A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 20: Ironcraft Antiquaries, Magical Springs, and Morose Malfoy

Dark blue waves crashed against high cliffs, tossing foam upon the rocks and flinging salty mist high into the air. Arcana closed her eyes and smiled, relishing the coolness in opposition to the warmth of the shining sun. A vast archipelago stretched before her, shrouded in fog that should burn off soon, but then again, this place did not always obey what humans would call the laws of nature. Soft grass and fragrant herbs tickled Arcana's bare feet as she turned away from the sea and wandered back toward the trees, taking a narrow flagstone path through the verdant growth back to, if not home, then Solace.

Arcana woke, without any prodding from Shelly and feeling well rested for the first time in a week. The hours the Dark Lord demanded Arcana keep were not agreeing with what her body wanted, meaning Shelly had lately resorted to inventive ways to convince her to crawl out of bed. The house-elf was in the living room, Arcana sensed, having just arrived with her breakfast. Arcana stuffed her feet into the slippers by her bed, threw a robe over her nightclothes and followed the delightful scent wafting into her bedroom.

"Good morning, Lady. Shelly was just coming to wake Lady Arcana. What can Shelly do today for Lady Arcana?" the house-elf chirped, pouring Arcana a cup of tea.

"I will be out until evening, Shelly," Arcana said, sitting down and sipping the steaming tea. Shelly deflated at the news, since it was hard on her sense of duty to putter about Arcana's rooms all day unless there was real work to be done. "Tomorrow I'll need to brew more, including a couple potions you should learn."

Shelly's ears perked up at that, and she trotted off to the bedroom as Arcana sipped her tea. That trusting smile and those bright eyes made Arcana feel unduly old. Rising bitterness threatened to pry open old hatreds - how wizards had robbed her brethren of their rightful long lives. She grimaced and locked it down before she touched more painful memories.

The fire crackled merrily as Arcana took her breakfast, quickly losing herself in her rambling thoughts. The second day of teaching the Dark Lord how to properly weave together the magic of multiple casters had been less disastrous than the first, and her Dark Mark had not been nearly as reddened when he had sent her to bed. The third day had produced surprising results, though she was not overly pleased that the Dark Lord had figured out how to track her casting via the bloody brand, and it was literally that by the end of the day. By yesterday evening, day four, he thankfully no longer needed that crutch and they actually began trying to set the initial and most innocuous parts of the summoning ritual. That had ended a bit dubiously, leaving the Dark Lord slightly singed and Arcana with a pounding headache. The Solace potion was the only thing that gotten her sleeping afterwards, and dreaming, which was a surprise that she could only chalk up to memories that her teaching was unconsciously dredging up from the deep vaults of her mind. Another age. Another life.

A deep breath and a touch of magic grounded Arcana, stilling her internal monologue and clearing her mind. It was time to act, not ruminate on what had slipped into the past forever. The flames in the hearth waved in greeting, whispering nonsense that did not warm her heart. She would never get used to the inflexible nature of time in the mortal world.

Arcana left the fortress early, dressed in grey robes and cloak, some of her more spell-resistant hunting attire hidden underneath. The armor would also give her some protection from physical attack, but she generally relied on her uncanny agility for that. Drizzle fell from the low-hanging clouds, clinging to her white hair, and the air smelt of mud and dead grass. Brushes of heather clung to the rocky ground above the valley, blackened by frost and awaiting the spring. Arcana Transfigured her cloak and set a glamour over her features when she reached the edge of the anti-Apparition wards, and then Apparated to Knockturn Alley.

An old, hunch-backed witch in a dirty grey cloak slowly waddled out from a shadowed corner into the grim and slightly less shadowed main street of Knockturn Alley, muttering to the dank air about aching bones and nasty cold rain, as that was currently pouring from the sky at a sharp angle due to the howling winds. Arcana mumbled a Weatherproofing Charm, not willing to get soaked just for show. She was not fond of the old hedgewitch act as it was, especially with the way the dodgy wizard in the voodoo booth was watching her. She gave him a nasty grin, showing off broken, yellowed teeth, and shuffled a little faster. The wizard was disinclined to follow.

