Speak with the Dead

Chapter One: Misplaced

The Dark Lord had called him again that evening, just to see how fast Severus would come when called-this time. And no one had said anything particularly useful at the meeting either. Instead he'd stood through forty five minutes of Lucius Malfoy detailing everything he'd done for the Dark Lord since his rebirth (which ranged from tossing sacks of gold at the Ministry, to preparing the Dark Lords safe house with the finest appointments).

Considering the circumstances things had gone rather smoothly, at first. The moment Dumbledore gave the word on the night of the Dark Lords rebirth, Severus went through the forest like a shot towards the Apparition boundary. Not knowing whether or not he would live through the night, it was a slim chance that the Dark Lord would take the apologies into consideration, you came when you were called not when it was convenient.

Or so he had thought. Projecting more confidence than he'd ever thought possible, and concealing every trace of fear so completely that he nearly believed his own lie, Severus groveled at the Dark Lord's feet and spilled a well constructed apology. Two hours, it had only been two hours, and because of that small delay he could remain in the position at Hogwarts. And now he had information for him, fifteen years' worth.

At later meetings, Severus began laying the groundwork for his own downfall, starting with excuses for his oblivious behavior when the Dark Lord had been right under his nose and apologies for having doubted his power. Despite testimony from other Death Eaters that Severus had stayed the course during his time at Hogwarts, he was being watched far too closely. Even with the evidence in his favor, all those years under Albus Dumbledore's wing made Severus as much a figure of much suspicion as he was a potentially valuable informant.

Then there was the little matter of the incomplete prophecy that had played a large part in the Dark Lord's demise… Dumbledore was playing with fire this time. He'd sent Severus off to tell the Dark Lord that the prophecy he'd delivered those years ago was incomplete, and that he'd only just discovered there was more to it. Albus was hoping to scatter his forces, to draw them out in the open by convincing them to make attacks on Ministry headquarters where the prophecies were housed. Naturally, the Dark Lord took the bait; but when he dropped that bombshell, Severus dropped in favor just as quickly as he'd been taken back. And now compared to Lucius' grand gestures, and the absolutely over the top toadying of several other Death Eaters, fifteen years of Slytherin favoritism and reports on the niggling details of Albus Dumbledore's personal life did not seem so impressive.

So now he needed to make a gesture, or give a token of some sort to cement the Dark Lords trust. With the sheer number of betrayals and disappointments the Death Eaters had all started on a more or less even playing field, he had to move quickly and give Dark Lord a reason to take him back into a closer circle. And for all the frantic suggestions from a faux Apple of the Hesperides to some exotic Dark creature, not a single member of the Order could find something that might do. Not when what the Dark Lord really wanted right now was the full content of the Prophecy, Potters head on a platter, and followers- stronger, smarter followers than he'd had last time.

Mad Eye Moody and Sirius Black had taken that last idea and run with it, pushing to insert a second operative, to strike while the iron was hot. Dumbledore approved of the general idea, but had to point out that there was no one present who could make a convincing entrance, and also lie effectively. Another operative was a sensible proposition, but Severus always stiffened and scowled when the suggestion was made. Surely Dumbledore did not indulge it to spite him, he probably thought it would be helpful, but Severus could never quite get over the feeling that he wasn't being completely trusted…

Quite suddenly Dumbledore stopped pacing and moved closer, squinting his eyes a bit. "Severus, hold still a moment, you have something in your hair." He plucked a small, battered gray moth from a lock of hair on the side of his head, and held it up. As he watched the moth flap its wings furiously to attempt an escape, a curious expression overcame the Headmaster's face, as if someone had just been kind enough to turn on a light for him.

"Ah…" was all he said.

-***-

A thick haze of heat hung over Istanbul that night, diffusing the neon lights and lending to the dreamy atmosphere of mingled antique tile and cold concrete of the cities sprawling Grand Bazaar. On this particular evening the place to be, if you were in the know, was the Old Book Bazaar branch, whose crumbling plaster walls sheltered thirty shops still bustling even at this late hour. Packed with wealthy folks all dressed up, brandishing their auction paddles at each other as they jockeyed for position.

One after another, beautiful leather-bound volumes and carefully preserved scrolls had gone up on the block at the annual “Occult and Oddities” auction, but one of the focal pieces of the evening still wrapped in chamois, and the arms of a woman by the name of Lourdes Mezarci who was standing in the darkest corner she could find with a cigarette clamped between her pointy teeth.

