Singled Out

Chapter V

"So sorry, James. Expelliarmus." Black sparks flew out of Sirius’ wand, forming a bullet of light.

"No, you’re not sorry." James sprang out of the bed, landing crouched on the floor. The black light passed through where his head would have been. It hit the wall, creating a small indention that hissed and smoked. "But you forgot Quidditch reflexes," he added mockingly.

"Feel free to keep talking. Blessus." A stream of thick red droplets of light flew at James, who almost dodged, so that it hit him at a slight angle.

"You’re blessing me," James said incredulously. Then, he felt a slight twinge where the spell had hit. Looking down he saw drops of blood splattering the floor.

"The Wound Curse, from the french blesser, to injure or wound." Sirius stepped sideways as James seized his wand and shot out a whispered spell.

"Tristus," James muttered, and watched as the bluish-silver teardrop-shaped magic hit Sirius.

"What have you done," Sirius mouthed, looking near tears.

"Saddening spell."

"Ralentus arretus," Sirius sobbed out, and watched in satisfaction as James slowed down. "Finite Incantatem," he wept, once he was sure that James couldn’t move. In his normal voice, he said, "Expelliarmus." As Remus watched, the spell, moving with enough force to stun if not kill, sped towards James. Suddenly, miraculously, James began moving again. Hitting the ground, he rolled. Leaping up, he pointed his wand at Sirius, but Sirius was already ready.

"Mange limacus," he yelled.

Eat slugs, Remus thought disbelievingly. That’s a real curse?

"S’envolus," James shouted. The Flying Spell shot out of his wand.

The two spells met in midair, creating a floating cloud of slugs. The two boys stared at it for a moment, before returning to their more immediate concerns. As their attention waned, the slugs rained down, blanketing both fighters and wands with thick slimy gunk. With this added challenge, the spells, hexes, charms, and curses tended to not work a great deal, and then, when they did work, it would be magnified as often as not, and would misfire or backfire.

Remus tried to stop some of the curses, but as all his attempts failed, his efforts became increasingly halfhearted. It was obvious that the slug slime was interacting with the magic in decidedly strange ways, and his shouts of ‘Finite Incantatem’ went unheeded by the Powers That Be, serving only to add to the confusion. Finally, Remus watched, resigned to the destruction of the room, and hoping that none of the spells, which had a Bludger’s instinct for finding people, would hit him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open slightly, heard a startled squeak as a rogue curse flew past, and saw the round face disappear. "There goes Peter," he muttered.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius were not doing well. The air was thick with magic, which was reacting badly with the slug slime, an effect intensified by the presence of all the spells bouncing off walls, ceiling and floor.

"Gastroserpentus," Sirius screamed, his face stained with soot and his eyes wild. Remus tried to Neutralize the curse, but, as he drew the breath to shout out the words of the spell, he succumbed to a coughing fit as he breathed in all the dust from the many objects in the room that had been destroyed.

James, who was having trouble seeing through the smoke and the water streaming down his face, looked up briefly, then his face became a mask of pain.

"Shit," Remus began, then continued at some length with quite a bit of creativity. Sirius was on his knees, apparently attempting to cough his lungs out. He tried to run to James’ side, but the air was very thick, and his muscles strained as he moved through the smoke at a slow walk. "James, are you OK?"

James’ lips moved, his features twisting in agony, but even the sound had trouble moving through this medium.

Remus reached his side. "Finite Incatatem," he yelled frantically. James groaned, and then before Remus could stop him, he returned the same curse at Sirius.

"Gastroserpentus, you bastard," James snarled, his eyes blazing with rage. Sirius, who was still bent over, didn’t see the chartreuse ribbon speeding towards him, the glowing snake’s head reaching him and appearing to be absorbed into his skin.

Sirius cried out, and rolled over. Arching his back, he screamed.

"James, why the fuck did you do that?"

"I got back at that arsehole," James gasped out. Remus watched as James’ face began to contort.

