Chimaera of Judgement



CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: The Room of Charred Skeletons

Paranoia settled over Albus Potter following his brush with being buried alive in Greenhouse Two. Now that the alleged ghost-manipulating serial killer had been whisked away to Azkaban, the students were more at ease, Fane the exorcist left for parts unknown, and Professor Binns was reinstated. Albus was almost positive that at any moment another scream would ring through the corridors, and a body would turn up at the foot of a staircase or bobbing in the lake.

Fortunately for everyone, nothing of the kind happened. The rest of May slipped by in relative peace, serenely uneventful and free of all cares. This was not strictly true, of course - the Quidditch practices had become nothing less than physical torture, and homework and studying seemed to suck up every last drop of free time they had between classes, practises, and trivial matters like eating and sleeping. Classmates in their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. years had begun running down to the Potions classroom to brew up entire cauldrons of the Draught Of Peace, hoping to keep themselves from leaping off the Astronomy Tower. Alas, it did not help all of them, for the poorer students invariably made the potion wrong and ended up closer to their wit's end than before.

Jezabel alone had any time to herself, which she spent pursuing the unhealthy activity of reading up on her biological mother. Both Albus and Rose told her many times that nothing good could come from acquainting herself with such sordid exploits, but she did not listen.

"What if I start trending toward some of the same pitfalls?" she protested. "I'll want to know what to expect so I can avoid them, right? I... I don't want to become a Dark witch!"

"There's about as much chance of that as Al becoming Minister for Magic," Rose laughed.

Al nodded. "Exactly. Hey, now wait a minute!"

As it turned out, Albus's father had been entirely correct about the Hogwarts professors; even Hagrid seemed to think they were suffering from overactive imaginations when they told him they thought Dorika might be innocent.

"I knows I'm more or less talkin' ter the wall here," he warned, pouring tea into each of their bucket-sized mugs, "but don' be goin' off half-cocked, lookin' fer villains an' thieves where there aren' any! Tha' silly Dunsmore girl got herself inter somethin' she ough' not have, and look how she ended!"

"But I saw the ghost leave her body," Albus repeated doggedly. "Why don't you think that could mean-"

"She probably let it possess her ter begin with," he said, swirling his mug around with one hand and scratching at his beard with the other. "Migh've been wha' gave her power over those other ghosts, eh? Made her able ter lift yeh up with one hand? Hones'ly, I've seen tha' wee twig, and she could no more lif' another student than you two could lif' me!"

They had to admit he made a convincing word picture.

In the absence of a Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Barty's mother was once again dropped unceremoniously into another subject. Albus couldn't help but wonder at their luck procuring her at the beginning of the schoolyear, as there wasn't an especially long list of wizards and witches capable of handling nearly every course in the school. As it so happened, Professor Weasley had actually been quite a bit better at teaching History of Magic than the dull-as-dishwater Binns (Albus's marks had improved slightly since Belvina Hitchens's forehead was inked), but unfortunately her aptitude for Defence was not as sharp. Nevertheless, she did what she could, which was all they really required this late in the year.

It was during lunch one Wednesday that Albus heard something that infuriated him and interrupted an otherwise pleasant half-month. On his way out of the Great Hall, he heard a familiar voice off to his left from amidst a knot of cloaks.

"...always knew Dorika was trouble. How could I not? Everything, she did wrong, every other day, and never owning up to her actions! My scars are not going away!"

"Just can't let anything drop, can you?" he said over their heads.

"Who's that? Oh," Belvina sighed. "Why should you care? You're the one she tried to snuff before Professor Peele took her down."

"Sure, that's how it happened," he said, nodding casually as he leaned against the wall.

"You're saying something else happened?" asked Nora Bones, the other Hufflepuff Beater.

"I was there, wasn't I? Of course something else happened. Professor Peele wasn't the one who 'took her down' - though she did manage to save my life, for which I'm grateful."

"Al," came Rose's voice from behind him. "It's not going to do any good."

"No, no, we ought to hear this," said Belvina, a smirk playing at her lips. "What really went on in the greenhouse?"

"Let it drop, Al. Come on."

He hesitated. Rose was probably right and he knew it, but it was very irksome to leave an incorrigible girl like Belvina thinking she knew what she was talking about. Then the words his father had spoken came back to him: "They'll probably think I'm mad". Speaking up would make it seem as if he were only angling for a little more adventure.

