The Land Of Tears

This chapter is dedicated to Gemini C, who keeps me sane, shares my obsession with Spike, and has just written a wonderful beginning of her founderfic.

The Land of Tears

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.

-The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Chapter Three: The Oak and the Reeds

You were stubborn…and fought against the storm, which proved stronger than you: but we bow and yield to every breeze, and thus the gale passed harmlessly over our heads.

-Aesop's Fables

Livia stared at the dark, hooded forms. It was foolish to try to pick out faces, give them names-they were hooded for a reason. As Emmanuel slipped his own hood over his head and moved away to join the circle of Death Eaters, a cold blast of wind hit her and she shivered, wishing she had thought to bring a cloak. Wherever they were, it didn't seem entirely of this world. The sky was a gray-red, like the embers of a dying fire, and the light was faint.

Voldemort turned to face them, beckoning with long, white fingers. "New recruits," he said, in a voice like ice. "Who will vouch for them?" He took a few steps closer, seeming to glide over the ground. Livia noticed a huge white snake slithering along behind him.

"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort continued, looking closely into Draco's pale face, which seemed to have grown still paler.

"I will, my Lord," came a voice from the circle, familiar and smooth and oily. Lucius.

"Vincent Crabbe." Voldemort took a few more steps to direct his serpentine gaze into Crabbe's eyes. Crabbe shuddered.

A grunt from one of the enormous shapes-it had to be Crabbe's father.

Voldemort looked into Eustace's face for an instant, spoke his name, and Livia heard her uncle's voice, speaking for his son.

"Gregory Goyle…" Only a cursory look, and Goyle looked straight back, his face filled with rapt interest. Goyle had always been dim.

A nod from another of the Death Eaters-Mr. Goyle? Livia wondered.

Then Voldemort was looking straight into her eyes. Livia wondered if this was what a rat felt, defenseless in a corner, waiting for the strike and death to spread through its limbs… She couldn't look away. He seemed to be peeling back the layers of her soul like onion, scouring them with a red-hot gaze…

And then the eyes turned away, and Livia breathed a tiny breath of relief. "Livia Rookwood," said the high, cold voice.

There was silence. No-one spoke.

Voldemort looked from hooded face to hooded face. "What, none of you will speak for the daughter of one of my most loyal supporters?"

"My Lord," said Lucius Malfoy's voice, "she is a female…she will not have the endurance or the nerves for what a loyal Death Eater must do…"

"What do you know about loyal Death Eaters, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, even more coldly than before. "You have spoken. Let her be your responsibility."

"My Lord!" Lucius began, then seemed to think better of it.

"Indeed," said Voldemort. He turned away from the rest of the Death Eaters, at the five young people. He made an imposing figure, his hands like great white spiders, long and flexible and seemingly boneless. His hands hypnotized Livia. "It is not too late to change your minds," he said, like a kindly uncle reassuring an impetuous youth. Livia suspected this was a lie. Rumors circled the common room of the young Death Eaters who had tried to leave Voldemort, and the interesting places their body parts had been found. "I demand nothing less than perfect obedience in my followers. Some of them-" and here his reptilian eyes shot to a short, plump figure with a silver hand "-leave something to be desired… I have higher hopes for you." He took a few steps towards them again, then reached with those impossibly long fingers for Draco Malfoy's arm. He slid the sleeve up to the elbow in such a polished gesture that the hair on the back of Livia's neck prickled. With his wand a scant inch above the smooth flesh of Draco's arm, his high, shrill voice called, "Caligramordre!" A tiny thunderclap, and the wand was moving of its own accord, drawing the Mark just below Draco's elbow. It didn't seem to be painful-his teeth were set, but the muscles of his jaw were relaxed. Livia waited with growing impatience as the Dark Mark was inscribed on the arm of each of the boys. This was what she had been waiting for, all these years. This was what would make her father proud, his memory live on… Then Voldemort stood before her.

The wand jabbed at the soft, exposed skin of her arm. The wind was biting, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Then came the words, cold and sharp, the tiny sound of an explosion, and the wand was moving, drawing in light on the whiteness of her forearm. It tickled.

When it was finished, Livia examined the Dark Lord's handiwork. Perfect and inky-black against the white of her arm, pink in this strange light, a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth.