"You git, you were the one who set up the spell between the two of you. The one that made you feel the same pain from Dark Magic that’s over Third Level, because it would be good when you were Aurors. Remember?" Remus spun around, and shouted, "Finite Incatatem," at Sirius. He was relieved to see the spell looking as it was supposed to as the spells around the room were stopped.

As the convulsions stopped, Sirius went limp. Horrified, Remus wondered how strong the curse had been. "Stupefy," he said quietly, pointing his wand at Sirius and James, respectively. As both boys slipped into unconsciousness, he also wondered how Sirius could have known that curse. It was Dark Magic, though not at the same level as the Unforgivable Curses. Of course, the curse had five degrees of danger, and the lower ones were merely treated as regular curses. First degree merely gave the subject a feeling of queasiness as the subject began to feel as if snakes had replaced his/her intestines. In the second level, he/she had the added of sensation of the snakes chewing up his/her stomach. Third level was when the subject felt like venomous snakes were doing the chewing, and could actually experience convulsions or, in extreme cases, death, as the imagined venom traveled through the blood stream and the body shut itself down. Fourth and fifth level were even more dangerous. They were similar to the second and third degree curses, except the snakes were real. Remus shuddered. From the look on James’ face, Sirius must have used at least a level two curse. And James, in turn, had used a curse that was even more powerful. Third degree minimum, if the convulsions were any indicator. Possibly higher. Remus felt sick himself as he thought of the magic, and hatred, needed to power that sort of spell. With a flick of his wand, he sent Sirius to the other side of the room. If they tried to fight now, they’d have him to contend with. And he knew some very dangerous curses.

Rolling up his sleeves, he pointed his wand at them.

* * * * *

Lily sat on her bed, her arms locked in an embrace around her calves, her nightgown stretched across her knees. Her eyes were dry; she was too spent out to cry. Detention for a month, fifty points from Gryffindor, and she had completely betrayed Harold. And James definitely didn’t like her. Everything else paled before the last; if he ever had liked her, his feelings had changed since then. She remembered how he’d laughed after she’d kissed him…and then, unbidden, she remembered how sweet his mouth was.

She shook her head, willing the images to be cleared away. Her hair, long and unbound, swirled slightly. Pomfrey has said there was nothing wrong with her. She felt a twinge of fear. Was it possible that the potion had somehow been absorbed into her personality, permanently? Would she spend the rest of her life with her foot in her mouth? That’d be uncomfortable, she thought wryly. Leaning back, resting her head on the pillow, she stared up blindly. Suddenly, she jumped up, having come to a decision. She knew exactly what she should do. And she didn’t feel any inhibitions against doing it.

Swiftly changing into her school robes, she grabbed her wand from the nightstand and noiselessly crept out of the room, praying that neither Danielle nor Julia, the other 4^th year Gryffindor, would hear her. Or wake and wonder where she’d gone. She felt her ears burning as she remembered Snape’s accusations. It wasn’t true; not exactly. She was only fourteen, too young for sex, right? But… Her face slowly turning crimson at the thought, she glided down to the Common Room. Absently, her mind noted a dark shape huddled on one of the armchairs, curled up like a sleeping rat. Now, she had to find the 6^th years’ room.

Hoping that the boys’ room was organized the same way as the girls’, with the first years at the bottom of the tower and the seventh years at the top, she slowly walked up the winding stairs, clutching the banister. One…two…three…four…five…six. This was the door.

"Alohamora," she whispered. The door unlocked noiselessly. Unfortunately, it moved rather loudly. Creaking and groaning, it swung inwards, revealing a completely dark room. Lily bit her lip. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. As she was turning to slip out and run back to her room, a light came on, illuminating two naked bodies.

"Shit," a male voice swore, as a distinctly female voice shrieked out various curses.

Lily covered her mouth with her hand, and shaking with laughter, ran out. She knew that voice; that was the seventh years’ room! Wondering if she had missed a door, or if this tower was organized differently, she gingerly tried the door at the bottom of the staircase. It swung open, silently, to her relief. As she stuck her head in it, she suddenly got a pillow thrown in her face.

