The Quest for Cleo Malfoy

Chapter 3

The next day, Biagio was very angry with himself.

"All this time trying to avoid you getting sunburn or other nasty accidents - ahi! - and I go and forget to protect myself - ahia! Clever mission leader, I am - ahiahia!" About his face, neck, shoulders, and arms, his normally swarthy skin was lobster-red and full of peelings. Sunburn is one of those cowardly complaints that sneak up on you: although you may have managed to burn yourself very thoroughly, it takes a few hours for it to really show itself as it is. Biagio had begun to be aware of it on his way back from Vidanza, the previous night; had slept poorly, and woken to unutterable misery. Eloise, who was a nicely brought up girl, stifled her giggles.

"Do you think I could freshen you up a bit?" said Myrtle, grazing his peeling right arm with her ghostly hand. The very touch made him shudder.

"NO, thank you very much," he managed, and then, in a whisper: "You don't repair one disaster with another."

"I heard that!" - came the whining voice.

Eloise grinned as she walked along. Both Biagio and Myrtle looked at her with interest. She looked much better than yesterday. After collapsing into sleep the previous afternoon, she had slept for fifteen unbroken hours, and it had done her a world of good. She had woken up refreshed, happy, and ravenously hungry. In the cool of early morning, stifling her giggles at Biagio's moans and cries of pain, she had eaten heartily, and set on the trail without any stress.

It helped that the air was getting colder. They were now in the high mountains, and the ploughed fields were giving way to pasture. Biagio was too caught up in his misery to pay much attention, but both Myrtle and Eloise were silent, looking at the unfamiliar landscape with large eyes. The landscape was growing... simpler. They were walking towards a dark-green forest of upright, stern-looking firs and pines, all to be pointing straight to the sky with stout, arrow-straight, sharp bodies. They rose from a grassy green plateau, where the shining sun picked out every one of millions of brightly-coloured flowers, and stretched in and out of sight around the surrounding slopes. A mile or two away, a herd of cows could barely be discerned; Eloise, if she strained, managed to hear some distant lowing, and every now and then the clanging of a cowbell. And behind and beneath them, they could see the land falling away into dizzying valleys lower down, where roads the size of a hair led to thin clusters of houses like scattered Lego bricks. Above the pines, surrounded by puffs of clouds that seemed very unwilling to move, the peaks rose from blue-black, gravelly stretches of sterile ground into streaks of dazzling white snow; and now they could see a slight crack across their plateau, where a chattering brook of molten ice, crossed the green expanse to fall off into a reedy little lake a short way off. Eloise bent to drink some; it was nearly as cold as Myrtle to the touch.

It was Myrtle who first saw the frog. "Look out! Don't step on it, Eloise!" Eloise, suddenly warned, jerked sideways and nearly fell. Then she bent over to look.

"What is it?... Oh, just a frog. Really, you made me jump," said she with a slight tone of reproach.

"No," said Biagio as his right hand suddenly plucked a butterfly out of the air, "I think Myrtle is right. I always heard it said that it is not wise to inflict unnecessary pain on a quest. You never know where you will meet a disguised king or a god... do we, little one?" He glanced at the butterfly; then he opened his hand and let it fly away. For an instant, they thought they felt the earth shake beneath them.

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Two thousand miles away, a worn, gaunt man with a shock of thick, dry hair that had once been blonde, contemplated the jump on a needle, then picked up his portable phone.

"Harry?" he said, "we've got one."

"I know," answered the voice at the other end. "My computer screen just lit up like a Christmas tree. I guess there's been an earthquake in Italy."

"I see. Shall I stay a bit longer?"

"It's not that important. Liz will be coming to take over in a few minutes. Anyway, I'm knocking off myself in half an hour."

That was, in their private code, an appointment to meet for a confidential talk.

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The forest was dense in its way, but had fairly little by way of undergrowth and grass. Thick trunks stood at some distance from each other, rising towards an almost unseen sky, stabbed here and there by dashes of sunlight, made visible by thin dust. The smell of resin and pine needles made a subtle and constant counterpoint to the setting; and the steps of the adventurers (Myrtle made no sound) were the loudest sound. Occasionally a rustle here and there, occasionally a chirp or a warble - but never close, never clearly identifiable. A delicate breeze with the cold nip of mountain ice in it allowed them to keep walking without overheating.

