Have No Fear

Chapter 1: A Beginning

"The only cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity."-?

Jael walked down the twisting stone steps and brooded. She had spent so much time alone during her relatively short life that she had brooding down to a fine art. She stared at the thick, dusty tapestries lining the walls, lit by the flickering torches. It was terribly medieval. And terribly boring. She felt like she had been bored for the last two years of her life, stuck in this dreary, maze-like castle, with a bunch of sadists and halfwits for company. Jael would have given someone else's right arm for a decent conversation, or a little bit of excitement. She snorted. How does that old saying go? Be careful what you wish for?

No shit.

Jael stopped walking for a moment to watch one of the tapestry knights disembowel another tapestry knight. Ah, those Dark wizards and their wacky tapestries. Gotta love 'em. It was at this point that she heard a sound, a sound that would forever alter the fate of the world. Pretentious, but true.

Someone was crying.

It doesn't sound that impressive. She certainly wasn't impressed when she first heard the noise, only mildly concerned and extremely curious. During all her wanderings throughout the castle, it had been very rare that she'd bumped into someone else. And this was one of the more uninhabited parts of the castle. Of course, the castle had been flooded with people during the last month, ever since the Dark Lord had won the battle against the "light" side. It was now the unofficial Death Eater Central, with families, prisoners and slaves all taking up residence in its multitude of rooms. So she figured that it wasn't that odd that someone was sneaking around a small, out of the way staircase. After all, she was. But she was still curious about who it was that was crying. Jael began walking down the stairs, her hand on the curving wall for balance, laying each foot down as carefully and as silently as possible. The mysterious weeping echoed up from below her, sounding like sorrow personified. She listened carefully, trying to be quiet enough so that the unidentified boy wouldn't hear her and run away. Yes, the crier was definitely male, and young. The closer she got to him the more curious she became, and the more uncomfortable. His sobs were harsh and choked, giving her the impression that he was trying very hard not to cry but couldn't help himself. Jael experienced a short twinge of sympathy and fellow feeling for whoever it was; he sounded as miserable as she sometimes felt. She had often wandered through the abandoned places of the castle, thinking or singing or, as mentioned previously, brooding. She did that a lot. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, it was practically expected of her. Although, so was having friends, and she was sadly deficient in that area, mostly because she spent so much time alone. Hence the brooding. It was, she had sometimes reflected gloomily, one of those vicious circle thingies.

She continued her slink down the stairs. The noise had become quite loud, yet she still hadn't met its cause. She was beginning to wonder if it was actually the work of a ghost or a banshee when she rounded a final corner and there he was.

A young man was kneeling down on a large step, cleaning the wall tapestry in front of him with a bucket full of water and a scrub brush. He was also sobbing as though his heart would break.

Jael came to a sudden halt when she saw him, and he stopped crying abruptly and twisted his head towards her. She drew in a quick breath as comprehension of a sort dawned on her. He was a slave. Oh, everyone else called them "servants", but she had never been one for euphemisms. The story of the slaves was not long, but short and horrible. One month and three weeks ago, a spell had been completed. An Orb (so named because of its shape, and because no properly sinister name had yet been thought up) had been created that could control minds of the people who were bound to it. It wasn't messy and possible to fight off, like the Imperius curse. No, it was very efficient. The kind of efficiency they must have in Hell. All it took was a quick ritual to specify what restrictions you wanted put on the unfortunate person's actions, and said unfortunate person himself, and poof...you had the perfect slave. It made Jael want to puke. Death was terrible, but slavery? Wizards had not enslaved other wizards for centuries. It was like being...being Muggles. Of course the ultimate irony was this: the wizard who had thought up the ingenious spell was none other than her very own father. Shy, studious Randall Crowther. Who would have thought? Certainly not his only daughter, who had done nothing but stare with her mouth gaping wide as he waxed triumphant to the Dark Lord on his success. Bastard. It's true, you know, what they say about it always being the quiet ones.

Now the castle was crawling with prisoners who were working as slaves, trapped under the power of the Orb. Apparently this was a much more effective way to beat them rather than death, since they could be used to do all the work house elves had previously done. After the uprising of the house elves, servants had been hired, but who wants to dole out money to some ill-mannered commoner when you can have slaves do it free of charge?