"Oh, sorry, thought you were somehow else," came the piping voice. "Wait a sec, you’re a girl. Girls shouldn’t be here. They have cooties."

"First years," Lily muttered as she reached for the next door. She paused, thinking. Who knew what would be behind this one? So far she’d walked in on a pillow fight and a, er, romantic interlude. With her luck, this room would be filled with nundus. Obviously, Hogwarts at night was far more dangerous than Hogwarts during the day. But…there was only one way to find out. Shrugging, she touched the handle, and jumped back as she received a nasty shock for her troubles. This was it! None of the Gryffindors would have set up protection for the room. Now, how was she to get in? Her question was answered as the door swung open, seemingly of its own volition. She waited for a flash of lightning, a dagger, some sort of horrible potion, anything like that. When she realized that she was still intact, and unchanged, she instinctively looked up. No bucket. Or, at least, no visible bucket. She peered around the door, and readying herself for some sort of ambush, but resigned to her fate, she stepped in. One of James’ friends, with a name like Romulus or Remus, smiled at her. Cautiously, she edged in.

"There’s nothing to worry about. Most of the stuff we put up to discourage intruders was destroyed."

"I can see that," she managed a brief nod at the surroundings, feeling aghast. "Do you always keep your room like this?" she ventured.

He smiled slightly again. "Oh, sorry, I should have explained. We’re actually pretty neat, mostly because I’d nag James and Sirius to death if they didn’t clean up most of their junk. But," he paused, "there was a bit of a fight."

"A bit? Looks bigger than that." Lily surveyed the room. It was a wreck. There were ripped papers strewn across the floor, and clothing was still clinging to the ceiling. She noticed a Fwooper quill that had snapped. The sheets didn’t look very healthy, either. For one thing, some were torn in half. And then, there were stains on them…horrified, she leaned in closer. "Is that blood? If it is, I think I’m going to be sick."

He had the grace to look a bit worried at that. "Um, I don’t think it is. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh, I was looking for James. What’s your name again?"

"Remus. Well, James’ right there." Remus pointed at a dark shape on the floor. "Sirius is over there, in case you were wondering," and he pointed at the other side of the room.

"Did they do this to each other?"

"Well, I Stunned them to stop them from doing it themselves," Remus said casually. So, this was the girl. He vaguely remembered seeing her around. But, what was she doing here in the middle of the night, he wondered. If James had met her only a week again, they were getting very serious very fast. And then there was what Sirius was saying. If she was Harold’s girlfriend… Remus wasn’t sure of that; he didn’t keep up on the gossip around the school. But, Sirius did, and he probably wouldn’t have bothered lying.

"It was a duel, then," she pursued the topic with a sort of morbid fascination.

"In a matter of speaking," Remus replied absently as he pointed his wand at the broken quill. "Reparo," he murmured.

"Did they get any help?"

"I took them to Madam Pomfrey. She got rid of effects of the spells and told me to take them back upstairs because there was no lasting damage, or at least nothing too serious. She said it would do them some good to have some reminders of their stupidity, and she taught me a neat little spell that makes them regret what they did."

Lily had lost interest and was kneeling next to James. "Where’s that other guy?"

"Peter? He walked in on the fight, turned and ran. I’d assume he’s sleeping in the Common Room tonight."

He watched her staring at James. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched his shoulder lightly. Remus watched, fascinated, as she bent closer and kissed him lightly on the forehead, as chaste a kiss as a mother would give a child. Talk about a weird relationship, he thought.

Turning, she caught his look, though he had tried to avert his gaze. She blushed lightly. "I figure he’s paid for his bastardly deeds."

Don’t you mean dastardly?" he asked.