"You know what? Nevermind. Think what you like, Belvina, I'm out of here."

As they ascended the stairs, he overheard her saying, "That Potter's an awfully funny bloke, too - probably took the curse Peele intended for Dunsmore. Might have been her henchman."

"Me, Dorika's henchman?" he blustered. "If anything, it would be the other way around!"

Rose raised her eyebrows at him. "Would it? Al, you sound like a baby."

"Maybe, but it's still right annoying of her. Can you believe a Snow White clone like Dorika is probably sitting in Azkaban trying to suss what she's done wrong while a bilge rat like Belvina is allowed to hang around the school rubbishing her?"

"Psst!"

Both he and Rose looked around to find Jezabel's head poking out from behind a tapestry he knew to conceal a staircase. "Hey, what's up?" Rose asked.

"I... I wonder if I might borrow Albus for a minute? J-just a bit, I promise."

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong, I just need a moment, and, well... you said- no, nevermind."

"What did I say?" When Jezabel only squirmed more, he turned to Rose and whispered, "Catch you up later, all right?"

"Sure, take your time." With that, she continued their normal path upstairs, casting a befuddled look back down at them.

"What was it I said, Jezabel?" he asked once he'd joined her behind the tapestry.

"You probably didn't mean it," she laughed nervously. "It's okay. But... well, you once said you would be there if I needed an ear."

"Oh, yeah," he said thoughtfully, also noting they were hidden behind another tapestry then, as well. "And I did mean it. What's going on?"

"It's about my m-mother." Upon closer inspection, he thought her eyes seemed puffier than they ought to for a girl who had little to no homework left. "Still strange thinking of her that way. That is, I've been reading all these books and Daily Prophet cuttings about her Death Eater activities, to reacquaint me with who she was, and... and I've come across some horrible facts."

"Like what?"

"Like... these." The stack of clippings she handed him bore some fairly hideous headlines, but the one right on top drew his attention the second he saw it.

"'Sirius Black Murdered In Mysterious Struggle'?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered, sitting down on the edge of a step. "As it turns out, Black happened to get involved in the infamous battle yours and Rose's parents fought in the Department Of Mysteries. The name seemed familiar, and in another book I found, he was named as one of Voldemort's most notorious supporters from his early days, but he never truly returned to the fold. It's difficult to find much information about him during Voldemort's second coming."

"It's all bunk," Albus sighed. "My dad set the record straight in a lot of ways, but no big books or anything were ever published. He never supported Voldemort at all - in fact, he was one of the good guys, and... and my father's godfather."

"Oh? Oh... NO!" she shouted, and Albus fought hard to keep from falling through the tapestry. "That's where I've heard the name before! Oh, Albus, my mother killed your great-godfather!"

"Shh!" he hissed, glancing back to make sure nobody was coming after them. "Man, we need a more private place to hold this conversat-"

"How can you even stand to look at me?" she wailed, staring forlornly down at a blank section of wall. "Knowing what kind of blood I come from! I thought it was bad enough when I found out about Professor Longbottom, and now this!"

"Professor Longbottom? What's he got to do-"

"The second cutting," she said with a sniffle.

His stomach quickly began to churn in discomfort as he read about how Frank and Alice Longbottom, two Aurors of rather remarkable talent, were tortured by the Cruciatus Curse until they lost all touch with reality. The article also mentioned their young son, Neville, was to be raised by his grandmother.

"Merlin, I- I knew something bad happened to them, but this lays it out so- so... wow, my dad wasn't kidding about that Cruciatus, it's not pretty."

"That was my mother, too. In Azkaban she wasn't so bad, was she? A bit cantankerous, and obviously dotty, but... but I never would have believed she was capable of all this atrocity! Do you still think it doesn't matter what my mother did?"

"There is more..."

Her eyes widened in shock. "More? Oh, I don't want to hear it, I'm not sure I can take- and we do need a more private place, don't we? Having people hear how my mother was such a disgrace to wizardkind-"

"Let's go, then." Perhaps if she felt more comfortable he would stand a better chance of consoling her. "How about the prefects' bath? Or down-"

"N-n-no," she stammered, standing nervously. "I- I'd rather not go in there again if I can help it. I... I have a place."