This was why she figured that the young man had a damn good reason to be crying, what with having to do forced labour for your enemy and all. Unfortunately, Jael was not one of those blessed (and usually short-lived) people who are happy to believe their own assumptions and go merrily on their way. Her curiosity itched just as much as ever. She had never talked to any of the prisoners before, and standing in the dim, chilly staircase, she decided this would be a good time to start.

"Why are you crying?"

Oh yes, her inner voice spoke up sarcastically, you're really turning on the charm. He's sure to find you delightful company. She deigned not to wonder why she should care what kind of company a slave thought she was. The boy just stared blankly at her, and quickly wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand. Than he turned away and resumed scrubbing the tapestry. Slightly offended, she repeated the question twice, a little more loudly each time, but got no reply. Jael could feel both her temper and her (presumably) Slytherin pride rising. She was the daughter of six generations of pureblood Dark wizards. Her father sat at the Dark Lord's left hand. More importantly, she was young, reasonably pretty and sexually free in a castle presently full of other young people. She certainly had better things to do than sit around talking at some deaf-mute boy.

Having finished her little foray into self-delusion, Jael sat down on the step she had been standing upon and proceeded to stare. A good ten minutes must have passed like that. Him, kneeling on the hard stones, scrubbing determinedly at the tapestry. Her, sitting on the hard stones, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs, staring pointedly at him. Staring. Scrubbing. Staring. Scrubbing.

The cold from the stair was slowly seeping into her rear end and her ears were beginning to ring from the exceedingly loud silence, when he finally turned around and spoke.

"What do you want?"

Keeping a straight face, she replied.

"Well, at the moment, a thick cushion for my bum, a warmer cloak, umm...plus money, my own mansion, eternal life, oh, and a wallet made out of duct tape. You know, the usual."

For a moment he could only blink incredulously. Than:

"A wallet made out of duct tape?"

"Oh yeah. What, you've never wanted one of those?"

"Er..."

"They're very cool."

Colder now, unsure if she was teasing him: "That's nice."

"Really, they're brilliant, you should see how they're made, you..."

"Shut up! Why the fuck are you talking like this? Why are you talking as if we're friends?"

He was all at once furious, boiling over with hatred and confusion. She didn't know if it would be better to shut up and leave, or to keep pressing. Yeah. Like that's a tough choice.

"Oh, and I want one more thing. Your name, please."

He became abruptly closed-in, suspicious; his blue eyes hardened as they glared at me from out of his disfigured face. His face, that distinguished him as a working slave. The faces of all the slaves had been scarred almost beyond recognition. They were horrific: their features twisted, lopsided and covered in grooves and contusions. She was not sure why it was done. To stop them from recognizing each other, to make them feel isolated? As a punishment of some sort? Or perhaps just out of cruelty, the kind of casual cruelty the Death Eaters were so famous for.

The boy in front of her was no different. The awful sight was made even more macabre by the fact that his hair, eyes, neck and ears were all normal, so it looked as though he was wearing some kind of grotesque mask. It made it more than a little difficult to read his expressions, although at the moment it was easy. Hostility and hatred were smoldering openly in his eyes.

"Just tell me, why are you talking to me? Why are you being... nice to me?"

He spoke sharply, demandingly. She took a deep breath, and shrugged. She kept her voice calm, non-committal.

"Don't have anyone else to talk to. Anyone interesting, anyway."

"Really." Sarcasm dripped onto the floor, and formed a pool at his knees.

"Yeah. Really. Depressing, I know. So what's your name?"

He bristled, and turned away from her.

"Fuck off, Death Eater. Leave me alone. I'm busy."

Jael repressed a sigh. Redheads were famous for their tempers, and although she had never actually met one before, this one certainly didn't seem to be the exception to the rule. Why are you doing this to yourself? she chided. Are you really this bored?

Yes. Definitely.

"First of all, I'm not actually a Death Eater. Second, my name's Jael, if that makes you feel any better. Your name can't be any worse than that."

She paused, considering.

"Well, maybe. If it's like, Alphonse or something. Or Nebuchadnezzar. That's pretty bad too. Or-"

He cut her off angrily, still glaring at the tapestry and scrubbing diligently.

"Just go away, will you?! Can't you find someone else to talk to? Please!"