"Where are we going, anyway?" asked Eloise. Biagio did not answer, just raised his head to look to the rising slopes. Some mossy rocks jutted clean out of the ground, making a clearing where no trees could grow; thick shrubs had taken advantage of it, and stood vigorously up, their dense branches covered in small leathery leaves and berries. Through the opening in the trees, they could see the mountain-tops, much closer now, and dazzling white. Eloise wondered whether they were supposed to climb to the very top; but then she noticed that both Biagio and Myrtle had grown tense, as if they were listening for something.

"There were ghosts here once," said Myrtle quietly.

"Yes (ahia!)," answered Biagio, whose sunburn had not even begun to die down. "Ancient hermits, forgotten saints and sages. The forest was (ahi!) - was friendlier to humans once."

"Wizards, too," said Myrtle.

"Wizards, I think," answered Biagio, "will probably be around still. I do not altogether want to meet them. Hermits would have been another matter, but their spirits left these lands long ago. Wizards... I know what the powers of the wood think of them. (Ahi!) Maybe I had better make myself known." His hand reached over his shoulder for his sword; he drew it, flourished it briefly in the sunlight (the rays glinted back for an instant, straight into Eloise's eyes), and laid it softly on the ground. He then placed it next to a clump of basil, as if wanting to chop it down, and moved it delicately back and forth, cutting no more than a small nick. Finally, he placed its tip against the bare rock; then he put it up and sheathed it. Eloise looked on uncomprehendingly; this was no magical ritual that Hogwarts had ever taught her.

"The powers will answer," said Biagio, "if and when they please. Meanwhile, I think it's about lunchtime anyway." Eloise suddenly realized that she was hungry, and they sat down (Biagio with several half-stifled grunts of pain) to eat and rest on the green grass.

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Half an hour later, as the sun was about rise, Harry Gaut Earl III, head of the Geology Department of an American state university, walked out of his office at the end of a rare bout of night duty and walked down the main staircase. His car was waiting for him in the Head of Department's reserved parking space. Gaut Earl got in, drew his wand, touched the wheel, and quietly whispered: "The inn". The car turned itself on.

As they went past the campus gates, Gaut Earl made sure that the guard saw his hands on the wheel. But it was the car that was doing the driving - an enchanted vehicle, of a kind approved by the American Ministry of Magic for wizards who wished to mix with Muggles, able to drive itself without any attention from its guests and to go anywhere they wished (so long as it was accessible by road) without ever breaking Muggle highway codes or drawing attention to itself. Gaut Earl found it rather second-rate - it was so boxy and earthbound, compared with the pleasure of broomstick flying - but it was thanks to this and similar innovative measures that American wizards were able to mingle with Muggles at leisure, where the more tradition-bound European and Asian ministries tended to close off their members in little wizarding ghettoes.

The local wizarding "inn", where Gaut Earl liked to dine, was another instance of American openness. It was a small restaurant ten blocks from the campus, perfectly visible to Muggles, specializing in American country cooking; the only difference being that every Muggle who thought about eating there for a minute decided that there were other places they liked better. Gaut Earl had his own favourite table - and, that day, someone was sitting at it.

Gaut Earl did not seem discomposed. "Hello, Mort," he said as he sat opposite the man who had phoned him earlier in the day. "Hello, Harry," answered Morton MacKenzie.

Next thing they knew, the waiter was standing by them. They made their orders, then waited till the waiter had vanished.

"Well," said Mort to Harry.

"Well," answered Harry.

"Harry, if that was a natural earthquake, then I'm a Muggle. There is something going on in Italy."

"Well, Mort, something is certainly going on and I can tell you about it, but what it has to do with a magical earthquake, I can't imagine."

"So what is going on?"

"Quite simply - the House of Zabini has entered the war."