"Where?"

"Er... it's not much to look at, mind you. Rather hideous, in fact, but I'm sure no one will find us."

Albus noticed she was being awfully cryptic, and the fleeting glances were almost terrified. "Lead the way."

Up stairs and down hallways they went, turning this way and that, and all the while Albus pondered his situation. How do you convince someone who's just found out they escaped the womb of Voldemort's arm candy that they have worth in and of themselves, regardless of where they came from? More than that, how do you convince them that though it's fascinating to find these things out, you would still name them as a friend one way or the other?

Just as they passed a tapestry of a wizard and several trolls stumbling around in an ungainly fashion, something else came to him from the back of his mind. The reason he'd known what Bellatrix was going to tell Jezabel just before it happened. How could he have forgotten? But then he passed the same tapestry again, and surfaced from his thoughts.

"Jezabel..."

"Shh!"

He waited a moment, but she only turned around again and went in the other direction. "Jez, are you lost? The Fat Lady is back around-"

"Wait, look, there it is!"

"There what- ohh..."

For as he stared at the blank section of wall before him, a heavy door blossomed from nothing, standing proudly as if it had always been there. His eyes swept up and down the corridor, then back to the unexpected door.

"Come on," she grunted, pulling the door open and motioning him inside. "Hurry, before someone sees!" A few quick steps brought both of them inside, and the door swung shut behind them.

"You weren't kidding," he whispered. "It's... wow."

The room was the size of the world's grandest cathedral, and the ceiling as high. But instead of pews or pulpits, it was filled with piles and piles of ashes - the walls and every surface appeared horribly burned, and the stench of woodfire was thick and stale.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, walking a few paces inside. "I- I know, it's horrid, this was a mistake. We should go somewhere else to-"

"Don't worry so much," he snorted. "We didn't come here to appreciate the room for its aesthetics, we came here to talk."

"Then tell me," she said quietly, picking up the blackened, rusty remains of an old metal stool and offering it to him. "What else did you remember?"

"Well..." One hand rubbed at the nape of his own neck, as if by doing so he could gather and quash all the bits of his brain that were screaming to keep this information to himself. "I've heard my dad tell the story of the Department of Mysteries many, many times, you know. To be blunt, each time the story goes a tad differently, especially if Mum isn't there to stop him telling the gorier bits. But, well, anyway... he says Bellatrix tried to use Unforgivable Curses on them. And... she landed one. On Professor Longbottom."

"No," she breathed, sliding down and into a particularly thick pile of ashes. "And... and he didn't want us to go. He didn't want us to have to face the horrible woman who- who gave birth to me, that's what she did. Really, I can't-"

"There's more." He sighed deeply and sat down on the old stool, wishing he didn't know this stuff, but he knew he owed it to Jezabel to give her the awful, naked truth. "One day, when I was very young, we were visiting Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, and I found this little gravestone. I asked Dad who Dobby was, and... and he said he was a house-elf that used to work for the Malfoy family before they accidentally freed him. Bellatrix-"

"Please," Jezabel interrupted, shaking her head slightly. "You needn't even say she killed him. What else would she do, being the reptile she was?"

"Don't do this to yourself!" he demanded suddenly. "It's okay that your mother was an awful, demented, Muggle-torturing she-demon, because you're absolutely nothing like her! If anything, you're- yeah, you're more like her sister!"

Only now did she look up at him, confused. "S-sister?"

"My Aunt Andromeda." He laughed, realising it was the first time he'd truly thought about them being sisters since Bellatrix had summoned her daughter to the prison; he supposed that's why Jezabel's facial features had always felt somewhat familiar to him. "Oh, you're going to have to meet her - she's your aunt, too! Honestly, she's everything your mum isn't: kind, reserved, thoughtful, patient... sane. My Dad's godson, Teddy, he's lived with her since he was a baby, and you couldn't ask for a better guardian!"

"Really?" For the first time since they'd begun talking, he saw Jezabel begin to smile. "Sh-she turned out all right, no murderous tendencies?"

"Not a one. And as for the Muggle-torturing, well, she married a Muggle-born for Peverell's sake!"