"Yeah, that too." With a final glance at James, she rose and made her way to the splintered doorway. As she reached it she turned. "Oh, and tell James to find me tomorrow. I’m looking forward to asking him some questions," she said quite sweetly. Remus’ inner hearing, as finely attuned as a real wolf’s, sensed the false sincerity in the last sentence. It sounded more like, ‘I still want to beat him senseless.’ "Here’s my schedule." She tossed out a piece of paper that flew towards him and floating into his outstretched hand as she murmured an incantation.

* * * * *

Narcissa clutched Lucius’ arm as the world seemed to whirl around the pair. Her long fingernails dug into his arm. Finally, the motion ceased.

"Are we there?" Her lips were parted slightly.

He put a finger to her lips.

Tightening his grip on her shoulder, so that it could no longer be interpreted as casual, he pushed her in front of himself as they began to walk towards a string of lights.

She glanced at him fearfully, suddenly realizing that she was entirely at his mercy and the mercy of the one he called his lord. The knowledge that she couldn’t charm her way out of this situation suddenly struck her, and her knees buckled. She straightened immediately, but he had noticed. With a menacing glare, he lowered his mouth to her ear.

"If you make one wrong move, my friends," there was distaste in the way he said the word, "and I will neutralize you in an instant."

Narcissa shuddered. She wanted to cry out, to wake and find it was all a nightmare. She wasn’t here; on this dark path, lit by moonlight, walking to a string of lights that held one of the world’s greatest Dark sorcerers. Suddenly nearly crazy with fear, she wondered how she had gotten into this. It was all a game! Only it wasn’t. She risked a quick look at the man who now held her captive. The man who she thought had loved her, who had given her the adoration she loved above all else, who whispered words in her ears that increased her confidence that she was destined for greatness. He had seduced her. And now, she walked the winding path, with creatures unknown, and best unseen, hissing and moving in the darkness. She suppressed another shudder, of revulsion this time, and tried to stand up straight, as if the weight of fear wasn’t pressing her down, as if her lungs weren’t stoppered by dread.

"You see," he whispered in her ear, his breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up, "I can have you killed in an instant, and if my Master, soon to be yours as well, does not like you, it will be you who die."

He was lying, but she didn’t need to know that.

They were reaching their destination. Despite her fear of that which lurked in the woods, Narcissa found herself wishing that the path would go on forever. She didn’t think she could bear to reach the end.

"We’re almost there, love," he said, the endearment falling from his lips as easily as a threat, as easily as a curse.

But they weren’t. Bemused, Narcissa watched as the lights began to recede into the distance. Lucius swore softly. "Are you doing this," he hissed. He pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at her.

She trembled. "I’m not."

"If you are, you will live to regret it, but not much else."

She nodded. "I understand, sir," she said, hating herself for bowing to his authority so quickly, but afraid, so very afraid.

"Now, dear, don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old, as if I were your professor, or your father."

"Yes, Lucius," she said timidly.

In response, he kissed her hard and full on the lips. She felt the knot of fear loosen until it was forgotten, and the surrounding became lighter. He broke it off briefly.

"I love you, Narcissa. Never doubt that. And, as we rise in the service of our lord, you’ll get the life you deserve, the life you wouldn’t have gotten if you had been loved by any other than a Malfoy."

Narcissa was past caring about Voldemort, and the horrors that were behind her—skulking in the shadows, madly screaming their animal calls in the night—ceased, were replaced by the fragrance of flowers, as his thumb traced her lips. Her body ached for another kiss. The levelheaded, Ravenclaw portion of her brain objected, saying that she was under some sort of spell, but emotion shoved it in a corner as she responded eagerly to his touch, his tongue savaging her lips, the salty-sweetness of his mouth on hers, pressing down firmly. His hands explored freely as did hers. She wound his silky blond hair around her fists, feeling as if that grip was the only thing that kept her upright, that his hands cupping her face and his tongue, teasing and ravaging her mouth, were what made her real. All concerns, all memories, faded and paled before this. This was life; this was death. They were joining together; she was falling apart.