"Oh, I see. That is not so good, is it? It will give Voldemort next best thing to a lock on continental Europe - unless we can convince some major power to enter the lists against him. And the more powers join him, the more unwilling the others are to oppose him."

"Wrong, Mort. They are fighting against him."

"What? Why?"

"I am not clear about the details, but the Malfoys have done something to offend the Zabinis mortally. Actually, Voldemort might have saved himself a lot of trouble if he had just cut the Malfoys loose, but he was not interested. So now he is caught up in their feud."

"At any rate, I can't see that this can explain a magical earthquake in Italy. Can you?"

"No more than anyone else, I guess. Let's just record the event and look for an explanation later."

"On the other hand..." And Morton MacKenzie fell silent.

"Are you relieved?"

"I was thinking of the Malfoys. Can you wonder? Of course if anyone wants their blood I'm interested. The Zabinis might just be doing me a favour. I owe my son revenge, but if they kill the Malfoys first, I can just stand back and watch them."

"Upon my word, Mort..."

"I know, I know... he was my only son... I owe him revenge... the Malfoys killed him. You can forget all that. I know it all. I've been telling it to myself for years.

"But my son was a nasty piece of work. He was the death of his mother, and when they found him dead, I was on my way to disinheriting him. Whatever the Malfoys did to him, and for whatever reason, he probably got what he deserved. I'd chucked him out of the house... well, if it had been anything else, I might have forgiven him, but not his mother. Not my wife."

Gaut Earl looked at his subordinate in concern. He had lost his wife four years earlier, and since them something in him had never been right. He had never looked at another woman, and for a long while his work had deteriorated. Outwardly, he had recovered, but Gaut Earl knew perfectly well that his loss was not healed, and probably never would be.

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They had finished a moderate lunch, and were about to set off again, when Myrtle suddenly stopped and made a wild gesture. Before either of the others could ask what was the matter, she had made herself invisible. Eloise opened her mouth to speak, but Biagio placed his forefinger on his lips, in the universal gesture of "Silence!" Confused and rather nervous, Eloise seized her wand and waited.

Indeterminable minutes passed in silence, while she tried and failed to see if she could hear or see anything. Blaise did not seem to be trying; he had drawn his sword and then just stood there, waiting.

Suddenly Myrtle reappeared, barely visible in the bright sunlight. She just pointed in one direction - down a forested slope, where the trees were too thick to see at any distance. Blaise did not need any more pointing: he charged down the slope like a mad bull. Pursuing him, Eloise noticed that he had switched the sword from his right to his left hand, and held his wand with his right.

As she ran after him, she suddenly had the impression of seeing something dressed in black, barely visible among the firs. At the same time, Blaise whirled the sword with his left hand... and threw it like a javelin, straight in the direction of the black figure. A quick spell from his wand, which Eloise recognized, drove its flight faster - suddenly there was a high, high, dreadful shriek, tearing through the air like an explosion, quickly dying down into a gulping.

Eloise had never heard a death-cry before, but she had no doubt that that was what she had heard just now. The impetus of their running brought them to the fallen figure in black before it had completely stopped struggling. Shafts of sunlight brought out the violent red splashes of blood across its black clothing, and on the grass and tree trunks and stones. It was a man, or something like a man, and Eloise felt suddenly very disgusted and on the verge of being sick.

Blaise drew his sword from the still-breathing body beneath him, pressing it with one foot to gain momentum. Then he turned away from it, and Eloise noticed for the first time the three irregular, flat-topped stone slabs, densely covered with lichen patches that looked like splashes of old blood. They looked like altars; the comparison forced itself on her, for on each of them lay a wild animal, bound and helpless. On the left slab was a lynx, still growling with anger; on the right, a very large wolf; and on the central one, an enormous bear, wearing a diadem on its head.

Blaise stepped forward, sword in hand, and quickly severed the animals' bonds. The bear shook its enormous head as though to clear it; and then something happened for which Eloise was absolutely not prepared - and she should have been, she told herself after a second, seeing the crown on the bear's head. Lynx, bear and wolf simply bowed low on their front paw, making obeisance to Blaise. Blaise held his sword by the blade, raising it over the kneeling animals, and then bowed his head to them, like a sovereign thanking his subjects. And then, to spoil everything, he grimaced - he still was suffering from yesterday's sunburn.