No one was hanging about outside Ironcraft Antiquaries, except a few rats that were scurrying around the puddles. They came up clean when Arcana checked them for magical tampering - as clean as anything in Knockturn Alley at least. Dirty water poured off the roof where the gutter was clogged, probably by something that had died in there, judging by the smell. Jeriol had replaced the old front door with one bound in tainted iron, much to Arcana's annoyance, and the wards around the shop had been upgraded as well. Come to think of it, she had not seen any Aurors yet, not even any out of uniform, trying to be sneaky. Maybe they had just given up on Knockturn Alley. That would explain the new security measures anyway.

There was another customer in the shop when Arcana entered, haggling with poor Darien over what looked to be the desiccated leg of a very immature dragon. Darien worriedly glanced at Arcana the hedgewitch, as selling dragon bits like that had been illegal for about a century now, but Arcana just minded her own business and poked at a few things that a hedgewitch whose garden had been flooded would likely buy and stayed clear of a large bucket of scrap metal, most of which was tainted iron.

It was just her luck to run into more of the stuff, but that is why she wore the gloves after all. She was not as sensitive to it as some fae, but it could leave nasty burns with prolonged skin exposure - the severity being based on exactly how the metal had been tampered with magically - and if it cut into her skin, she would be in for poisoning as well.

The customer left quickly, hurrying past Arcana in a flurry of damp robes, smelling of wet wool, with her large parcel wrapped up in an exorbitant amount of magically waterproofed brown paper, making it look even more questionable. Arcana continued to ignore Darien and started picking through a basket of expensive fungi.

"Uh, ma'am?" Arcana continued poking at violently colored, wiggling mushrooms until Darien came over. "Ma'am, is there something you need?"

"Jeriol's hiding down there again, is he?" Arcana croaked in the hedgewitch's voice.

"Master Ironcraft is quite busy right now, ma'am, but I'm sure I can find what you need," Darien said, attempting to balance authority and strained politeness, and not doing too badly.

"Oh, I think not," Arcana said, letting some steel back into her voice. Darien's hand went to his waistcoat where his wand was stashed. The young idiot clearly was not getting it, so Arcana dropped the glamour and enjoyed how he sprung back from her in shock, nearly knocking over a rack of dusty jars filled with pickled organs. He did manage to get his wand in hand though, and he kept it aimed at her heart until he realized who she was.

"Oh, uh . . . I'm sure Master Ironcraft isn't that busy actually." Darien stowed his wand away and scurried off, handling the situation better than Arcana had expected. She kept her hunched hedgewitch posture and rifled through packets of herb seeds that were old enough to have gone off until Darien returned with Jeriol.

The front door opened and Arcana threw up the glamour again. Darien was a good boy and tended to the newcomer while Jeriol made a small show of annoyance about Arcana's bad timing, but waved her down the back stairs anyway, grumbling until they were out of earshot. Arcana dropped the glamour and straightened.

"You do have terrible timing," Jeriol muttered. "New shipments of merchandise that need to be stabilized." Hidden too, Arcana silently added for him. "Could have been worse though with the Aurors checking in not an hour ago, demanding to see my registration papers and authorizations. Do you have any idea how thick that stack of parchment is?" Jeriol was walking down the stairs behind her, the shadows of his irritated hand-waving towering above Arcana's slight shadow below them. She readied a couple spells in her mind just in case. He was trustworthier than anyone else she had found in Knockturn Alley, but that was not saying much.

"Well then be quick about it. I don't need much more than the usual," Arcana said coldly upon reaching the last step. She pulled out her list of extra supplies and levitated it in Jeriol's general direction. He snatched it out of the air.

