Speak with the Dead

Chapter Four: Thanatotic

"How very rude of you to be late," Voldemort murmured lazily, swirling long fingers over the smooth surface of his makeshift throne of glen rocks.

Severus had come a full ten minutes after the summons, dragging a very common-looking woman by the arm. They were both out of breath and the woman looked as though she might drop dead on the spot. Severus genuflected automatically, but had to give a mighty tug on the woman's robes before she toppled onto her knees.

"And what have we here?" He gestured towards the panting woman, not bothering to leave the niche.

"An Evocator, my Lord." Severus seemed to have caught his breath and was still staring at the ground.

"For your sake, I do hope so. You know how very much I hate liars." He ambled over to Severus smoothly and took a deep breath, sniffing the air by his head and contemplating for a moment. Not a great deal of guilt about him, but there was an uncharacteristic amount of hopeful apprehension.

With a twist of his fingers, Voldemort lifted Severus into the air as easily as he would a marionette, and slipped inside his consciousness. One of the more frustrating aspects of Legilimency was that one needed to be looking for something in order to find it. In no time at all he was riffling through memories of Snape watching a younger version of the woman extracting a bright light from a mirror, and later recollections of her whispered confidences.

"Interesting," Voldemort said appraisingly. He released Severus, who tumbled to the ground in a heap while he approached the woman.

"And what is your name?" he whispered as he bent over, flicking a finger to force her chin upwards. Voldemort could hear the sounds of muffled bells and charms under her traveling cloak as her body lurched into the air.

"Lourdes Mezarci." She did have the eyes; the same green a Death Curse left hanging around a corpse. And her mind was full of damaged memories that lurched and flickered as he perused them, the smell of fire blackened flesh, the scent of blood and earth, the weight of iron all reduced to sensory snippets by some drug.

Everything he needed was right there; she was poisoned by bitterness, floating through life with no aim or purpose. That aimlessness was a problem he was only too happy to remedy. Under the damage in her mind Voldemort quickly found a magic that seemed too old and primal to belong to a human frame. It pulsed just under the surface of conscious thought, so immense that it squashed most all of the recognizable magic within her.

It was after him, an unfathomable fear, a chill that bloomed in his mind. In the midst of her presumably involuntary attack, he noticed another whisper of malignant magic lodged somewhere around her heart.

"And this?" Voldemort asked, maintaining practiced indifference as he pressed his palm to the center of her chest.

"I was wounded in a duel, someone called for Ammut the demon to eat my heart. I do not know what happened afterwards, except that I was in Turkey, working as a book dealer." Her eyes were glassy and submissive as she related the tale. That made perfect sense, she had so little cunning that it was not hard to believe she'd smoked her life away while working a dead end job, what an unsuitable task for someone with so much...potential.

"Severus found me, and broke the memory charms," she said enthusiastically.

"And how is it that I am meeting this…remarkable little creature just now?" Voldemort turned slowly towards Severus who did not dare look up when addressed, but there was a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Years as head of Slytherin house afforded me many opportunities to peruse the Headmaster's office during his summer jaunts. I was only recently alerted to a file, in possession of the schools Healer of all people, which contained information about drawing out demonic influence or malignant magic left from a demonic attack. Ms Mezarci was, as you know, conveniently wounded by such an attack during your first rise, and hidden away. Information about her treatment and current location was included in the file so I took my own jaunt to retrieve her." Severus looked just the littlest bit pleased with himself.

Voldemort had previously been well aware of Lourdes Mezarci's presence in England. It seemed many of the things he could have used the first time around had been protected at the Hog's Head- that prophecy, and this particular witch. But little Lourdes had always been by the side of Dumbledore's brother during holidays, that or safely tucked away within Hogwarts the rest of the year. Then she died, leaving the old hag in Bulgaria as the last of her species.

"What a journey your patron has taken to bring you to me, tell me did you come willingly? Or have you been coerced?" Voldemort looked at her greedily, thinking of the things he could use her for, the fear she could instill…

"When Severus told me the great things you have done, and mean to do, I had to come," she breathed.

"Your blood is pure, it must be," he cooed, tracing the script under her eyes with a fingertip, feeling her lean into the touch. The tattoos held no special magic. They were merely warnings.

"Without a doubt my Lord." She was not fierce like Bella, his warrior stowed away in Azkaban. This creature's appeal was in her docile subservience.

