleasant rooms, more like prison cells than rooms for the ill, but they exist. The staff, though, say only the insane are kept there, and will not see you transferred. No, they insist on your removal.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to say all of this to you. I’ve been trying to think of where you could be removed to. I thought perhaps my parents…”
I smiled gently. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, “I would never endanger your family, your sisters, with such a foolish move.”
“You’re right, of course,” he sighed. “But do you have anywhere to go?”
I thought about it. It was strange to realize that, unlike so few hours ago, my situation suddenly seemed much more manageable. Marcus wasn’t going to leave me, and the Headmaster had provided for my future. The combination had given me some stability, some vague sense of peace of mind, that now made it possible to at least think of something other than killing myself as soon as possible. The will to live, they say, is strong.
“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s not officially in my possession yet, but the guest who came – the Headmaster – has given me a home. He has left his estate to me in his will.”
“Truly? That’s wonderful!”
“I was shocked,” I admitted. “Though the terms of the will are, perhaps, problematic, still he is certain it will come in to my possession. I can remove there, and find some place in the house where I can be suitably constrained.”
With Marcus’ help, this plan was speedily enacted. Though my wounds were not entirely healed yet, still the Healer’s at St. Mungos were very much interested in seeing me depart, and I doubt anyone has gone through the paperwork as fast. They even waved the normal 1 sickle fee they charged for Flu Powder, and less than an hour saw me saying my farewells to Marcus. I was willing to accept his companionship, and willing to share my love and his, but there was no way that I would allow him to be near me during the full moon. It had taken little enough effort to convince him of this, for which I was heartily glad.
“I will come in three days,” he promised me. “And we will discuss what we are to do next.”
“Do next?” I asked. “What ever do you mean?”
“We can’t leave things as they are now,” he said firmly, with a smile. “The school fallen, the German’s are winning, Nox is on the loose, willing to use all manner of automata and dark arts to get his way – no, something must be done!” I frowned. I wasn’t sure that we were the ones to do this. More than ever in my life I wanted little more than some peace, quiet, and solitude. I had thought that I had found that, but judging by the fire in his voice my hopes were not to be.
“We can discuss that later,” I said finally. I shifted, a little pointedly, to emphasize that – due to the only partially healed in jury in my leg – I found standing to be painful, and Marcus started.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Here, let me help you.”
We walked together to the fireplace, where a staff member was waiting for us, looking very anxious for my departure. This didn’t stop her, however, from actually gasping in amazement when Marcus and I parted with a kiss. I reminded myself that I would just have to get used to such things, just I would have to get used to whatever was awaiting me this evening when darkness fell. Still, even as I stepped to the fire place, even as I waved at the man that I loved with all my heart, even as I considered that in hours I would become a monster, even as I considered the imprudence of installing myself in a home that had been mine for mere hours and where there were those who would surely attempt to drive me out, one other thought seemed to whisper in the background. Something must be done, Marcus’ words still rang in my ears. Something must be done about Nox, about Germany, about the school, to protect the students, about the Werewolves. Something must be done, and I was, I realized with firm resolve, prepared to do it.