"I'll be by the fire. Payment as usual," Arcana snapped, and then stalked off to his sitting room in hopes of warming up. The standard Warming Charms and her own fae spells were easy enough, but she did not want to chance disturbing the glamour, at least not until she was done with her business in wizarding London.

Arcana tossed her cloak over the back of one of the armchairs in the sitting room and went to stand before the hearth, extending her gloved hands over the flames. Again the fire only whispered nonsense. She was grateful her meager luck had kept her from crossing paths with the Aurors, though she'd never let Jeriol see her worry.

Magic was thinner in the city, but not in a way that wizards seemed to notice. The sprawl of dead buildings, the buzz of human consciousness, and the infection of Muggle technology pushed the magic of the land away - deeper than was easy for Arcana to reach. She could still cast most simple spells without thought, but the city was empty in a way that never failed to set her on edge.

If only she were back in the realms . . . Arcana sneered at herself. Those dreams were making her homesick. Pathetic.

Jeriol came into the sitting room, wrapped packages floating behind him.

"It's Transfigured," Arcana said, nodding to the cloak after seeing Jeriol's grimace. It did look filthy, she had to admit.

"Ah, and the glamour. It is getting bad again, just like the last time." Jeriol shook his head, looking older than Arcana had remembered. "Bad" was an understatement, but neither of them commented further.

"A cup of tea before you face the cold again, Lady? Foul weather today."

"I thought you were busy," Arcana chided, his conversation miraculously lightening her mood as usual. Jeriol smirked, always willing to delay restocking for a chance to pry information from her. "I'm afraid not today," she said regretfully. "Next time."

If the ritual failed, Arcana would never leave the fortress again, let alone to get that cup of tea. Red sunless skies and rancid demon spawn would be her end. She crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands. She had almost managed to forget about those memories, having been so busy teaching the Dark Lord. Perhaps it was more than dreams that made her long to be away from this accursed mortal world.

Jeriol could tell something was wrong, and he never hid his worry well. Arcana sighed.

"Something is always wrong, old man, and something will always be wrong until he is gone."

"You think that . . ." The spark of hope in Jeriol's eyes startled Arcana, and she could not help but frown.

"Perhaps, with luck." Arcana's words sounded doubtful to her own ears, but she just shrugged and shrank her packages, fitting them all into hidden pockets in her robes that would not bulge. The Dark Lord's death would not cure all the ills in the wizarding world, but it would cure the only one that concerned her. Telling Jeriol would be a mistake, so she let the silence hang. He already knew enough to put the pieces together, and then he would know too much. The brand on Arcana's left arm tingled for a moment, and she clenched her fist, willing her Dark Mark to be still. It did not listen.

"I'd best be off. Watch your back, Jeriol."

"You too, Lady."

Diagon Alley was little better than Knocturn Alley with the weather, but thankfully Arcana's errands there were few, and the lack of leering eyes was a distinct improvement. An air of desolation had crept up on the once bright street, which, at this time of year, was usually filled with Christmas shoppers. There were no happy faces today, only grim eyes and down-turned mouths. Magical Law Enforcement was everywhere, but only a few Aurors, meaning that they were too busy trying to keep up with the Dark Lord's seemingly random attacks, not to mention ferreting out spies and dealing with a myriad of other messy magical incidents, leaving Diagon Alley open to assault, though Arcana knew that the Dark Lord had no plans to be so bold yet.

There wasn't much to protect right now with half the shops boarded up and the other half looking tempted to do the same. Ollivander's wandshop was still open, and Arcana felt for her latest wand, the holly one, in her pocket. It would only be a matter of time before she broke it, just like the others. Poor Ollivander had dropped his cup of tea in horror when Muirgheal had walked into his shop with the remains of an oak wand ten years ago. That had been the third one he had sold to her in as many decades. At least she'd had the modesty to give him a sheepish grin when he accused her of being one of his best customers in the very worst way. The only reason the wands of wizard construct lasted so long was that she rarely had to use them, preferring to stick to her solitude where her other, much older wand and her wandless magic would not be cause of discussion, nor lead to her execution.