"You wish to belong…" Voldemort leaned in to whisper in her disfigured ear. And then, despite what must have been her very best effort, that weak heart leapt in her chest. Oh, this was very suitable indeed, talent and desperation had proven a much more reliable combination than talent and ambition. For his followers at least.

-***-

"I do." Lourdes injected those words with as much absolute devotion as she could.

All the while she tried to take in as much about her surroundings as possible: the shadowy figures that milled around behind Voldemort, whispering quietly to one another, vine draped trees and the distant sound of water. One of her boot heels had snapped off on the run, and both knees were bleeding into her robes after Severus' unnecessarily rough shove into the rocks. Her brain was swimming recalling every fact and snippet, trying to put it all together.

It had been very hard trying to appear calm when a fractured consciousness was prodding about inside her, where it did not belong. Severus had not lied when he said Voldemort was an incomparable Legilimens, his method was slow, gentle, deliberate (Severus was quite good, as was Albus but their method was a bit more blatant, a bit more artless). In his pursuit of memories he almost became part of her. He didn't stay long, he couldn't, Lourdes had felt it surging up through her blood to drive him out. Putting on the act was easy though, she'd read enough about him to know what Voldemort would want to see. Her Unit Supervisor in Turkey had constantly reminded them that the best weapon a trained professional in their field had was not their wand, or brute strength, but their knowledge of the subject and the mind. She'd have to remember to send him a much nicer gift basket this year.

"It is one thing to possess magic, but another to be able to use it," Voldemort said suddenly, with a look of distant disinterest.

"I understand you can harness this to extract knowledge from the deceased. Why…I believe I would like to see such a thing." This was the sort of request that made her lose her temper every time it had been asked in her youth. But no, Lourdes bit down fiercely on the inside of her cheek and forced a docile smile and big, stupid eyes.

"What ever my Lord requests. Who is it that you wish to hear from?"

"There is a hag buried very near here, a seer with great power. She made many prophecies; see what she would have for me…" Voldemort flicked his wand, and a small silver knife fell on the ground in front of her. "Call for Ursula Sontheil."

The spell was one Lourdes had only performed a few times. Papa had told her over and over that it was a rotten perversion of Evocator magic. Not quite necromancy, but this spell shared common roots with it. Lourdes rifled for her wand inside her skirt pockets, which in her case made a rather nice tool for drawing in the dirt.

Kicking off the broken boots and discarding her thick cloak, she revealed heavily carved strand of bones, innumerable bells, mirrors and embroidered belts crisscrossing her hips (family totems from Tibet). Lourdes knelt to draw a little triangle in the cold rocky ground, before pulling her robe off the left shoulder. Wincing slightly, she gave her shoulder one quick slash with the knife, before the ground within the triangle was stained black with blood. Shaving off a bit of her life to grant the spirit animation for a while.

It was only fragments of the dead that she could tear away with this spell, the worst parts. Not like the ghosts at Hogwarts, or the others that lingered, invisible, in familiar places. This meant taking the properly deceased from their rightful place. She might have been able, with patience and a bit of time to find Ursula and have a nice quiet chat with her without being so rude, but that distinctly subtle method never went over well with people predisposed to loud flashy things. And in any case that method never guaranteed success at discovering information, but at least you didn't have to burn off life to do it. So this would have to be it.

Hastily, Lourdes stretched her wand arm out to trace a circle around herself, part protection, part showmanship. It was a fairly simple ceremony, but it required so much presence of mind that she was going to have to forget about Voldemort and the mass of shadowy men behind him. If she couldn't keep the spirit firmly under her thumb, it might break the triangle and go for her body, or worse, head for someone else.

Standing slowly, and taking the deepest breath she could manage, Lourdes began pounding out a rhythm with her bare feet against the earth. Two slow steps and one quick, which made those heavy belts of charms and bells jingle in time. Concentrating on the rhythm, and the name she had been given, before beginning the incantation. It was working. There was a spark of light in the triangle, flickering and sputtering before appearing as a little eddy of light, just barely touching on the ground soaked in her blood.

Contacting it caused a violent rush of scenes from a life that was not hers to flash erratically before her eyes. Suddenly she was speaking to a man in red, smelling sulfur and water, surrendering a misshapen child to a nun. Lourdes sank to her knees to address her, it, Ursula.