"These are the Powers of the Land, Eloise," he said "They will lead us through the first part of our quest; we would be lost without them. Miei Signori della terra selvaggia" - he said, turning to the three animals - "vi presento i miei compagni d'avventura: Cassandra Eloise la valorosa" - here his arm swept out to point to Eloise - "e lo spettro di Myrtle Joan-of-Arc." And he pointed at Myrtle. At the sight of the ghost, the bear growled, and the hackles of lynx and wolf seemed to rise; Blaise bowed to them again, and said: "Non abbiate timore dello spettro di Myrtle. É uno spirito buono e soccorrevole, come voi stessi, Signori miei."

Eloise bowed to the animals, hoping she did not look stupid or clumsy, and she thought that she got a return; certainly, their heads seemed to bob, though not to bow as deep as they had for Blaise. And why not? - she thought. He is the heir of the dynasty here. He claimed to be hereditary king, and it seems that the local spirits agree.

Her eyes caught a streak of red across the green and brown of the forest floor, and followed it back to the dying figure in black. If Eloise had been a Medi-Witch, she would have wondered at how this man, ran through from end to end by an enormous sword-wound, could still be alive; and alive he was, though his gurgling and gasping breath was growing feebler by the second.

Eloise was beginning to understand something of what had just taken place. If these three creatures were indeed, as Blaise had said, the spirits of the land, then the attempt to bind and sacrifice them was a crime of the first magnitude; something that would have corrupted the whole country in millions of subtle ways, and, above all, placed all its magical and mystical potential in the hands of the person who had ordered the sacrifice. (Eloise was quite aware that this person did not have to be the priest; the priest was only the specialist carrying out someone else's orders.) And this explained Blaise's horror and his rush to save them.

Even so... Eloise looked at the gory field with horror and regret. Was it necessary? Did he have to kill a man? Eloise remembered stories she had heard at Hogwarts - stories of Slytherin ruthlessness and of Blaise's own ferocity, that made him a man nobody wanted to cross. For the first time, she questioned if she wanted to be with this man.

"Turn up his left sleeve."

Eloise jumped. The words had taken her by surprise, and she almost did not understand them. Myrtle, who had suddenly appeared beside her, insisted: "Turn up his left sleeve, Eloise!" Eloise bent over, not without reluctance, and picked up the dying man's arm. Eloise knew nothing of the Dark Mark, and Blaise very little; but it was well-known among Hogwarts ghosts; and as she pushed the black cloth back from a strangely muscular arm, the black mole sprang into view. Myrtle looked unhappy, like a person whose worst fears are confirmed.

Then the figure in black ceased to breathe; and a cry of horror and disgust went up from all the three questers. What lay before them, though dead, was no longer human; through a series of swift and horrible alterations, it was taking the form of an animal - a monster - a black, scaly, dragon-like four-legged thing, far too small for a dragon, but far too hideous to be anything else. And still, on its front left paw, the Black Mark stood out, blacker than the black scales around it.

"Did you know this?" asked Eloise to Biagio, pointing at the object beneath them.

"No, I'm afraid not. I was quite sure that it was a man."

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"These altars must be destroyed."

Blaise stood with his feet apart, his hands on his hips, looking down at the three mossy slabs with disfavour. "If they can be used for this kind of blasphemy, they should not be here. They must be destroyed." The three animals were walking slowly around him; the lynx rubbed itself against his legs like a kitten, and one could almost fancy that it purred.

"How would you go about that?" asked Eloise. "Their magic must be powerful."

"Well, the swiftest way would be Transfiguration. I am very good at Transfiguration... it was my best subject at Hogwarts... but this would be special. As you say, they are soaked full of ancient spells."

He turned to the animals and patted the bear on its great head, almost level with his own even though the bear was on all fours. "This," he pointed to the dead dragon, "is yours. Feed if you want."