She started to say no straightway, just out of habit, but than she stopped and considered. Now that she was desperate enough to start conversations with prisoners, it opened up a whole world of possibilities. She stored this idea into her memory bank for later, when she could look at it more closely.

" But I was just getting warmed up. You're raining on my parade."

His eyes shot daggers at the unfortunate tapestry. She was worried that if he scrubbed the poor thing any harder, his arm would go right through the wall. The people inhabiting it, now partially visible through the dust and dirt, looked somewhat concerned as well. The kind of concerned that involves hasty running in the opposite direction, hopefully into a safer tapestry.

Fortunately, it was at this point that a question occurred to her. Jael had never asked any of the other teenagers in the castle about Hogwarts, as it grated on her that she had not been allowed to go. It was Grievance # 27 on the list of Why I Hate My Father the Prick. (Yes, she actually had a list). But despite her curiosity, she had for some reason neglected to ask them anything about it. Maybe she had not wanted to ruin her status as the "mysterious loner girl" by asking overeager questions. More likely though, that she had simply not wanted to be reminded of just how much of an outsider she was among them. But with this boy, what did she care what he thought of her? It was a safe bet that he had gone to Hogwarts, and maybe he would enjoy talking about happier times. She began hesitantly:

"Um. Did you go to Hogwarts?"

Tersely, without looking: "Yes, of course."

"Can you tell me what it was like?"

He turned to her, forgetting anger in the midst of his surprise.

"You never went to Hogwarts?"

"No. Wouldn't you have known me if I had?"

"Probably not, if you were in another House and another year. Why didn't you go?"

She shrugged, not wanting to get into the messy details.

"My father didn't want me to. He said it would have a bad influence on me, although I suspect it was just that he couldn't afford it."

"Oh." He sighed, and searched her face with his eyes. She wondered what he saw in it. "You never give up, do you?"

She simply looked at him.

"Well...Erm. What did you want to know?"

Jael kept her expression resolutely neutral. She didn't want him to see the triumphant grin that was trying to spread itself across her face. She had won this battle. His tone was still guarded, but had become almost friendly, and his eyes were no longer burning with resentment.

"Is it true that you can see stars in the ceiling of the big dining hall?"

"Yes. Well, actually you can only see them when there are stars outside. It's part of a, umm...can't remember the name of the spell, but it's bewitched to look like the sky outside..."

Jael didn't know how long they talked exactly, but it must have been at least an hour. Once she had gotten him started, he couldn't seem to stop. Stories just spilled out of him, as if he had been waiting for years to tell them. She didn't mind, she liked hearing about this wonderful school with its strange happenings and odd inhabitants. It made her wish all the more fiercely that she had gone there when she had had the chance. Hogwarts had been partially destroyed in a battle five months ago, and was now being rebuilt by their side into a school for the Dark Arts. It made her chest ache to think of such a beautiful place changed into something dark and terrible.

"And did I tell you about the giant squid in the lake? One time, this first year fell out of the rowboat on the way across the lake and the squid-"

He stopped, and seemed to shake himself out of a trance.

"What time is it?" he asked. Jael jerked in surprise. She hadn't realized how deeply she had been enjoying listening to his stories.

"I don't know. Probably starting to get dark though."

"Bloody hell! I've got to get down to the kitchen straight away or that wanker Hastur will have my head."

He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he unfolded his long legs. She stood as well, grimacing as the blood flowed painfully back into her cramping calves.

He hesitated before saying:

"Well, I, I guess I'll...see you around. Or something. Or...I don't know."

She smiled at him. It was the first genuine smile she had given anyone in a very long time.

"Yes. You'll see me again. Count on it."

He looked somewhat uneasy at this, but nodded and began walking down the steps.

"One more thing."

He answered without stopping: "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

He turned around slowly. Than, unexpectedly, smiled. It was an odd smile, friendly and mischievous and terribly sad all at once. It twisted his broken face into hideous shapes, and yet, somehow, he no longer looked ugly. Jael felt like she'd been bathed in bright sunlight, and grinned companionably back at him, almost instinctively.

"Fred. My name's Fred."

He turned around and trudged down the steps. He called back to her.

"Be seeing you then, Jael."

She watched his tall form and bright hair disappear around the curve of the stairway, and than listened, unmoving, until the echo of his footsteps faded away.

"Be seeing you, Fred." she whispered.