After visiting two apothecaries and taking a quick trip to the Leaky Cauldron to swipe the recent newspapers, Arcana Apparated away from Diagon Alley. Tom had noticed her leaving at the same time the stack of newspapers on the table suddenly and most mysteriously became shorter, but she had just given him her best hedgewitch grin, nasty teeth and all, and then shuffled out unmolested.

Far away from any nosy wizards, Arcana removed the Transfiguration on her cloak, dropped the glamour, and cast a Warming Charm on her robes. It was colder in this far northern forest then in London, but the peaceful quiet and the clean air more than made up for it. Snow crunched under her black boots as she walked the familiar way. More snow drifted down from the grey clouds, heralding the beginnings of a storm, but she would be long gone before it hit. The trees had been silvered by ice, the wintry wind having blown the new snow off of the branches, and a small brook cut a swath of shining darkness through the deep white. There was no ice in the stream, and there never would be, for that water did not freeze.

The wind giggled softly, and tiny sparkles drifted amongst the falling snowflakes, occasionally zipping down to skip across the brook before flying back up into the trees. There was no path to the spring from which the brook was born since no humans ever came this way, and that was just fine for Arcana.

A small stone had been planted upright at the spring to mark it long ago, which Arcana found vaguely amusing since anyone that knew its general location would have no need for a physical marker. It was the purist water in the mortal world, rising from a deep underground river that tracked a ley line for a hundred miles. Bedrock and magic cleansed the water and bestowed upon it the ability to wash away the most corrupted magic, even demon magic.

Arcana withdrew a tiny silver pitcher from one of her pockets and enlarged it with a whispered word. It was chill to the touch, even through her gloves, as there was still some spring water in it, and that water was always cold. Arcana ran her fingers over the elegant fae runes around the rim, wiping away the condensation. The runes shone with an inner light as a spell activated. She set the pitcher in the shallow spring so the rim was just below the surface and then sat down on the snow to wait for it to fill. The pitcher held much more water than it appeared to of course, so it would take some time.

Tiny ice fairies danced around Arcana, sparkling in the midday light despite the heavy cloud cover. They laughed and tugged at the hood of her cloak, making silly faces and throwing miniscule snowballs at each other. They remembered her and that she did no harm to their spring whenever she came. Arcana smiled at their antics, glad that they played when she came and did not try to run her through with sharpened icicles. They could become very vicious if provoked, which was quite easy to do. The fey creatures of the mortal world had some things in common with their distant cousins in the realms.

From the frozen forest Arcana Apparated to the edge of the wards above Slytherin's Valley. It took a bit more effort to hide the evidence of her passing this time since the grass was clothed in thick frost, but a few muttered words later and the footprints were gone. Halfway down to the valley floor the path turned muddy as the wards kept the climate milder than was natural, and Arcana walked along the rocky outcrops as much as possible. Even though she did not weigh much, her boots would still sink into the mire, ankle deep at times unless she charmed them to walk above the ground - something she was not fond of doing without good reason, liking to feel more connected to the land.

Dark green boughs closed over her head, casting deep shadows in daylight as only a magical place could. The chittering of hungry black leaf fairies drifted down to the forest floor, and glittering eyes blinked menacingly in the underbrush. The resident creatures were more daring in their approaches today, and after several appendages swiped at Arcana from the dense undergrowth she decided to stick to the path instead of taking the more challenging, but shorter route across the untrod ground. The Dark Lord could wait a few more minutes for her return.

Up ahead the path curved around a formation of large mossy boulders that could never have ended up the middle of the forest by natural means. The shadows deepened as the sun fell behind the high cliffs of the valley, and the wind murmured through the trees, carrying the forest's whispers to Arcana's ears. She could hear them better - feel the way of the land more clearly - since the Dark Lord opened the magic of his land to her. It spoke to her, Dark and Wild mutterings, and listened for her mild requests. It did not yet trust her, and might never with the Dark Lord's will behind it, but she would be patient.