"Lucius, as much fun as you are doubtless having, I’d suggest that you bring your lovely bride to see me. It would be a tragedy if, after all this fun, I had to kill her for being unfit for my service, wouldn’t it?"

The voice came from behind her, but the image of a shadowy figure stood silhouetted, seemingly all around her. An illusion, she told herself, but she tightened her grip on Lucius’s shoulders nonetheless.

Lucius abruptly let go of her, and quickly pried her fingers loose. Startled, she nearly lost her balance. Her mouth and throat felt bruised, and, if she closed her eyes, she could still feel her skin burn where his fingers had been mere seconds ago.

"Miss Forrest, attend."

Blushing in the night, her eyes snapped open.

"As enjoyable as you may find it to relive those memories, I must request that you hear my words. After all, the pair of you may return to your fun. I’m certain that whether or not you’re alive is of no concern to either of you," the voice said lazily.

Narcissa’s eyes widened. Next to her, Lucius stepped away from her.

"Master," he said smoothly, bending before one of the shadowy figures that blended with the darkness behind them.

"Yes, Lucius," said the voice, smug and slightly amused.

"Shall we begin testing her?"

"Oh, I don’t know. If you like, you can keep her as a slave. She can remain with those House Elves of yours."

"I care not. You are free to command me as you wish, and I will do as you wish with her, my Lord."

Narcissa shivered as that high laugh rang out over the dark trees. She wished she could send a Warming Charm over the woods.

"I will be expecting you soon." There was a flare, and Narcissa realized anew just how dark the forest was.

"Come," Lucius said brusquely. Quietly, she followed. The lights were close. Ashamed of her lack of control, she trailed behind him, watching his silvery hair, standing out among the shadows that had returned. As the lights loomed nearer, she wondered what made her act the way she had. She never showed anything other than calm. Men were supposed to worship her as a distant goddess. Her reaction to Lucius both frightened and excited her.

"We’re here." Lucius’ voice broke through her reflections.

The trees around her, bathed in light, seemed no different from those at Hogwarts at first, but she soon realized that they had snow on the branches. "Where are we," she whispered.

"Albania," Lucius scowled.

The eerie silence surrounded them as they waited. Just as Narcissa was ready to run away, a voice came from a dark patch between two trees.

"My family will be arriving shortly."

Narcissa pivoted and saw the alien visage that the shadows had only hinted at earlier. Eyes that glowed like twin rubies, set in a bone-white face. Bloodless lips under a flat nose. Fascinated and repulsed, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the figure. "Welcome," it—surely that thing couldn’t have a gender, couldn’t be human, never was human—said. "I am Lord Voldemort."

* * * * *

In his room, Dumbledore sighed. Professor Curtis’ death had taken a toll on all of them. And it was his duty to watch the students, guard them, and guide them onto a path that would lead them to danger. His hand bore scars, mute testimony to the students whose lives were, or had been, in danger. Not that anyone else knew of it, but, for every student’s death, physical or emotional, his hand had one scar. And now, another had appeared.

"Why is this happening, Fawkes," he asked the phoenix. The bird gazed back, then shook its lemon-yellow-and-gold head. Dumbledore smiled slightly, the sobered. "They’re only children; they can’t always be counted on to take the moral road. Merlin! I know adults who chose the easy road! And yet…‘the Aurors of the future’, Alastor called them. And that they are, some of them, at least. I’ll grant that." He watched the pictures of the sleeping Headmaster and Headmistresses of the past, slumbering in their frames, gone from this world into one without cares. He envied them. Ye gods; how he envied them! They didn’t have to spend their days and nights thinking of students who were in danger, of students who he led into danger because of his convictions. And one student in particular; one student who he hadn’t convinced. Tom Riddle.

