Speak with the Dead

Chapter Three: A Selective History

Her mother told her that the first act of magic was supposed to define a young witch's life. That first inkling of magic was something young Lourdes looked forward to growing up. Signs that her brothers were going to be promising wizards appeared in Baghdad as the band of nomads her family traveled with was passing through. Kemer and Mabete would tumble and clamber like monkeys before getting to the good part of their act- the fire breathing. On that particular occasion they'd done it without liquor.

Their tribe, if you could call it that, went plying their trades at various towns from Morocco to Iraq. Mostly composed of wizards, but a few more eccentric Muggles had stuck themselves under the black goatskin tents. Dancers, prestidigitators, acrobats, fortune tellers (real and faux), and peddlers formed her extended family headed up by her mother, Alexandria, a former Circassian circus dancer, and her father, Rinzen, a Tibetan from a family of shamans and morticians. Nomadic life only looked glamorous; mostly it was endless camel rides, weeks without a proper bath, and long hours watching the goats. But Lourdes had no room to complain; her childhood was wonderful. Her parents adored her, no question ever went unanswered, no mystery or subject was ever closed to her, and no threat from the outside world ever seemed real.

While she'd learned a lot of useful things, at the age of nine Lourdes had not shown even a little bit of magic. As worrisome as this apparent ineptitude was, there was one thing she took to quickly: the funerary preparations. She had been cheerfully talking to corpses, mirrors, and even thin air since she was very small and Papa cautiously grilled her about those 'imaginary friends.' Her parents and the other adults whispered about her when they thought she was not listening. Lourdes was the third child, the last child. Atropos! Auntie Hera had whispered dramatically. And Lourdes was born under Pluto on the third day, wands wouldnÂ’t spark when she touched them. She has the eyes, Papa would add gravely, nodding his head and fidgeting with his amulets. Apparently everyone had come to some conclusion about her, but Lourdes hadnÂ’t the faintest clue what it was.

In any case, her magic was bound to make its debut by the time the caravan arrived in Turkey around Ephesus one summer to look in to making the tourist destination their permanent home, when a very unsettling Muggle crept into camp under pretense of having his fortune told. While Auntie Fatima peered into his coffee cup for answers, the Muggle fixed his eyes on the already tall Lourdes who was busily pulling apart a pomegranate.

The next day as Lourdes was watching the goats out in the grazing ground, weaving flowers into wreaths, the Muggle reappeared. As if he'd come out of the ground itself to grab her by the hair and wrist to try and drag her away. Lourdes fought back as hard as she could, growling, punching and kicking ferociously, but it was like a minnow trying to fight a crocodile. When the Muggle slammed his fist hard along side her head, she opened her mouth to scream, but no human sound came out. It was a deafening roar.

Something had exploded in the back of her brain, the quiet whispers from coffin side conversations became a jumble of voices screaming at top volume, as she felt her blood rush ice cold in her veins. The Muggle did not even scream; he just shivered a little before he fell into a motionless heap. Her first act of magic killed someone.

Mabete had been the first one to see the goats came back unattended, but nobody would admit to having alerted the Magi of the nearest village. They came out in force with the news of Muggle who had, apparently, been frightened to death. They did not need long to diagnose the problem her unnatural eyes, a peculiar shade of poison green, only meant one thing and the dead man was the proof positive. The Mezarci family was the unlucky recipient of an Evocator daughter.

Evocators were a peculiar strain bound to the dead and unseen, their magic was Shamanic-raw and old, it lived in their skin relying on written wards and incantations rather than wands and organized spells. TheyÂ’d been pegged as descendants of Hags given their ability to steal life from others, or some relation to Dementors, given their ability to deal with the soul in a concrete form. Unlike Hags and Dementors, Evocators were thought to be extinct, as most of them usually burned off their life, or at least their sanity within the first thirty years. Though some lived unnaturally long lives and had learned to do good and helpful, but for the most part, extraordinarily evil things with their magic. For the safety of the public, the Magi explained, Lourdes would need to be marked and recorded. She was tattooed under each eye, with much difficulty. She hadn't learned to control herself, and the rampant, old magic was running wild in her blood, making her skin unbearably cold to the touch.

And still, neither Mama nor Papa seemed alarmed by this revelation, in fact they seemed to have been expecting it, and Mama in particular was bearing the new burden extremely well. She taught Lourdes to pull her long hair up tight onto her head so no one could grab it again, and set out to find a school that would take her. Papa whispered over dying evening fires that many of his ancestors had ended up as Evocators, and in Tibet it was a respected occupation with books and all. She made a quick study of whatever books she could read, crouching out in far off fields with her parents on alternating nights practicing her spells and learning to control her magic.

