The Locket

Author's Notes: This chapter has a bit more with Vincent, and the appearance of Blaise Zabini and Ron. Again, I hated making him a cripple, but needed to for the story, so there you go. Sorry for the confusion, but the Malfoy referred to in the last chapter was Draco. I'd say all of the characters are the next generation - the Hogwarts students grown up.

The wind was blowing fiercely, causing the old tree outside to tap its braches eerily on the attic window. Sitting back on her heels, Felicity threw down her rag and wiped her forehead as she surveyed the room.

The attic, as Master Nott called it, was not actually so.

"My father died here," he had told her. "I was seventeen, about your age." He had walked about the room, long fingers brushing dust and cobwebs from stacks of old volumes in languages she could not recognize. "He had come back from a meeting with our Master. He was old, and punishment had been severe." Nott had shrugged carelessly, as thought it were an inconsequential matter. "My father was not clever, not skilled in the manipulations and methods necessary for maneuvering about the court of the Dark Lord. He was punished often, regardless of whether or not the fault was his." He had stopped his pacing over a small patch of dark floor. "He died here, clutching his arm in a fit. 'At-ic' he said in his spasms. What he meant to say was Atificus, the man responsible for his failure." Nott had smiled then, or rather a chilling, cold imitation of it. "I killed Atificus, and this room has been the attic ever since."

Felicity had thought it not a very fairy tale ending, and Nott must have read her mind, because he laughed out loud. Disarming him so must have made him angry, because he had then moved forward and gripped her jaw cruelly.

"There are no such things as fairy tales, little slave," he had whispered, his breath warm on her face. Only a beginning and an end.

He had made her clean it ever since.

The task in and of itself was impossible, as the room gathered dust as if it created it. Felicity knew that within a day of being clean, it would replenish its weaves of cobwebs, its veneer of dust. It must be all those books, she thought. They must contain some evil that makes this room so inhospitable.

Though Felicity hated the attic, it was a particular favorite of Adela Meliflua, Master Nott's niece. She was eighteen years old, and had inherited the willful prejudice of her great-grandmother, Araminta Meliflua, the intense dark brown eyes of the Notts, and the sadistic cruelty of her godmother Bellatrix Black. And the nose of an anteater, Felicity thought with a tiny smirk.

Adela was clever, and knew many of the languages that the books were written in. She visited the manor often, and Felicity was aware of the foul activities she performed in the room, evidenced by the blood and animals bits that needed cleaning in the morning. But despite Adela's behavior, Felicity would always allow her a small bit of gratitude, however reluctantly given.

Felicity had always known her alphabet, not necessarily the letters themselves, but as lyrics of a childhood melody. However, it was Adela who inadvertently taught her to read, several years before...

"You slave." Felicity had jumped and suppressed an oath as her Mistress caught sight of her trying to sneak into the attic and replace the empty inkpot. "Come here."

Felicity had approached, head down and terrified against her will. Adela was writing notes on hexes and jinxes, and needed someone to hand her a new piece of paper, hold up the volume from which she was taking notes, and hang the written pages to dry. Felicity had been made to assist, and soon realized an incredible benefit to the task. Adela had a habit of reading aloud the sentences she wrote, and as Felicity hung them to dry, she looked over the words, first recognizing the letters, and then figuring out the words. When Adela retired, Felicity would return, looking over the notes, copying the script, and burning the knowledge into her head. The process was slow, but after three years of visits, Felicity was by no means a proficient reader, but she could get by.

Sighing now, Felicity picked up the rag and the bucket, and looked over the room once more. No wonder it's so cold in here, she thought, noticing that the window was slightly open, signaled by the wind brushing the pages of the nearest volume, written in strange symbols. Placing the bucket on the floor, she struggled before managing to push down the heavy window. Before she could return to her work, her eyes caught sight of the page that now lay exposed. She moved towards it and looked down, surprised to see a page written in words she could decipher.