"That's nice," she snorted. "I... well, I still don't know about how I can live with her birthright of bloodshed, but I guess... I guess I won't give up on myself yet if you won't."

"Of course I won't," he said earnestly, bending down next to her on the floor and grasping one hand firmly between both of his. "Really, look me in the eyes - don't you forget that I'm on your side, okay? Always!"

The look she gave him held more suspicion than he'd have liked, but he could tell she was giving in little by little. "Always?"

"Yes."

Her eyes squeezed shut for a long moment, lip quivering as she took in and released a deep breath. "I... have an aunt? An aunt in your family?"

"Yeah! Hey, that makes us family, too, you know. Eighteenth cousins or something."

Now she laughed in earnest, smiling from ear to ear, and he felt as if he'd just downed a flagon of Firewhiskey; it was good to see her happy for once. "Actually, when you really stop and think about it, I'm more like your aunt; my mother was about the same age as your grandparents."

"Ahh," he said as he stood, suddenly uncomfortable. "That's... hmm, that is odd. Your mum didn't exactly rush motherhood, did she?"

"Apparently not," she giggled.

"But... but there's something else I remembered, right after Bellatrix flicked your nose and set you snoozing. We should have known all along what she wanted when you got the deathbed request."

Her eyebrows knitted. "We should have?"

"Kreacher! Remember what he said, about you being a pureblood?"

"Oh!" To his surprise, she actually slapped herself on the forehead, leaving a sooty smear from where her hand had been on the black floor. "Merlin's beard, I cannot believe that didn't occur to me! Of course, I hadn't really forgotten, it was so strange, it- but I would never have imagined the two events to be connected. I mean, who's looking for their pureblood birth parents to turn out as Death Eaters?"

"Not either of us, obviously," he mumbled. "I'm just sorry I didn't think of it, either; could have spared us a depressing visit and one hell of a ride on the Mentacles."

"How on earth did they do it?" He offered her a hand up, and after a brief hesitation she took it. "Plant the Mentacles inside me, I mean. Right after I was born, or - or did a wizard visit my house when I was young?"

"I'm more curious about why. Seriously, is she just insane, or was there a point in us trekking across that mental desert? What did she mean by it?"

"We may never know," she said quietly. "No one left to ask, now - unless Matthias Peele suddenly becomes considerably more talkative."

"Fat chance. Speaking of talkative," he began, "what exactly... er, where...?"

"Hmm? Oh, this place?" She gestured around, smiling in much the same way as she had when he'd asked her about the black marble tomb so many months ago. "I may just be the only one who knows about it, you know. It only shows up when I walk past it three times - I've counted every time. Can't fathom what its true purpose is, but... but it's quiet, and no one ever disturbs it."

"There's something over there," he muttered, nodding at a stray wooden box that had remarkably escaped the fire unscathed. "D'you see it?"

"Oh, that," she said quickly - too quickly. "Nevermind that, it's just an old box."

"But everything else in here was burned to cinders. How'd that thing survive?"

"Albus-"

"You're hiding something."

"No, I-"

"Yes, yes you are," he teased. "Not got dirty magazines over there, have you?"

She frowned uncomfortably. "It's... nothing important. Please, just don't look at it, I'd rather you d-didn't."

"Jezabel!" he exclaimed, honestly caught off guard. "You... you really are hiding something? Wow, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you such a hard time about-"

"It's okay," she said quietly. Her eyes drifted between the door and the box before she looked back at his shoes. "I... well, if you really want..."

"What?"

"You could look, if you wanted." He could barely hear what she was saying now. "B-but you've seen it all before, anyway. Nothing new."

"No, that's okay," he said with a smile. "We don't have to look at it. And I promise I won't come back and sneak a peek in the dead of night or anything."

Her eyes shone oddly when she looked up at him. "Don't you... want to see it? I- I want you to."

With no forewarning, this whole conversation began to feel more than a little surreal to Albus. "Er... you want me to see it?"

"I can't have you thinking that I'm guarding any more deep, dark secrets," she said, dragging him toward the mound of ash where the box rested. "You might resent me for hiding things, and th-these aren't important enough to make into a big issue."

"Seriously, it's not going to be a b- ah."