My apologies, Ursula Sontheil.

What are you? The voice demanded.

An Evocator. Lourdes replied simply as the light sputtered with realization

We are not so different then, you and I.

I must disagree Ursula, I don't like the taste of flesh. Lourdes had to step down hard on her temper at that nasty little comparison. Hags and Evocators were alike in that it was possible for them to take life from others, there were not many other parallels.

Oh but you prefer to suck the life and souls right out of them, you little Dementor. You should learn to savor the taste of life in the blood… I wish I could taste what you ran into the dirt.

I need one of your prophecies. Lourdes pressed, Ursula having too much fun at her expense…

For who? Lourdes answered by concentrating on the image and impression of Voldemort, trying to convey everything she'd learned.

Well in that case… the quality of the energy changed very slightly, becoming low and fathomless.

And before the race is built anew, a silver serpent comes to view. And spew out men of like unknown to mingle with the earth now grown. But those who gape out for others' death, their own, unlooked for, comes about. Earth he did seek; ere long, he shall have of earth his fill; within his grave.

Lourdes felt her eyes roll back and her head loll on her neck while her lips moved automatically, mouthing the words. She very vaguely recalled hearing the loud peal of a bell nearby and ground her teeth to regain control of the situation.

Ursula Sonheil, your service to this Evocator is well appreciated. I release you with my thanks.

Flashing the mass of energy a brief smile she rose to her feet again to perform the counter-spell. It was easier this time, Ursula seemed eager to get out of her reach and put up little resistance. When the little eddy of light folded into itself and disappeared with a pop before the ground inside the triangle cracked.

Knees shaking wildly, Lourdes collapsed in a clatter of ornaments. Her brain was throbbing, her robes were soaked in sweat, the air was humming and through blurred vision she could see a cloud of moths fluttering around her head. They were attracted to the light from the spell, and one fat, fuzzy little creature lit on the tip of her nose. As Lourdes made a noble attempt to sit up straight the moth let out a shrill squeak and hummed, fluttering down onto her hand to reveal its identity.

Deaths Head Moth, Lourdes smiled weakly at the downy little brown and gold insect. It wasn't scary at all, but the poor thing had been labeled the harbinger of death, war, and pestilence. I guess you arrived just in time hum?

The moth departed the moment Voldemort approached with several unfamiliar men, masks off and hoods down, who were forming a circle around her.

"I trust I have pleased you, my Lord?" she panted dizzily, making a noble attempt to sit up straight.

"Stand," Voldemort commanded, lifting her to her feet with another flip of his fingers.

"Do you pledge your life to your Lord?" "I do." "Do you vow to serve me in all that you do; to be my tool, my servant?"

"I do." His eyes bored into hers, and Lourdes felt a strange tension in the air. Like the awkward moment before someone decides whether or not to kiss you. Indeed, there was something distinctly lustful about his gaze, and the way his finger meandered down her jaw and the curve of her neck. It wasn't the body he wanted, that was inconsequential. He wanted the power.

"Know this; for your deeds which please me, you will be rewarded. For your disobedience or mistakes, you will be severely punished. It is a lifetime of service or your death. But, I will give you the position you deserve; there will be no limits for you. Your life is mine now." Voldemort's fingers brushed her face, skimming over her mouth, his eyes glittering malevolently as he twisted her left arm up into the air. He whispered something she did not understand and pressed his wand to her arm just below her elbow.

Even through the exhaustion threatening to pull her down like an anchor, Lourdes' brain started whirring again. Filled with half formed thoughts and questions, what could she have done if she had been allowed to? His magic shot through her body like fire, making her dizzy and scarcely aware that a brand was being etched on her forearm. Lourdes fell, watching the fading wards and echoes of spells dance across her eyelids.

-***-

He followed the sound of hundreds of jingling bells and mirrors. Following Lourdes, who was stumbling frantically down the trail- looking for a place to throw up presumably. She'd gone out cold once she'd received the mark, and the Dark Lord had taken that time to mend the gaping wound in her chest, siphoning the demon's magic out of her skin, and into his own. He'd plucked the gold filaments out of her skin and hissed with disapproval upon examining them. The wound's repair bore all the hallmarks of Albus Dumbledore's magic.

