Rating:
PG
House:
The Dark Arts
Ships:
Other Canon Witch/Other Canon Wizard Other Canon Wizard/Original Female Muggle
Genres:
General
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone
Stats:
Published: 01/11/2005
Updated: 01/11/2005
Words: 3,556
Chapters: 1
Hits: 322

And That Is Why

Lowlands Girl

Story Summary:
Grandfather tells a favorite bedtime story, of a fair maiden named Maire and a young wizard named Brennan, and of hatred and fear.

Posted:
01/11/2005
Hits:
322

"Just one more story, please, Grandfather?"

"It's past your bedtime. I promised your mother--"

"Please?"

The little boy's blue eyes were so mournful and pleading that his grandfather gave in. "All right," he said with a sigh, nestling the youngster on his lap. "Which one should I tell? You'll want to make it last the night," he added with a twinkle, as the little boy opened his mouth to make his request.

The boy nodded solemnly, his small thumb caught between his teeth as he thought carefully. "The story of Maire," he said finally. "Maire and Brennan."

The wizened old man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Hm. Let's see if I can remember how it goes... Ah, yes."

Once upon a time he began, and the youngster curled up in his lap, eyes closed, smile hovering.

* * *

Once upon a time, when England was young and people much nicer, there lived a young girl named Maire. She was the fairest of the fair, people said--even the flowers bloomed brighter in her presence, as if trying to compete with her loveliness. And not only was she beautiful of face, but beautiful of heart as well--a kinder soul could not be found for hundreds of miles around the village where she lived.

Maire's mother had died when she was very little, so the girl was raised by her father, and her father's sister, who was a witch. But these were in the days when Muggles and wizards lived peacefully together, and the village revered the girl's aunt, who was named Augusta, for her magical prowess.

But the girl's father, Mattox, while he loved his sister well, secretly hated her magical powers. He was as Muggle as Muggle could be, and a devout Christian, too, and could not bring himself to see his sister's abilities as God-given. Even such a simple thing as conjuring a flame sent quiet shivers down his back--such devilry it could turn into!--and when she would Transfigure small insects into coat-buttons, he had to fight with all his will not to flee the room.

But still, they lived peaceably, and Augusta and Mattox raised Maire with much love and affection, and each secretly hoped that the child would follow their chosen path.

Maire's eleventh birthday came and went with no letter from Hogwarts, and her father rejoiced in secret, while her aunt wept in private.

"Alas," she thought, "I must be the last of my line to be magical, and as no-one wishes to marry an old woman past childbearing age..." She sighed once, then turned back to her spinning with a determined cheerfulness. The girl was good-hearted, and fair, and would make a good marriage, and be happy all of her days.

It was not too long after Maire's twelfth birthday when her father Mattox received an invitation from the clergy to study away at seminary in the hills.

"Daughter," he said as he collected his things for travel, "I must leave you in the care of your aunt. I will be away for a year, seeking God's will as I can, for I feel in my heart that He is calling to me, calling me to His service, and that is a call I cannot refuse."

His daughter promised to be good, to obey her aunt, and Mattox walked off into the dawn.

Maire loved her father well, and missed him while he was away.

A year after his departure, she received a letter from a messenger on a black horse.

Darling daughter (it read),

I have found my true calling at last! God spoke to me in the wilderness here, sent me a vision of the future, and I saw myself as a monk for all of the days of my life remaining, and it was happiness. Do not miss me too much, for the Lord will provide for you what I cannot.

Be good for your aunt.

Your loving father,

Mattox

And Maire wept, and mourned her father as dead. For she knew that she could never visit him at the monastery of the hills, for women were not allowed to pass the threshold of their sacred space. And Maire had only a month ago been gifted with the cycles of the fair sex, and was no longer a girl.

She vested herself in black, and vowed herself to silence for a year and a day. To occupy her hands, she spun, and wove cloth so fine that folk from as far away as London marveled at Maire's weaving.

It so happened then, that a wizard happened upon Maire's weaving in a shop in London. This wizard was young, and handsome, and unmarried, and seeking a wife. He saw the beauty and craftsmanship of her work, and knew at once that this was no Muggle-craft. The cloth, when held, touched the heart with a sorrow so powerful that the young wizard was determined to bring happiness to the weaver.

And had rumors not spread of the beautiful young Maire of the Marshes?