What lingered longer than the pain of being marked and shunned, were Mama and Papa's insistent words before she fell asleep. That it was not what she had, or what anyone thought of her, but what she did with it that really matteredÂ...

-***-

Every time he was forced to descend into her little dungeon, he got the distinct feeling he was walking over someone's grave. And when he pushed open the door this evening he was greeted by the overwhelming stench of garlic and limes, while a red-nosed Lourdes sniffled pitifully into a handkerchief. Apparently the ‘cold’ she was faking was still going strong, and she was still refusing healing potions in favor of smelly folk medicine.

The dank little windowless cell did her no favors, she looked wilted and bedraggled after weeks without sunlight. Severus regarded her with a sneer for a moment as she looked up expectantly. She hadnÂ’t grown up to be particularly pretty in any classic sense, but she wasnÂ’t hopelessly drab either. Her sharp features had a sort of cunning appeal, especially when those features conspired against each other, as in her flashing of sharp-toothed smiles when her eyes clearly stated intent to tear out your throat.

Now that he'd had the chance to think about it over, the whole thing was really more irritating than alarming. She had the sheer nerve to be in mostly one piece, and completely divorced from all memory and feeling. It wasn't as if he had completely forgotten her, despite his best efforts. Much of his sentiment for Lourdes had simply faded as time passed. Recollections of her weren't useful. In fact stirring those memories up gave Severus the most annoying heartache. However the memories of being bullied and tormented, however painful they were to relive, gave him fuel

. Of course all that still didn't excuse forgetfulness on her part. Weren't women supposed to hold on to those things? "I think the house cleaning crew might like to know there is an oubliette across the hall, and the people that died there are driving me up the wall. Twenty three at latest count." She punctuated the statement with a violent sneeze. "I want permission to get rid of them."

"Spare me the cleaning requests," he grumbled, slamming the tray of Molly Weasley's beef tea down and snatching a pile of papers from the bed. "Have you finished the packet on possible connections between the meeting sites?"

"Did you know just how riddled with water and ley lines your country is?" Lourdes replied lightly, touching a finger to her cheek, "it's all very important in sacred geometry. Say please and maybe you'll see that packet before you die."

Severus ground his teeth and tried to control the twitch welling up in his left cheek. Though Lourdes seemed to have forgotten about many things she remembered exactly how to irritate him. His mind wandered briefly to his wand, just one little hex, nobody would have to know, he owed her one for driving his face into the carpet. But no, he was a consummate professional, even if she wasnÂ’t.

"It won't kill you, I promise. Even Black manages a please and thank you when he comes down to get packets for everyone else. I don't see why you should be any different," she said, narrowing her eyes and smiling slyly.

"Please," he hissed, snatching the neatly tied packet as soon as she produced it from underneath her skirts. The problem with the packets was that they were actually very good. The last one she had prepared for the group was a work of research art; newspaper clippings as well as tidily copied and cited sections of old books were almost intuitively arranged and impeccably detailed. She had even cross-referenced Muggle city maps, grid networks, and ground plans with the location of the Ministry to provide the most accurate view of the building. If Dumbledore could be convinced to keep Lourdes here playing to her strengths in research, she might be able to dig up something other than herself to take to the Dark Lord.

"What a pity you never learned to use any of the spells you spend so much time researching," Severus said in his most off hand tone, watching her expression change from aloof to a sour.

"I may not be able to duel, but I can read, thank you," she muttered, settling back against the rough stone wall and pulling a book onto her lap. "Anyway, you've got your packet. Unless you've got news for me you can kindly get the hell out."

"I'm afraid I have to brief you."

"Again...well then, go on." Lourdes didn't bother to look up as she flipped through a very thick book, marking pages here and there.

"Would you pay attention?" Severus snapped, tossing the packet of notes to the floor and leaning forward. "This is of utmost importance, because I am not sure that you understand just what you are getting yourself into."

"Shall I dig up the minutes of our previous meetings? I took notes on all of them." She flashed him a supercilious smile and handed over a sheaf of papers with a table of contents detailing Tom Riddle's history at school, possible spells that might have accelerated his transformation, and every bit of information on Death Eater tactics he had ever told her (and quite a bit he hadn't). "You'll have to forgive me if the group sections are a little fast and loose, my specialty was individual analysis, not group dynamics."