She was quite tall, with a lean angular build, and unnaturally precise posture, which usually gave the impression that she was staring down her straight, too-long nose in a state of perpetual disapproval. That nose, paired with her pointy chin and high cheekbones made her look rather like a fox, a shifty likeness enhanced by the fact that she wore most of her long dark fringe draped over the left side of her face (to hide the worst of her scarring) leaving just one of her narrow, murky green eyes, and the black tattoo underneath it, visible. With the rest of her hair tied up in a prim knot at the back of her head and wearing well fitted gray robes that looked like old-fashioned Turkish clothing to Muggle eyes, she just managed to pass for a professional in the antiquities market, but over all she seemed too chilly, too menacing to be allowed to deal with normal people.

Every year Lourdes promised herself she wouldn't be dragged to the auction, and every year someone found a reason for her to go. This year, to avoid taking thirty more phone calls from two especially annoying clients who wanted to buy the Baal-Peor Key, she'd decided to bag it all and put the damn thing up for auction. What a lot of pigs. Not an ounce of respect for the books, they just want to show off how much money they've got, Lourdes thought, curling her lip up at a client who was staring at her eagerly, obviously looking for an opportunity to approach her and make a scalp offer on the bundle in her arms. The client, some businessman whose name she could never remember, looked momentarily offended by her sneering but was wise enough not to act on it. While her customers weren't particularly fond of her on a social level, they were more than willing to put up with her exorbitant prices and unpleasant personality because in her two years on the job Lourdes had never once failed to deliver any book, no matter how rare or far-flung and she famously refused to sell to anyone who annoyed her. Of course her clients had no idea their 'best kept secret' of a book dealer had a slightly more interesting past…and a rather good hand for forgery.

“3378 Lira!” The auctioneer cried, ending Lourdes' reverie, and the bidding on an unremarkable book of local herbs. That thing isn't even two centuries old…Lourdes thought spitefully, pressing herself into the shadows and leather-bound spines of shelved books with a shiver. It wasn't the forced socialization that was irritating her; for the past few days Lourdes was aware that she was being followed- hunted even. She hadn't been home for a week in an effort to throw whoever was following her off the scent.

In fact earlier that evening while she was having her pre-auction tea and smoke, she'd caught a glimpse here and there of richly patterned robes and a beard too long and too white to belong to any Muggle tourist or local. They only served to confirm her suspicion as to the identity of her stalker. And if it was who Lourdes suspected, she was in no mood to deal with him…

As she closed her eyes briefly, to enjoy the last drag off the cigarette, her ears caught the familiar rustling sound of many layers of velvet approaching on her left side.

"Lourdes Mezarci!" said a familiar voice, like water over rocks. A hand came down on her shoulder like a bear trap snapping around the leg of an animal.

"Albus." Lourdes murmured, eyes darting around the crowd to see what backup he might have scattered around, searching for the fastest escape route. "Here for the auction?"

"As striking as some of this evening's goods are," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "I must confess I haven't come for an evening of excitement and manuscripts. I wonder if I might have a moment alone with you."

"Why don't we go to a café elsewhere? This isn't the best place."

-***-

Lourdes had only taken a moment to hand her little bundle off to the auctioneer before she led him out of the bazaar at a rapid clip. After following her through a dizzy maze of crooked streets and sinking, tilted buildings, Albus found himself near the cities most famous Mosque. Lourdes grabbed him by the elbow leading him into a tiny building and down a flight of slippery stairs into a magnificent underground cistern that resembled a basilica, with hundreds of columns half immersed in water supporting the vast roof.

Albus recognized this as the transitory space between Muggle Istanbul and the Wizarding community, which was hidden underground in the old labyrinth system. There were robed people here and there amongst tourist in jeans, and while the Muggles took little notice of Lourdes, witches and wizards paused to glare, point, and hiss to one another. Once they'd reached the bricked up Roman archway flanked by sculptures of Medusa at the opposite end of the cistern, the two of them leaned against it and sank into a tunnel covered in decorative mosaics, and lit with innumerable, brilliantly colored glass lamps hanging from chains.

A smattering of street signs pointed the way to the various districts, but Lourdes chose the darkest passage lit with only a few blue and green lamps. After passing what must have been the Istanbul equivalent of Knockturn Alley, they hung one last left into a dank little tunnel with a lone red door without a knob or handle at the very end. The battered wooden sign with its poppy-crowned skull emblem identified the establishment as "O! Morphos." When Lourdes rapped on the door three times, the heavy iron viewing slit slid open with a bang.

Shifty looking eyes and an illuminated wand tip scrutinized the two visitors before the slit slammed shut and the door opened to reveal a decaying interior thick with spicy blue smoke and dimly lit, so as to disguise the badly peeling paint on the walls and low ceilings. Clusters of witches and wizards could be glimpsed in heavily curtained, pillow-lined cubicles pouring cups of tea from double boiler pots and smoking from bubbling pipes. A tatty band of musicians were bent over their instruments in one open space, playing slowly and slightly off key.