To be Headmaster was a wearying task, with so many lives in his hands. And he was tainted by their blood; by the blood of innocents. He could still remember the fight against Grindelwald. He was old! Too old to fight another demon in a human guise. Rising, he paced the length of his study, thinking of Pristina Forrest. A nice girl, if somewhat self-centered. But now she was venturing into the depths of the forest at night. And there were rumors. He listened to what the students said, and, more importantly, to what they didn’t say. Not with their tongues. Pristina wanted to change her name to Narcissa. She had been seen with an older wizard at Diagon Alley. Not a particularly distinguished wizard, in terms of intelligence, but one that was rich. Lucius Malfoy, the heir of a wizarding family whose name had been linked to the Dark for as long as anyone could remember. Dumbledore walked down the staircase, and, tapping his wand on the door, he walked into Professor McGonagall.

"Albus," she exclaimed. "Pristina Forrest isn’t in her room. One of the other fourth-year Ravenclaws went to Tanspere to report that Pristina hadn’t come to the room after dinner."

"Why?"

Looking blank, McGonagall stopped. "Why what?"

"Why did the girl report this? Students generally keep each others’ secrets."

"Well, it’s Pristina Forrest. I dare say the girls would love to see her in trouble. She’s the female James Potter of the Ravenclaws, and she’s Tanspere’s pet."

"Thank you for alerting me, Minerva. I appreciate it."

Professor McGonagall turned and took a step, but stopped. "Albus."

"Yes?"

"What really happened to Professor Curtis?"

Dumbledore regarded her calmly. "What makes you think he didn’t die?"

"The Daily Prophet didn’t make any mention of it."

"There is more than one way to die."

Sensing that she wouldn’t get any more of an answer, McGonagall left.

Fawkes put his head close to Dumbledore’s finger, letting a single tear slide over his hand.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, as the wound disappeared. "If only there was a way to heal the wounds of the heart."

* * * * *

Voldemort watched Narcissa through lidded eyes. "What are you here for?"

"She seeks to—" Lucius said hurriedly.

"Silence," Voldemort hissed. "Let her speak for herself. I wish for no servants who have not tongues, nor do I wish for a servant whose voice is heard too much."

Lucius nodded silent assent.

"I wish to enter your service," Narcissa said clearly.

"And yet you also wished for a longer path to my service?"

Narcissa trembled slightly.

"That path is the result of a particularly clever spell. It mirrors the mind and wishes of those who walk it for the first time. When Lucius came to me, the path was straight and bright. For you, the way was dark and long. Why was that? Do you truly wish to join me, or are you a spy for that fool, Dumbledore?" Voldemort spat out the last word as if it was a curse.

Narcissa wet her lips before replied. Her stomach churned, and she wanted to return to the safety of the school. Why was she here? She didn’t want a lifetime under the thumb of a Dark Lord! If that was what the price of power was, she didn’t want power. But, she wanted death less. "No, I truly wish to join your noble cause." The words came out in a rush.

Voldemort grinned, and he seemed even more revolting. "Give me your hand," he said. Nervously, she extended her left hand towards him.

"Are you left-handed?"

"Yes."

He looked at her for a moment. "Very well." Her stomach churned more violently as he pulled his hands out of his pockets. They were big, with fingers spread wide apart. Reaching out with surprising speed, he gripped her wrist. Turning her hand to catch the light, he pulled a wand out of his robes. Delicately, he traced the line on her hand, then, with a sudden movement, her entire hand was on fire. Before she could scream, it was over.

"What did you see?" Lucius asked the question eagerly, but fell silent at Voldemort’s glance.

"Very interesting," the Dark Lord said. "I have a plan for you."

"Am I to be like Lucius? Will I have that mark on my arm?" Her voice sounded shrill even to her ears.

Meeting her eyes, Voldemort smiled again. "Your eagerness is pleasing to behold, but not yet. Perhaps in time."

Inwardly, Narcissa rejoiced. She wouldn’t have that disgusting tattoo on her. Perhaps she could escape, and go back to tell Dumbledore. It would be as if this entire night was but a bad dream. "However, you have your first assignment. Come closer," he beckoned with his unnaturally large hand, discreetly holding his wand. "This is what you must do," his voice dropped to a whisper, lower than the wind singing through the trees.