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Listen to me, Ms Mezarci. You have failed to realize how very over-your-head you are all this is. You cannot even produce a Patronus. Your aptitude for the kind of magic that will keep you safe is non-existent, and I am not eager to fight while towing an anchor. I seem to recall that the last person who dispatched you did so with nothing but a jar.“ He injected that last part with as much venom as he could muster.

"That jar had a demon in it, or don't you remember? I can manage myself, don't you worry," she growled through clenched teeth, flinging one book to the floor before tearing violently into another.

"Are those from the Black library?" He asked suspiciously, noting the expensive looking antique binding and gold leaf. "Perhaps..." she muttered.

"Ah, is there no measure you won't take to lower yourself? Born into the lowest family, choosing the lowest profession, and pilfering from the libraries of noble families? You've done it all I dare say."

"Don't forget my choice of school chums...Snivellus."

-***-

He bristled at that nickname, sitting up straighter and turning sharply to stare at the wall by the door. She was dying to snap at him again, rub that greasy face in the fact that he was a half blood masquerading among inbred snobs. That would teach him to turn that great beak up at her.

"Listen, did Albus actually tell you what I did when I was in Turkey? I've heard ever so much about you. I think I should assure you that you're not being sent in with dead weight."

"And I'm sure your exploits dealing fake spell books to Muggles prepared you to face one of the most powerful wizards of our century. Perhaps you could cheat him to death," he said lightly.

"Actually, I only began to deal in books later, much easier money in that. I wasÂ...a bounty hunter, of sorts. The Turkish Ministry doesn't have hit wizards you see, so they relied on people like me to do the heavy lifting while the Janissars, like your Aurors I guess, sit on their hands. Sixty-four dead captures, thirty live. You're welcome to check the Turkish Ministry's public record if you like." She couldn't quite peg what he was thinking but he was glaring at her now, fixing on her eyes.

"Oh!" Lourdes laughed, "You think I'm lying! Why don't you just get your wand out and get it over with then? Or maybe you've got some Vitaserum handy?"

"You'll have to forgive me, Ms Mezarci, but I can hardly trust the word of," he paused and his lip curled into the familiar sneer, "a bounty hunter. Sixty four confirmed kills- have you any other fish tales for me?"

She was hardly able to contain the urge to reach out and throttle him with her bare hands, and settling for merely grinding her teeth. "But you needn't worry about Igor Karkaroff. Old men are so easy to kill, especially if they drink themselves to sleep." And of course, when you have a lock of their hair and a fairly good idea of their location, itÂ’s dead easy Lourdes thought with a smirk.

Severus turned a little bit to glare at her. "Whatever did you do that for?"

"Don't be stupid, he knew you were a spy. Are you sufficiently convinced or shall I describe the nasty business of separating his head from the rest of him? In either case you really shouldn't be asking me these questions; go to your precious Headmaster." Slamming ‘What to get the Giant who has Everything’ shut impatiently, she tossed it aside for a fresh book.

A few more minutes of this and she'd be feeding Severus his own teeth, the hard way. Of course it would be more bearable if Aberforth were quicker about getting her cigarettes. But smuggling opium-laced tobacco was harder than it used to be, especially with three people riffling through the mail before it got to her. Withdraw was becoming especially miserable, and she was turning down the potions everyone tried to force on her lest they discover that her problem was not the common cold.

"I'm obligated to inform you the great majority of Death Eaters used to insist upon gathering certain members for useless social functions we may be expected to attend if they don't kill the both of us first," Severus said suddenly.

"Occasionally put on by Lucius Malfoy and other socially conscious Death Eaters to cement their connections with each other. Those women who do not participate in any useful activities are conspicuously present such events. It has little to do with the Dark Lord, and a great deal to do with reminding the rest of us of ourÂ...place," he looked supremely annoyed by that concept. Well, at least that was one thing they had in common at that point.

"Charming. And the meetings?"

"Your introduction is scheduled for next Friday. Expect to grovel, and display every ounce of piety you've neglected to use in the past. Submit, and serve. Of course, Death Eaters won't care either way; and you'll probably be seen as a direct threat to their position. Though you are probably safe from the usual overtures some women suffer, you're not...the type." Severus raised an eyebrow and indicated her tattoos.

"Oh certainly not!" Lourdes gasped in mock horror. "But while we're on the subject of the rich and high-minded, I'm curious; you still haven't answered my question as to whether or not those pure-bloods ever let you forget where you came from."