So the wizard, whose name was Brennan, determined himself to journey to the Marshes of the East, where Maire lived.

Brennan was of the proudest lineage of his day--his ancestors traced back to the founding of Hogwarts itself. He had just completed his sixth year at the school, and had received many honors and acclamations as to his abilities. It took him little time then, to Apparate from London to the place where Maire's cloth took him.

The village, while not ravished with disease and famine, was a far cry from what Brennan expected of the home of a beautiful, talented weaver-girl.

He sought out Maire's habitation, and was greeted by her aunt, Augusta.

"I seek the weaver of this cloth," he proclaimed. "It is said that Maire the Fair weaves it in mourning for her lost father, and I wish to see her and speak with her."

"Maire has taken a vow of silence," replied Augusta, the witch, "and will see no visitors until she has completed her time of mourning. There is but a week left; if you will stay in the village until then, perhaps she will consent to meet with you. May I ask your errand?"

"I am unmarried as of yet, with a considerable fortune of my own. I seek a wife, and Maire's talent had made me much desire to meet her."

The aunt thought for a minute. Surely this man meant well; Maire was young yet, but nonetheless a woman. She could make her own choices.

"Very well," Dame Augusta assented. "I am afraid I cannot offer you lodging here, but the inn has fine accommodations. Tell Mr. Woodhouse that Augusta sent you, and he will do you no disservice."

"Thank you, good woman," he acknowledged. Then he bowed, as the genteel are taught, and strode away in search of the inn.

During the week he spend in the Marshes, Brennan spoke with many a villager, who all acclaimed the girl's beauty, kindness, and talent, and spoke well of her witch-aunt. Brennan was assured, then, that his new bride (for he was sure the girl would accept him--after all, he came from a good family, was not abusive, slothful, or prone to drink, and was much above what the girl could expect in a village like this) would not take his wizardry amiss. In fact, as not all wizards and witches chose to attend Hogwarts, he could not be entirely sure that the girl was not a witch. The villagers all spoke of her talent, and as it was rude to enquire directly, he let it stand that she was most likely magically gifted. And if not, well, her weaving was gift enough!

The week passed for Maire as well. Her aunt had informed her of the coming suitor, and despite mourning her father, Maire was excited. Knowing what the girl would want to hear, Augusta told her how handsome he had been, and well-mannered, and that (she had checked with some old acquaintances of hers in London) he was from a very old wizarding family, with an excellent inheritance.

When a week had passed for both of them, the three sat down to discuss the future.

Brennan was direct, but polite. "Maire, your weaving is the finest I have ever seen. And your beauty is unrivaled by any woman I have ever met in my travels."

Maire blushed. "I thank you, Master Brennan. But please, you know all about me. Might a young girl know something of her suitor?"

Dame Augusta folded herself happily into the shadows. They were an excellent match, she could see. He might be older than she, but she would not object if the girl chose him.

"I come from an old family," Brennan said. "We have an apartment in London, as well as several estates in the country. My father has been hoping to marry me off to a second or third cousin, to keep the fortune in the family name, but the women are not as fair as you, and nowhere near as skilled. Why, they sit all day twittering, and pretend to sew fine embroidery, yet with naught for their efforts. Your cloth is amazing to the touch, and strong, yet delicate and light. 'Tis magical," he concluded, gazing at the fair maiden.

"I thank you again, Master Brennan. Your words are as fair as your face." She blushed and looked down, for it was unseemly to look a man of marriagable age in the eyes when courting.

The meal ended, and Maire and Augusta had a whispered conversation in the kitchen. Both were sure that her father would not care what sort of a marriage Maire made, as long as the girl was happy. And Maire certainly had no objections to a marriage to the handsome young Brennan.

Dame Augusta and the young wizard talked long into the night arranging the dowry and the services.

"She is a Muggle," the witch told the young man, but he laughed gaily.

"She may not be a witch, but she has magic of her own," he said. Indeed, with his first look at young Maire, he had desperately wanted her to be his.

So Brennan and Maire were betrothed, and Brennan Apparated to his father's side, at their estate in the South.

"I have found my wife," he informed the aging wizard.

"Is she fair? Is she of good heart?" asked his father.

"Yes, and yes. She is Maire, the weaver."

"Ahh, the weaver. I did not know she was of marriagable age," mused the old man. "And she is fertile?"