The shifty eyed proprietress greeted Lourdes with a kiss on each cheek, and gave Albus a suspicious look before leading them to a nicer cubicle towards the back where she turned and looked expectantly at Lourdes.

"Coffee or tea?" she asked sharply.

"I'll take tea, please." Albus watched as the proprietress gave him one last sidelong look before snapping the cubicle drapes shut around them. Lourdes then turned to him and flashed a small smile, like a glint of knife in the dark. “Will you let me read for you?” She held up a battered set of fortune tellers cards tied together with a short length of ribbon, and raised an eyebrow. It was less of an inquiry and more of a challenge, as she knew how little store he set in Divination.

“Why not?” He replied serenely, rubbing his fingers over the worn surface of the cards. This set was old, and had seen quite a few owners before it was resigned to living in Lourdes' pocket, he suspected that it once belonged to one of her many ‘aunties,' as her blood relations had been morticians.

“You know I got so much better at this once the Ministry sent me off to University for psychology. They taught me all about facial expressions and body language, you wouldn't believe how much information people give you without even realizing it. It's much more effective than anything that old bat at Hogwarts taught us about the great mystical beyond inspiring the cards. You know about the program don't you? Sending off Squibs and social undesirables to Muggle Universities and training camps so we could be…useful?”

“I heard about that, it also seems that the Turkish Ministry does not stand behind it's agents as firmly as it should…” Albus replied, giving her a genuinely sympathetic look as he pinched two halves of the deck, watching the cards arc up through the air and shuffle together.

“Not when it's against their best interest. I didn't even get a trial,” she hissed, reaching up and rubbing a hand over the tattoo under her eye. All of Turkey's “dangerous citizens” were marked somewhere on their faces for easy identification, though she was the only one to have received those particular marks in well over a hundred years.

Even magic, Albus pondered as he cut and shuffled the cards once again, made a mistake every once in awhile. Sometimes witch or wizard would be born with a strain of magic that should have been bred out a long time ago. Lourdes was a living example of such an evolutionary anomaly, a witch with the sort of magic that was wilder, older, and incompatible with the wands and other technology that required a more advanced sort to work properly. Despite her magical handicap, her family had been determined to have Lourdes properly educated, and Albus had convinced himself that the fair thing to do would be to take her, even if every other school had flatly refused on principle.

In the end she'd left school with the rest of her class for a position at the Hog's Head, and that should have marked the end of Albus' involvement in her life. But between the rising threat of Tom, and a nearly fatal wound from a smashed devil trap it was his decision to send her back to Turkey when she was brought to him for help. He had been the one to recommend her to the Muggle integration program; Lourdes worked hard, learned fast and had always shown a high level of interest in both Dark Arts, and the workings of the human mind. They'd known exactly what to do with her, packed her off to a University and enrolled her in the Psychology program, then set her straight to working with O.H.K., the Turkish special operations division of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd completed the training with flying colors, which could be good or bad depending on how one viewed the O.H.K.'s habit of breaking down and rebuilding their agents into efficient, vicious hunters.

“And you were not able to begin working for the Muggles police department?” Albus asked, pausing and putting the deck down on the table as he fiddled discreetly with his wand.

“I'm a Dangerous Citizen and an ex-convict, I can't even get work as a barmaid. And the Ministry keeps invoking the Statute of Secrecy every time I attempt to work for the Muggle government, so I've been dealing books, its good money.” Lourdes sighed as he slid the cards towards her. “It's a bit late for you to be down here looking after my career, so what exactly is it that you're after?”

“Let us see if you can discern my motive with your delightful cards,” Albus smiled serenely as the petite waitress tumbled through the drapes carrying a heavy tea tray laden with a two-tiered silver and ceramic teapot, chipped tea glasses, and a pipe like those being smoked in other booths.

Lourdes only rolled her eye irritably before she poured tea and began laying out the cards. “Very clever Albus,” she spat, “I forgot you used to be the transfiguration teacher.” She held up the card he'd changed to bear the image of a Phoenix between two fingers and raised an eyebrow. “I paid my life debt to you last time, so I hope you're prepared to make me a very generous offer. Perhaps it's time to consider the request I've been making every year since you sent me back here…”

She had made it very clear the last time she worked for the Order that her interest in assisting extended no further than fulfilling her life debt, unless Albus was willing to let her return to Hogsmeade to resume her life there. That time he'd merely sent a letter reminding her of what she owed, though two heads in a box, her proof of a job well done, wasn't the response he'd expected (but it had certainly made her point). This time the request was delicate enough to require an appointment in person; the Order could not afford to fail again.