Eloise heard and shuddered. She did not even like the noise and smell of feeding the dog at home; here, even if she turned her back on the spirits in the form of animals, she would hear and smell them. And inevitably, she did - the snapping and gurgling and ripping and drooling, and the smells. But now her attention was turning elsewhere.

The three slab-altars were subtly glowing. Biagio had drawn his wand and was casting a series of detection spells which she recognized - she had studied Advanced Charms with Flitwick too. She decided to help, and drew her wand. It was the first time they had worked together. Myrtle, who did not know so many spells and could not cast any anyway, decided that the best thing she could do was to guard the area, and she rose in the air to have a better view.

Half an hour passed. While the animal-spirits were busy picking the dragon-thing's bones clean, the wizard and the witch had been focussing on the magic in the slabs. To an outside spectator, they would have seemed motionless; only every few minutes, one or the other of them moved wand slightly, as a constant flow of reveal particles passed from the wands to the altars, from the altars to the wands. Finally, Blaise and Eloise looked at each other.

"I think I can do it," said Blaise quietly, "if you are ready to back me up. It's the biggest spell I have ever attempted... the biggest by a million miles... but I think I can manage it."

"Sooner you than me," answered Eloise with a brisk cheerfulness that would have surprised her schoolfellows. This journey was beginning to make a difference to her attitude. "But I will do my best to back you up if needed."

The animals had stopped eating. The forest was growing quieter; even the steady, subtle rustling of the leaves, a background noise to which they were all accustomed, seemed to be dying down - the wind was falling. Biagio sat down and drew a piece of parchment.

"The thing to do," he said to Eloise, "is to draw up a complete flow chart of all the spells I will need. If we don't get the order right... well... let's just get it right, OK?"

Another hour passed before they were sure of the order in which Biagio had to cast his dozens of spells. The list was checked and double-checked, until neither Biagio nor Eloise could see any possible bugs in it.

Then, his heart beating fast, his breath quick and nervous, Biagio Zabini stepped forward. He did not feel up to it; but he knew that he would not be any readier at any other time. He began to speak.

As soon as the first spell was on his way, Biagio felt his nervous fear ebb away, replaced by a completely different feeling. He felt the power move through him, swiftly and purposefully, in focused waves; and he was like a cyclist freewheeling down a hill, like a surfer riding a tremendous wave - placing all his strength and his attention in holding the line, in riding this tremendous force that was carrying him in the right direction, yielding neither right nor left. Power after power came to him, summoned from a dozen different sources, modulated in a thousand different manners; his mind was both the wave and the focus of control, directing, correcting, holding fast and holding fast again.

Eloise was awed. In theory, she knew what to expect; but the sight of Biagio literally glowing with power, hovering slightly above the ground and quivering as he struggled to hold the enchantments together and drive them forwards, was one of the most tremendous things she had seen in her life. She could not keep her eyes off. It was only the screams of Myrtle, and the growls of the three animal-spirits, that drew her attention away.

The sky was not only cloven by the thunder and phantom lights of Biagio's spells; around them, fading and reappearing in their light, black shapes flew, circling around and around. Birds of ill-omen, anyone could see: things in the shapes of crows and ravens, half-seen in the magical light. Eloise had come across these delusive shades in her studies: they were not real - not in the sense that she and Biagio and the rocks around them were real - but rather something like the fingerprints, or the bad memories, left in the world by every evil spell and demonic enchantment ever cast. They were the bad dreams of nature, gathering like flies whenever magic ripped through existence.

Eloise drew her wand and kept her eyes on them, while the three animal-spirits prowled around, circling Biagio and the three slabs. The bird-dreams were not themselves to be feared, Eloise knew; but they could seize on a mind and darken it - just now when Biagio needed maximum clarity. And they could hide things worse than themselves: when a thousand black winged shades fly together in the magical dusk, who can be sure that they are all insubstantial, or that one of them is not a vampire bat or the servant of a Dark Wizard? So Eloise watched them circle, coming closer and closer; and her wand was glowing with the power she was calling to herself.