"She is but recently a woman, my father," explained Brennan. "Her aunt, a witch, has arranged everything," he concluded. "We are to be wedded in August. She and I can live in the village together while I complete my stay at Hogwarts." It was not uncommon, in those days, for the young to marry early and move out of the castle into the larger spaces that Hogsmeade offered.

"I will find you a house, son, until your graduation," offered the patriarch.

"Thank you, Father."

And so they were wedded, and Maire was bedded, and by Christmastime she was with child. Brennan's father was happily a grandfather.

Brennan's father grew older, and older, and finally passed away just after the young wizard's graduation. And Brennan inherited a large fortune, with many estates, and they lived happily. Maire continued her weaving, though not out of mourning, and was still acclaimed by many as a great weaver. Her cloth, now woven out of joy, gave the wearer a light heart when traveling, and the courage to face uncertainty. Yet Maire was no witch.

Then, when Maire was no longer young, and the family included four children, her father Mattox ventured down from his retreat in the mountains to visit his aging sister.

"Where is my daughter?" he inquired. To keep his connection with the Lord, he had been forbidden missives with the outer world.

"She is married, good brother, and happily a mother, with four children."

"Am I four times a grandfather?" exclaimed Mattox. "I would much like to see her," he said wistfully.

"Come with me," said Augusta, offering her arm for double Apparition.

But Mattox shuddered.

Mastering his revulsion--while the work may be devilish, the woman was not--he asked if he might beg of her some patience. "I should like to walk, sister, for I have not seen much country in these long years, and wish to travel before I die."

So Augusta gave him directions, and he journeyed from the Marshes to Maire and Brennan's rambling estate in the country.

And Maire was overjoyed to see her father. She showed him their home, and he met his four grandchildren, who were very much impressed at their grandfather the monk. And he met Brennan, who, realizing that this was a Muggle, dampened the wizardry of the house to be less obvious. The pictures in their frames obligingly stayed still while the man toured the extensive manor. And, as house-elves were not yet in use in England, having only recently been changed by the Chinese from their more horrid origins--but that is another tale, one for another night--Maire and Brennan had human servants, who were very pleased to meet their mistress' father.

Brennan, while happy to meet Mattox and even happier to see his wife so joyous at the reunion, was nonetheless relieved when time came to say farewell.

But, as Fate would have it (and it wouldn't be much of a story without it!) the youngest child, a charming girl of the age of seven, chose that moment to discover her magic.

The three others, all older boys and all attending Hogwarts, were forbidden from practicing magic during the holidays, and knew to refrain from mentioning magic in the company of a stranger, family or not. Times were becoming suspicious.

But Abigail, merely seven, but a baby, was not aware of the dangers present and did not understand. So when, in putting on his traveling cloak, Mattox accidentally knocked her favorite piece of china off the mantelpiece in the entrance hall, Abby cried bitterly and rushed over to the pieces. The little white angel lay shattered by the fire, and Brennan and Maire both comforted their daughter as best they could.

"I'm so sorry, granddaughter," said Mattox, apologizing. "It was such a pretty thing, it was--your favorite?"

Abby nodded, gulping great sobs. "Daddy can fix it, can't he?" she hiccuped, blinking wet blue eyes up at the three elders.

Brennan and Maire exchanged a look. They knew that their daughter meant using Reparo, but Maire was anxious to avoid doing wizardry in front of her father. During all the evening Mattox had spoken of nothing but his joy that his daughter had found a good, Christian husband to support her, and no work of the Devil was to be found under their roof.

"I'm sorry, daughter, but I can't fix it," said Brennan. "Put the pieces in a pile for the maid, my child."

"But you can fix anything!" exclaimed Abby angrily. She was nearly hysterical, as children can be. "You've always fixed everything! I hate you!"

Maire attempted to shoo her father out the door before disaster struck, but her father, being a monk, was determined to comfort the girl.

"Do not hate your father," he chided gently, "and do not blame him. Sometimes God wills things that we cannot control, and cannot fix."

"But Daddy--Daddy's able to fix anything!" she exclaimed. "I don't like God if he won't let Daddy fix the angel!"

Mattox looked shocked, and sent a look of concern at his daughter. How could a girl reared in such a normal family have sentiments like that?

But Abby's wrath was not to be abated. She screeched and howled, and clutched at the pieces in misery, and lo! they began to float above the floor, and to spin gently around, as in a whirlwind, and were soon made whole.