Severus blinked slowly, and appeared to be composing himself. "Why should they remind me when I have you to do it? Constantly. Ms Mezarci, have I ever told you what became of my parents?" He said in a near-whisper.

"Do tell." She set her book down and gazed at him intently.

"My father as you know was never entirely well mentally and you know that my family did not ever have much in the way of possessions. However it was not long before my mother couldn't produce anything for him to sell. And in a fit, he butchered her and was apprehended at the Leaky Cauldron, apparently intent on selling her remains in various Knockturn alley shops as if she were a common newt. And do you know what I did then, Ms Mezarci? When that drained old man was finally carted off to St. Mungo's, I could do nothing more than spit on him. When the owl came to tell me he had finally dried up and died, I burned the letter," he said in his softest, deadliest tone.

-***-

"Then let me ask you why you decided to submit yourself to thisÂ...Dark Lord," she asked coolly, a look of superiority radiating from her face.

Lourdes had always had an annoying pious streak, which made her a bit too good to break the rules that didn't stand in her way. No doubt she considered her career scrabbling for galleons by turning in heads or selling quack books to Muggles to be head and shoulders above anything he might have done. Bounty hunters ranked just above Mundungus Fletcher in terms of respectability. So that was the reason she was here, the promise of a fat payoffÂ...disgusting.

"This is neither the time, nor place." He reached over and snatched the plate of fried sausages; Lourdes wasn't going to touch it, her appetite was gone.

"Apparently it's never the time or the place," she sighed. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. How long have you been smoking thoseÂ...cigarettes?" he asked, curling his lip up and glaring at her. "Well, I don't see how that's any of your business." Lourdes did not look up; instead she groped on the side table for her tea and pretended to read. "But I should let you know that my jailer, Mister Black, often does a check around this time to make sure I'm properly contained. Doesn't seem to have much faith in my principles."

"I didn't know bounty hunters had the luxury of principles," Severus muttered silkily between bites of sausage.

"You know, I don't think Albus thinks so either. But he was surely ready to ignore that when my apparent poverty of morals would be useful. They needn't worry about me turning Sirius, but damn. Ten thousand galleons is a lot of gold...and I could take Black down in my sleep. He hasn't got much in him anymore I think. But Pettigrew? Now that would be a challenge, thirteen people with one curse is damn tricky and he turns into a rat..." She bit down on one of her fingers as she pondered that.

"Pardon me Ms Mezarci but am I to understand that you think Pettigrew would be the more difficult of two marks?" Severus raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Are you saying Black could muster up an unforgivable? Please he's not that bad, just a bully. Bullies generally grow into potbellied old men who drink beer and talk about Quidditch when they aren't at their mind numbing pee-on jobs. Though I'll grant you, Black still has all his hair but give him six months. At the rate he's sucking down that cheap red wine, and he is sucking it down when you all are not here-he tosses the bottles in the oubliette, I expect he'll start loosing hair and sanity at a rather extraordinary rate." Lourdes put a hand to her ear theatrically to mime listening to the bottles drop into the room across the hall. "Pettigrew's a regular Judas, and one hundred percent dedicated to the Pettigrew cause. Results don't lie, he screwed everyone over and he's still breathing. Don't get me wrong, there is something interesting about such a slippery little rat but I wouldn't put myself in a position to depend on him."

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said all evening, Ms Mezarci." Severus raised his eyebrows slightly. "Don't forget the bit about the ley lines, that was fairly clever. But Black needs to get off his high horse about the Pettigrew thing, Black hasn't always been so good. Hell, even I do my own dirty work. I wouldn't send anyone to their death, at the hand of my friend out of pure spite." Lourdes was eyeing him cautiously, as if she was trying to figure out whether or not her dig on Black was earning any points in her favor.

"Only if there was money involved," he replied.

"Indeed. Because Albus' idea of saving me was dumping me back in Turkey and forgetting I existed until I was useful. No cushy teachers job for me, with a nice salary and living quarters," she said spitefully. "I had to make myself."

"Just how much is Dumbledore paying you Lourdes? I'm not up on the exchange rate for sympathy these days. But let's be honest; you're not the type to throw yourself on the altar for a whole lot of people who would just as soon see you dead. Why did you come?" Severus figured he had to hear this, and he turned around to face her.

"I had nothing else to do." Lourdes was lying. She had to be, because she would no longer look him in the eye.

-***-