Her hand hovered over the second overturned card as she examined it closely, “Lets see skull and snake, but I thought…” Lourdes tapped a card that now bore the Dark Mark with a finger and raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was dead?”

“Many wizards still think so, but I have reliable first hand accounts that Voldemort has reacquired a corporeal form,” Albus replied gravely.

“When did that happen?” She yelped, before draining her tea glass in a hurry and refilling it.

“No more than three weeks ago, during the Tri-wizard tournaments last task at Hogwarts. If, after what I have to say, you still require payment I will see about finding a suitable token. But more importantly, I offer you the chance to change the mind of the world about the nature of…people like you." He faltered on those last few words because he had not quite meant for them to come out quite like that. But their damage had already been done, he saw a little spark in her eye as she put on a predatory smile.

“People like me? Is that an emotional appeal? Albus you've lost your touch, I'm disappointed," she said, shaking an admonishing finger at him. "What sort of person, or should I say which aspect of my person are you referring to? Because there are so many things about me that are entirely socially unacceptable. But, to be honest I've nothing better to do. I'm sick of doing business with wealthy Muggles," Lourdes sighed, her sharp smile fading as she stared into her tea glass, "so, I'll hear you out."

"How are your Occlumency skills now?" Albus asked.

Her expression wasn't harried this time, but rather sly. "Good enough that you probably shouldn't trust me."

"Then it seems I will need to give you a reason to trust me."

-***-

His forced expression of serenity couldn't cover up the smell she'd become well acquainted with, if Lourdes knew anything it was desperation; and Albus reeked of it. There must be something powerfully important going on if Albus Dumbledore was going to all this trouble. He wasn't the sort of person to waste time, yet here he'd spent the past week hunting her down. Now he was grasping at straws with appeals to her emotional side, when he ought to know better…

People like her, Lourdes thought bitterly, could not generally afford to be sentimental and weak. She'd made that decision in her fourth year of school when she discovered her entire family had been wiped out, caught up in Muggle cross fire of all things. It had left her very much alone in the world, but she thought, sucking it up and getting a job hadn't been the worst thing she'd ever done. The Hog's Head was the closest thing to home she'd had after their death, and Aberforth had been the closest thing to family.

Despite her best efforts over the years to shut down painful, but pleasant memories and longings a few of the heartier ones had remained buried in her heart like persistent termites. One or two of them were gnawing away at her right there, urging her to make the most of this-opportunities like this didn't come along every day…

"How is my Aberforth?" she asked softly, shuffling her cards around into a neat pile so Albus could return them to their original state.

"Well enough, not quite the same since you left obviously. He lost one of the Kashmir nanny goats a month ago as well I'm afraid," Albus replied, pouring himself another cup of tea.

“I miss them Albus…” Lourdes said slowly. She felt fifteen years old and angry every time she thought about missing them, her family, Aberforth, everyone. She took a deep draught of tea to wash down the sour feeling of resentment trying to creep up her throat before she managed to croak, “I've had a rather lonely life here you know.”

“I know Lourdes, you said as much in each of your letters. I think though, that you will understand the danger you might have faced then once you've had a chance to look over the accounts of what happened in the last years of the first war. But please know that I would not have come this far to speak with you unless I thought you capable of what I'd like to ask.” While the rest of him remained as poised and collected as always, his voice and for just a moment there his eyes, had betrayed the amount of strain he was under.

Lourdes felt her chest tighten and her heart skipped a beat at that sight, as she felt uncomfortably young all over again. Now and then Lourdes had privately, grudgingly admitted that she owed Albus a great deal more than a life debt, but to actually see him starting to strain and show his age after always presenting a vibrant powerful presence was deeply unsettling. Her eyelids fluttered wildly and she lost her hard expression for a moment as she turned up the burner under the large pipe on the table.

"Mind you, I have some very specific conditions if I'm going to be doing mercenary work for your organization but we can get into that later. How exactly am I to assist you this time?" Lourdes turned her focus back on Albus, who watched her hands closely as she fiddled with the pipe dials. “Are you looking for me to profile for you, or do you want me to go after stray Death Eaters again?”

Taking a deep pull of blue smoke, Lourdes closed her eyes, enjoying the familiar sensation of her mind drifting just a bit out of synchronization with her body, letting his words wash over her gently. Voldemort had so very little to do with her, he was no more than newspaper clippings and tragic stories.

"I know you have said you no longer hunt heads, but there is one we are in need of." He eyed the black leather band with the blue eye talisman on her wrist warily as he spoke. Probably remembering the neatly severed and cauterized heads of the Death Eaters she'd sent after her excursion in Bulgaria. "Most of all though, we are in need of an Evocator…"

That last word made Lourdes choke on her lung-full of smoke. She hadn't ever dreamt that he would ask.