Arcana continued along the edge of the path, judging the mud in the middle worse than having to occasionally glare at a pair of eyes in the bushes. The sound of another, louder pair boots squelching along the path made Arcana snarl, irritated with the incursion on her peace, and nearly miss the Shriveled Sharpsnapster that tried to snap off her leg with its pinchers. The wandless repelling spell that sent it scampering away noisily wasted precious seconds. Arcana silently swore at the abrupt appearance of the edge of a black cloak from around the boulders. She slipped into the shadows, blending into the foliage and silently stepping off the path and over a lichen-encrusted log. She flexed her aura, daring any other creature to try to take a bite out of her. None tried.

The wizard up ahead stopped and stared at the place she had stood a moment before, startled at the odd play of mottled green light and shadow. It was Malfoy. His long blonde hair was hanging loose from under his hood, making visual identification easy - not that Arcana needed such mundane methods. He drew his wand and cautiously continued toward her. Having no reason to hide from the morose wizard, Arcana stepped back onto the path, but not before readying a defensive shield in case he was wand-happy, as Death Eaters usually were. He took a quick step back and trained his wand on the moving leafy-green shadow. The semblance of the forest fell from Arcana as she let the magic drift away, and then pulled back her hood.

Arcana's appearance made Malfoy no happier, which was irksome since she was only being polite. She could have just let him fearfully wander past or pointed a hungry creature in his direction.

"Ah, it would be the Dark Lord's pet fae sneaking around the forest. Did he lock you out like a disobedient dog?" Malfoy did not lower his wand and the air rippled with his apprehension. If he was going to be rude, she certainly had no reason to be polite any longer.

"Perhaps I am not the one sneaking, Malfoy." From the slight change of expression Arcana knew she had hit it right on. "Or do you have good reason to be out amidst the hungry beasts? It is a step up from the company you normally keep. Death Eaters can't be described so kindly. Bloodthirsty beasts would be more apt."

A practiced, upper-class sneer twisted his mouth.

"It's a pity that the Dark Lord hasn't tamed your tongue yet, fae, though I suppose he must find it amusing since he has you quite well trained otherwise."

Arcana refused to let her anger loose and offered him a feral smile instead.

"He isn't here to protect you now," she said quietly. She started walking down the path again towards Malfoy, looking into his eyes and not at his wand. That often unnerved wizards. The wind was picking up, and she could tell that the storm in London that morning was nearly upon the valley. The promise of heavy rain was in the air, probably too faint for the Malfoy to notice.

"I'll just be going my way, Malfoy. I am busy, unlike you, if what I hear is correct these days."

It was his anger this time that was held in check. That much she could sense. Malfoy finally stuck his wand into a pocket and stepped aside so Arcana could pass. He was simply restless in his uselessness, not up to anything particularly malicious, and she was familiar with the sometimes-painful desire to get away from the Dark Lord's fortress.

"Why me, fae?" he hissed when she drew even with him. "Why does my line suffer from this vile taint and not the others?" Arcana halted, hearing the fear and self-hatred coursing through the words - cadence so clear that she could have understood the question even if she did not know the language. There was no reason not to give him an answer, though he would surely find it next to useless if he had not figured it out by himself already. Wizards could be so blind to the simplest of patterns.

"It would never be so simple and logical as plain blood inheritance. You should know that by the one example you have seen. Magic before form, Malfoy. That is the first and last lesson. Good day."

Arcana walked away, leaving Malfoy to glower at her back. If she had not just returned from the spring she would have been much harsher, but the quiet magic there always lulled her vicious streak. Still, she neglected to tell him about the coming storm as getting stuck in it was fitting punishment for bothering her. She also neglected to tell him about the hungry Shriveled Sharpsnapster that was sneaking back to the edge of the path.