It seems that there is nothing left to do. She read silently and slowly, her mind stumbling over the words for lack of proper teaching and practice. There is one mark for us, we have achieved it. The sands of time are impartial. If we wrest an advantage from it, we give one to our enemy as well. Our power lies in the fact that they are ignorant of it, and by the Dark Lord, will remain so. An advantage on their side will not affect us if not utilized. And using what we have gained, this war will be ours. No records of what we have done will remain. History is written by the victors, and we will make sure that no one will discover the truth. By the time He has made his destiny for the new world a reality, no one will have the power to overthrow Him, and the secret will be concealed in the mists of the past.

She heard a footstep behind her, and shoved the paper back between the pages of the open book. Felicity turned in time to see Master Nott, watching her intently.

"Master," she said. "I am sorry to taint your books with my touch. There was a silverfish." Even she was embarrassed by the obviousness of the falsehood.

He said nothing, but entered the room and seized her wrist in a quick movement. "I know when I am being lied to," he said softly, tracing his index finger along a vein in her wrist. He glanced to the open book, and seeing it written in symbols, released her.

"This is an old language," he said, moving around her to the other side of the table. "Some say it is not human."

But you do not know how to read it, do you? she realized, watching his eyes sweep over the strange symbols. However much you wish to. Again she felt his mind inside hers, probing where it was not welcome.

"I do not know its meaning, but the power that emanates from it is testament enough to what it contains." He looked up to see her questioning eyes look into his before she swiftly turned them away. "You wish to know more, little slave? You wish to ask me what type of power? Or perhaps to teach you?" His eyes grew hard, taunting. "Ask me, and then I will ask you. No, we will play a game, a question with a question."

Is he bargaining with me, a slave? Flick thought. But she repressed the thought and quickly pounced before she could feel his probing warmth in her mind. "Why must you enter my mind, Master?"

She caught him completely off guard, for his face flushed and his eyes glittered dangerously. She could not possibly know the depth of feeling she had unleashed in him.

"Do I not," he said softly, "have control over you? Are you not mine completely?"

A question for a question, like you said, Felicity thought, and was unable to think of a reply. Watching him through her lashes, she was surprised to catch a flicker of confusion on his face, thought it disappeared quickly. The probable reason struck her as a surprise. He did not know that I felt him in my mind, she realized. I'm not supposed to feel him.

"Is it not what all masters do to their slaves, Master? This is what I have been told." Her voice was sincere, her face innocent, and small furrows of thought crossed her forehead. The mask of deception on her part was perfect.

He looked thoughtful, the confusion and hardness disappearing. It was almost as if his thoughts bled from his mind into the air, so easily could she read them. Now he is not sure anymore, she thought. If I gain that much, it is enough.

"Do you tire of this game?" he finally asked.

"Do you, Master?"

The corner of his lip quirked upwards. "Did I not ask you first?"

I cannot beat him at this silly game. Best to end it. "Yes, Master. And if it pleases you, I must return to the kitchens and prepare for my departure with Master Malfoy."

She could feel his eyes on her back as she retrieved the bucket and rag. But when she turned to curtsey, he was gone.

~~~

His head rested against the pillow, its whiteness emphasizing the redness of his hair. A fly buzzed on the wall overhead, and the room was overly humid, causing the single windowsill to be spotted black with mold.

"I'm back, Ron," a voice rang out, and the door opened and closed in a hurry, to conserve heat.

He turned his head, and his eyes crinkled fondly at the sight of her as he watched her go about the familiar motions of putting supplies away.

"Hi, Ronniekins," she said when she was done, sitting by his side and stroking his hair. He could tell she was trying not to cry.

"Everything went well?" he managed to wheeze. After the attack that lost him his limbs, his speech had been impaired as well. Just as well, he had thought. Makes it easier to keep from complaining.

"No problems," she said. "And guess whose store I finally found?" She didn't wait for him to guess before continuing. "Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"How is he?"

Ginny smiled a sad smile. "How could anybody be these days?" She her shoulders heaved in a mournful chuckle. "But his shop does well enough, it seems, to pay off his magic meter." She looked at the small black device attached to the tip of her wand. "If only there was a way to remove this thing," she said. "At least I could afford to heat this place some more."

He pressed his cheek into her hand. "If I had my arms at least, I could help you."

She looked down at him fiercely, reminding him of the fifteen year old girl who could hex with the best of them. "Don't say that, Ron. Don't ever say that!" She made no effort to control her tears now. "You're a hero. You sacrificed for the cause. That's more than I ever did."

"That's because I wouldn't let you. And I still won't."

She managed to fake a smile through her tears.