Biagio's voice rose and rose; and the whirlwind of power around them grew wilder and wilder, and the bird-shapes closer and closer. Half a dozen times, Eloise raised her wand to strike; half a dozen times, she felt the birds of ill-omen were not quite close enough. And finally, when it seemed that the storm and the thunder and the phantom lights and shadows could not be more savage and uncontrollable, Biagio, hovering almost a metre over the ground, spread both his arms wide and called, in a voice that had almost nothing human left:

"ITA, ITA, ITA DICO! IN NOMINE TRIPLICIS UNITATIS, IN NOMINE VERITATIS, ITA FIAT, UT IUSTITIA AC PAX MUNDI SERVIANTUR!"

A tremendous, threefold bolt of white, blinding lightning seemed to rip through reality itself, searing bone from flesh, spirit from body. It passed through each of the three slabs, and into the ground; but neither Biagio, nor Eloise, nor even Myrtle and the animal-spirits, saw exactly what happened - they had all been knocked backwards off their feet, away from the slabs and the enchantment, blinded, and deafened.

Their senses and their strength came back only slowly. They were all dazed, and phosphenes danced in their eyes. Their limbs felt dreadfully weak, and Biagio's sunburn seemed to have returned with threefold strength. "Let us never do that again," he muttered as soon as he felt he could speak; and Eloise gave a weak grin.

The birds of ill-omen, the phantom lights, the lightning - all had vanished. The wind blew calmly, and the sun was near the horizon; late afternoon, pleasing and restful. And as they turned to the place of the enchantments, they saw, not three large stone slabs, but three young, beautiful, green fir trees, standing alone in the clearing, pointing to the sky like arrows.

Then something else happened - something which Eloise, at least, had not expected (and she never got Biagio to tell whether he had seen it coming or not). The three animals, wolf, bear, and lynx, got up and walked hesitantly, each to one of the trees. And from the shadows of the trees three beings seemed to come... one moment Eloise's dazzled eyes seemed to see three tall, elf-like maidens with green hair; the next, a she-wolf, a she-bear, and a she-lynx, each moving towards her prospective partner. And as each couple began a dance of union, Eloise's trained witch's mind finally understood the full wonder of what she had seen.

Biagio's spell, the spell they had worked together, had not just put an end to the evil altar-slabs. It had not just transfigured them into beautiful trees. It had not destroyed the very enchantment under the table; it had seized it and transfigured it, and turned it into enchantment for the trees - the kind of enchantment that makes trees haunted, with their own beautiful, irresistible tree-maidens. The objects that once could have been used to destroy the loyal spirits of the land had now become their partners, a supernatural gift of happiness and fertility.

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But other eyes had seen and understood; understood, if anything, rather faster, not being young or dazzled. There had indeed been, among that crowd of things of nightmare and shadow, something that was not merely nightmare and shadow; something calm and cold, that had seen everything that had happened. And soon, word and image had made their way to Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was accustomed to weigh things in the balance, to strike hard at anyone who could develop a threat - not just cut off the tall poppies, but uproot them before they even become tall. And he knew that Blaise Zabini's quest for his beloved Cleo Malfoy had already resulted in one heavy blow against his power: the mighty House of Zabini had declared against him, bearing his enemies a strong accession of power in two continents. Now another blow had been struck, not only against him, but against any Dark Lord that might follow: three powerful altars, consecrated to evil blood sacrifices since time out of mind, and strong enough to reach the sacrifice even of land-spirits, no longer existed. The whole area had been purged, and the enchantments not just destroyed - this he could have dealt with - but remade, readdressed, to increase the power of his enemies. This was not to be borne. This Zabini prince had to be dealt with.

It was not the magic itself: to the young pretender to the Iron Crown, and to his companions, it may have seemed enormous, but it was no more than the Dark Lord could develop in a couple of minutes, without troubling too much. It was the clarity of his purpose and the directness of his actions. He had shown that he would take great risks and stretch his power to its fullest extent, to drive Voldemort and any other darkness from his land. And for that reason, thought Lord Voldemort, he must die.