"I fixed it, Daddy!" she exclaimed, the tears vanishing as quickly as they had come. "I fixed it just like you did, only--only I've got no wand!"

Mattox' control broke. "You're a wizard!" he shouted, his face contorting into a grotesque mask of hatred. "Maire, he's a wizard! And your--your children have this devilry! How has he been keeping it from you?"

"Father, please," she pleaded. "Brennan's been keeping nothing from me, we--"

"Lies!" he shouted. "Lies, and sorcery! He must have you enspelled, with the powers the devil gives him!"

"No, father, he hasn't--" she tried to say, but Mattox was not listening.

"I did not raise you as a good Christian girl to be stolen off by one of them! I don't know how he's managed to keep it from you for fourteen years, but I --" he broke off as Maire's expression of sadness, and the protective embrace of her husband, reached past his blind anger.

The children were silent, aware that this was Something Important That They Normally Wouldn't Be Allowed To See.

"You did this willingly?" he asked in a whisper. "You knew?"

"Yes, father," Maire replied softly. "I knew, and his father knew, that he was a wizard and I a Muggle. It made no difference--you see how happy our children are, Father."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, this cannot be." He continued shaking his head, and sat down abruptly in a nearby chair. "I did not raise a daughter who would make such a foolish decision," he mumbled.

"Children, bedtime!" called the nurse from the stairs. "Say goodnight to your elders." With a chorus of goodnights, and a grateful expression from the worried parents, the children left.

The adults regarded each other warily for a moment, then Maire began to speak. "Father, please let me tell you of--"

"Daughter, I must go," said Mattox suddenly. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I will be off now." He gathered his cloak about him and left into the darkness.

Maire wept, for she thought she would never see her father again.

But a poison grew in Mattox' heart as he walked the lonely road to the nearby village. He felt to be a failure, that his beautiful, normal daughter, was entangled with--with those people. What were his vows as a Christian, as God's servant, worth, if all his prayer and devotion over the long years had been unable to protect his own daughter from the Devil? And yet--and yet.

Mattox stopped on the road, a plan forming in his mind. All was not lost, he realized. He could save his daughter yet.

All through the night he thought, and thought carefully. It would work, but he would have to be careful.

The next evening he called at Maire's home, and she welcomed him graciously and happily. "Please, Father, come in, the children are just sitting down to supper."

"I am sorry, daughter," said her father earnestly, "for my anger last night. It was a quick judgment, and one made of love for an only daughter. And yet I see that you are indeed happy, and I only wish you happiness." Forgive me, Lord, he thought, offering up a prayer for redemption.

A knife flashed in his hand, and Maire was dead on the carpet.

A quiet maid observed all from the cover of her Unobtrusiveness Charm. Silencing a scream of horror, she cast a Location charm as fast as she could and Apparated to find the master.

But Mattox had reached the meal table too quickly, and when Brennan and the maid Apparated in, all four of his children were nothing more than bloody corpses over the stark white linen. Mattox stood over behind the body of baby Abby, the knife at his own throat.

"You wizards may have the power of the Devil," Mattox said, "but God entrusted me with the happiness of my daughter, and He has given me the strength to fix her childish mistakes! I will see her in Heaven, a happy woman!" he concluded. Then he stabbed the glittering blade into his own heart and was dead.

Brennan wept bitterly over his wife and children, lost from him forever. Such beautiful creatures, and so much left undone and unsaid! And it was all by cause of her father's unwillingness to accept their difference that he was now forced to take a second wife. The bloodline had to continue, or wizardkind could die out.

The new wife was young and of high blood, nothing like his darling Maire. And though she dutifully bore him a son and heir, and raised the child properly, he could never love her the way he loved Maire.

* * *

"Brennan was a proper father," concluded old Grandfather, gently setting the now-sleepy child on the floor, "and lived to see his son married to a good witch and to see his grandchildren. I do not remember him much--he died when I was but your age--but he was never happy. He would laugh, and smile, but it was always as though something was missing." Grandfather reached a knarled hand out and tousled the boy's fine blond hair.

"And that is why, Lucius, we never marry Muggles.

"Off to bed with you now," said Grandfather Malfoy.


Author notes: I wrote this before Order of the Phoenix came out, but it's still valid. It's an earlier style of mine, if you can call it a style, but experimentation is always good, right?