It was all the personal effects he'd seen piled on the table in the common room. So many things had happened that night; Rose had come to appreciate Jezabel's situation, Jezabel had been given a bath... and she'd come to hate him for going through her things. She'd worked past it by now, obviously, but this remained as a tribute to Albus's short-sightedness.

"This murtlap essence," she began meekly, hefting the bottle, "is for... well, you'll know what it's for, I think. Do you?"

"Minor wound care," he mumbled. "Takes the sting out. Jezabel-"

"Knew you would know," she giggled nervously. "Top marks in Potions. And this... er, it's a book of faerie tales. It sort of served as my Bible when I... well, you know. When I believed faeries were punishing me. And these are the lines I do when..."

"When what?" he coaxed gently, praying almost desperately that she would refuse to tell him.

"When I'm being tormented. See, because I'm usually tormented because I stick my neck out too far, and take too many liberties, or- I have to remind myself that it's the cause of most of my discomfort. So I write out, 'Permission is not mine-'"

"'-until I have received it,'" he finished for her bleakly. "I remember."

The smile on her lips was still very nervous, as if she were opening an art show for the very first time and was concerned that the papers would run unfavourable reviews. "You told me, back in my room - you told me I had the permission within myself, that- that I didn't always deserve what they did to me. And... I've done less lines since then, you know; only on especially bad days. It's as if I don't really need them any more."

"Really? That's wonderful!" He grinned broadly in an encouraging way, even though he still felt uncomfortable with her sharing all this with him. "I hope one day you won't need them at all."

"And... well, there's no reason you should recognise these."

He was puzzled to find a stack of Chocolate Frog cards in his hands. One of them was bent at the corner, but the others were in fairly good condition. "Of course I recognise them; they're Famous Witches And Wizards cards. I've a fair few myself."

Now she was blushing, and he wondered if he's stuck his foot in it without knowing. Then, in a voice so low he had to lean in to catch the rest, she said, "They're from the Frogs... the ones you gave me on the Express. The card on top there is the first one I opened."

For some reason as he looked down at the pieces of paper in his hands, he found his vision was misting over. Had the rank, stifling air finally got to him? Then, when he spotted the card right on top, he laughed wetly. "Ahh, yes. Famous Wizard number one hundred: Harry Potter. Y'know, he sounds vaguely familiar; maybe we studied him last term or something."

Jezabel rolled her eyes, smiling shyly. "Being an ass. Anyway, I always thought it was funny that I should end up with that exact wizard's card because his son was the first person to be kind to me since I came to Hogwarts. So, er, I kept them. Really, I wouldn't mind if I lost the other cards so much, but- but if I had lost that one..."

As Albus watched her deftly avoid meeting his gaze, cheeks filled to bursting with colour, he revisited how much this girl who pretended she hadn't wanted him for a friend had thought of him - how she had been content to admire him from afar before he forced her to open up more. From the very first time they'd spoken, she appreciated such a small gesture that he had done almost automatically, and had held onto a dime-a-dozen memento through an entire school year. It was a lot to take in.

"Jez," he began shakily, trying not to chuckle or bawl or whatever was trying to come out of his face against his will. "I... I really can't comment on how you came to be, but... but I think they ought to make a couple more of you. This world could use more considerate, decent people."

"Stop it," she tittered, staring straight down into the box. "You d-don't have to say things like that."

"Why? You calling me a liar?"

Her head jerked up. "No! No, of course not!"

"Then what I said has to be true, now, doesn't it? I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Auntie Jezabel."

Albus had just enough time to toss the cards into Jezabel's box before she bowled him over, squeezing him to pieces. "You w-were almost killed, Albus! And you're the only w- w- you're the one who g-gave me a new hope, who believed in me no matter how sc-scared or disinterested I acted! How could I have left you out there to die?!"

"Don't be thick, you know that's not how I see-"

"I don't care if my leg's been chopped clean off, I'll n-never leave you in danger like that again! I swear it!"

For a moment, speech failed him. Then he grinned stupidly. "Then we'll just have to start avoiding all that pesky danger, won't we? We can start by not taking any more holidays in Azkaban."

There followed more sobbing into his shoulder, but it was joined by melodic, cleansing laughter, all pouring out at the same time. Since he couldn't think of anything else to do but sob and laugh with her, that's exactly what he did.

END Chapter Forty-Two