~~~

As he felt sleep closing its fingers over him, Vincent was startled awake by the urgent rapping on his door. Scrambling out from his sheets, he hastily threw his robes over his body and stumbled to the door.

"Master Lombard," he said, as a wave of over applied cologne unpleasantly battered his nostrils. The man before him was excess personified. His corpulent frame seemed to be held in by his raiment, which was as gaudy as the décor of the brothel. He wore and extravagant white wig, and rouged his cheeks so that he looked like a deranged china doll. His small lips were too red, and most often pursed in a constant expression of distaste. Vincent bowed deeply. "I am ready to serve."

"You damn better be," the wizard said, wiping a bead of sweat with a handkerchief. "That wizard is here to see you again...you got him by the balls, don't you boy?"

Master Zabini, Vincent thought, remembering the tall, aristocratic looking wizard. It certainly has been some time since his last visit. He turned his attention to Lombard. "Shall I receive him here, Master? Or perhaps meet him by the bar."

"I don't think he needs any drinks to ready him," Lombard replied, flashing a grin of white teeth that caused his chins to bunch at his throat. "Probably fired up as it is. No, no. I'll have him sent up."

"You are most kind, Master."

"You don't keep up the business, and that kindness will most likely change, boy. Don't forget that." Lombard gave him a long look before shutting the door, and Vincent could hear him shouting for one of the servant girls.

Vincent counted to twenty before the first knock at his door. Stifling a sigh, he forced a smile to his perfect features. "Why, Master Ellis," he said, using the pseudonym as he opened the door. "Again you honor me with a visit."

The wizard to whom he spoke returned the smile and closing the door behind him, draped his cloak about a chair before sliding gracefully into it. The curtains were open, and in the spare sunlight trickled in, the gaudy reds, golds, and pinks of the room shone with a cheap sheen.

"I enjoy your presence," the wizard said, wiping some soot from his nose. "And I come for an urgent matter."

"Of course you did, Master Zabini." With the perfunctory motions that came from too many years of such experience, Vincent unclasped the thin robes he wore and started to slide them down his shoulders.

Zabini chuckled lightly, but his eyes gleamed hungrily at the exposed skin of the young man's chest. "Ah," he sighed. "You know how to tease, but unfortunately the urgent matters I speak of refer to another activity."

Vincent pulled his robes back on and cocked an eyebrow.

"I am in need of a favor."

"You know I can refuse you nothing."

"That remains to be seen," the older wizard replied dryly. He abruptly stood and began pacing the room. "I wish you to accompany me. I am to make a trip to India soon, and my family requires an attendant. I want it to be you."

Vincent remained silent for a moment as he watched the man pace about. "What exactly do my responsibilities include?" he finally said.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Zabini replied. "Just attending to my needs."

"Your...needs?" Vincent let the last word out slowly, laying the inflection on carefully. "Do you think that is wise, Master? An official trip would include the attendance of your wife as well, wouldn't it?"

Mere mention of the woman brought a quick sneer to Zabini's face. "She is not of concern to you. I will deal with her."

Vincent had no other way to escape the request, though he was not keen on granting it. However, keeping himself in a prominent wizard's favor would certainly reap its benefits later. "I would be honored," he said at last.

Zabini's face brightened, and he nodded. "Very well...take what little you absolutely need. I will provide the rest."

"Now?"

"Now. We leave immediately."

Author's Notes: I had a friend read through this, and she thought that Ginny was a bit too weepy. I promise, she doesn't cry all the time, but considering her life right now, I don't blame her. Things won't be as weepy in later chapters.

As ever, thanks for reading, and please, please review!