The Dark Lord had been pleased with her and Severus for bringing her to his attention of course, andLourdes had done an alarmingly good job of acting her role… Severus had had to thank the Dark Lord on her behalf, profusely and with much hem kissing. Then the Dark Lord, apparently very satisfied with the prophecy and with Lourdes herself, had rewarded Severus by ordering Malfoy to take him and the new 'creature' under his advisory again. Malfoy had merely given him a very sleek smile and promised a letter in the normal manner the very next day.

No doubt he regarded the introduction of Lourdes as a threat to his position, but Severus knew Lucius could be plied with the usual attitude of deference and appreciation.

Severus stopped, realizing he'd lost Lourdes' trail, and listened closely for the sound of bells in the leaves. The only sound was a very loud splash, and he charged through the trees to find her diving deep into the lower pool of the glen's waterfall.

"Ms Mezarci!" he hissed, watching as she bobbed in the water with only the top of her head and eyes above the surface like a crocodile. "Get out at once. I will let your miserable frozen corpse drift out to sea before I drag you all the way back to Hogwarts."

She crept out of the water slowly, as if her soaking wet robes weighed a thousand pounds. Fishing around in her pocket, Lourdes withdrew that suspicious little silver case and looked disheartened when she saw damp cigarettes.

"I hate doing…that," she muttered, as if the Dark Lord had just forced her to eat a bucket of pickled slugs. Lourdes cursed under her breath as she frantically flicked the wheel of a silver Muggle lighter, with little success. "Give a girl a light?"

"I think not. While other are willing to turn a blind eye to your nasty opium habit, I assure you that I will not be so… permissive," Severus grumbled, snatching the case and tossing it into the stream. Lourdes' shoulders sagged further and she pulled her knees up into her chest.

"You are going to be working with me. And you'll do it with a clear head."

"Well I think you will have a very hard time forcing me out of it whilst I am safely tucked away. Black doesn't give a damn what I do, and I have suppliers willing to send me whatever I need." She crossed her arms defiantly and stuck her chin out at him.

"You will have a very hard time getting your…stuff where I am taking you. Get up," he snapped.

"If I have to side along with you we'll probably splinch," Lourdes objected. "I'm worn out. Can't we take that bus or something?"

"I'm afraid not, Ms Mezarci. But if you can sit still for a few moments I believe I can find you an alternative."

She grabbed the bottom of his robes to stop him. "Wait. I need you to tell me something. Tell me, so I don't forget just what we're into. What is the worst thing, or at least the one you'd think…I'd think was the worst, the Dark Lord has ever done?"

Lourdes looked deeply unsettled as Severus sat next to her on the rocks patiently. Surrendering his cloak to keep her from freezing to death, they were perfectly still for just a moment watching the shadows of trees just beyond the pebbly stream bank sway with the summer wind. He turned, peering into the woods to see if anyone was present before leaning in very close to whisper.

"Before he became the Dark Lord, he impressed himself inside a diary. A book that could think for itself, and reply to whoever was writing in it. This book was slipped in, by Malfoy, to the school things of an eleven year old girl, the only one in a family of too many. The little girl had talked to the diary all year, at first the memory was her friend. It was always there for her, it wanted to know what her hopes and desires were, and because she was lonely she poured her heart out and told it all her secrets. The memory fed on her soul, her darkest secrets and deepest fears, little girls seem to have so many now, and then her life. She was rewarded with possession, nights deprived of sleep, and opening the school's Chamber of Secrets. That little girl was possessed by the Dark Lord, and all of that innocence you say you never got to have was taken away from her too."

Lourdes shuddered when he said that, and Severus was not sure if it was because his lips had bumped her ear, or because of what he had just said. "All that seems worse than mere murder."

"It's a pattern of his I see," she said hoarsely.

"He will promise you everything now; assure you that you are special, and rare. But in the end you are nothing more than a servant, whose magic is useful." Severus added quietly, picking up a crushed drink can from the debris on the bank.

The tale seemed to have the desired effect on her. Lourdes was staring out over the water with narrowed eyes and a tense frown. Though, all in all she'd done very well this evening. Even Severus had to admit that.

"Portus…" The can glowed blue for a moment before he dropped it at Lourdes' feet.

"Take that portkey. When you arrive, do not make a sound, do not leave, and do not touch anything. I'll be in with you shortly." Lourdes apparently realizing there wasn't much of a choice for her, wrinkled her nose in distaste before finally picking up the can, and vanishing within the little nova of blue light.

-***-