"You are my Death Eaters," Voldemort announced. "And you will do as I order you to. If you betray me, the consequences…the consequences, you do not wish to consider. And as a little warning, in advance…"

Livia's fingers tightened around the Dark Mark on her arm, which she had been mindlessly stroking. She knew what was going to happen now, could anticipate it. The talk in the common room, late at night, after the first years had gone to bed, now centered around the Dark Lord's return. Draco Malfoy told stories of his own father's initiation, of how Voldemort put the Cruciatus curse on you and didn't take it off until you cried out, as a test of your courage… That had to be what this was all about. Livia was determined to pass with flying colors.

Without warning, without another word, Voldemort turned his wand on Draco Malfoy and shrieked, in his high, cold voice, "Crucio!"

For a moment, Draco stood, but then he crumpled to his knees, his body tight with tension, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth. He must have bitten through his lip, Livia realized. After a few more seconds, a high-pitched scream of pain tore from Draco's throat, and he collapsed, breathing heavily, onto the ground. The curse must have been removed, then, because he began to stand, wincing.

A smattering of applause broke out among the Death Eaters. Voldemort allowed himself a tiny smile. "Congratulations, young Malfoy," he said, and pointed to a space between Draco's father and Emmanuel. Draco walked over, slowly, but held himself proudly erect.

Neither Crabbe nor Goyle controlled the pain for as long as Draco had, and Voldemort had barely finished casting the spell when Eustace began to blubber. Each was given a space in the circle, until Livia stood, alone, in the center. Voldemort turned his great red slits of eyes on her, and she watched, as if in slow motion, as his wand-arm raised, long, spider-like fingers gripping the end of the dark wood…

"Crucio!"

It was a bolt of fire, burning but not consuming. Every square inch of her body, inside and out, was burning with an awful pain, far beyond anything she had ever imagined. Red-hot tears welled up in her eyes, burning her cheeks as they slid down, but she would not cry out, she could not cry out…

She could do this. Show them. Be stronger than Lucius's son, what would he do then…?

Slowly, the pain forced her to her knees, clutching her head, which felt as if it was going to explode. The jolts of pain shot through her chest, making her start and fall forward, catching herself on her hands.

Dad, did you do this? You'll see, I'll make you proud…

The pain wasn't in shots, now, but great red waves, flowing over her vision. Her throat burned with a scream she wanted to let loose, but she clamped her teeth firmly on her tongue, the pain of that not noticeable over the rest of it. Maybe her throat would burst.

Can't scream. Can't. Won't.

She imagined that she could feel her skin burning away to a fine dust, the flesh roasting from within, blistering, and then even those thoughts were gone as her arms gave way and she tumbled forward.

She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

"She will not have the endurance or the nerves for what a loyal Death Eater must do…"

Lucius Malfoy was glaring at her, every inch of his pale, patrician countenance smoldering with hatred. Livia was prone on a marble slab, uncomfortably aware of the bitter wind and her thin clothing. It was a pink and orange sundress she had worn at age three-larger, of course. The bloody sky was teeming with storm clouds, now, as Lucius reached below the slab.

His face was contorted into an awful parody of a smile as he drew an object from under the marble slab. As Livia stared, it formed the lines she knew… A head. A severed head. A man's severed head.

Her father's severed head.

There was a sound of thunder, and it began to rain. Livia struggled against an invisible force holding her to the slab as Lucius leaned his head back and laughed. The rain splattered his upturned face, and when he looked back, it was dripping with blood.

It was raining blood.

Livia screamed.

"Liv, can't you do something?" Pansy complained. "I mean, you can have nightmares, but it's keeping us awake, too!"

"I can't help it," Livia said softly, looking away from Pansy's sullen pout.

"It's true, you know, Pansy," Blaise said, looking up from her magazine. "One can't help having nightmares."

"I know, but she wakes me up at two in the morning screaming, and-"

"I can't help it!" Livia said, more angrily, and stood up abruptly. Blaise quirked an eyebrow.

"Did you talk to Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," Livia replied, shaking her head. What could she say? Lord Voldemort put the Cruciatus Curse on me at my initiation into the Death Eaters, and now I'm having trouble sleeping. It wasn't as if Pansy understood. Her worst problems were broken fingernails (easily fixed with a charm) and homework.

Blaise didn't understand, either. Neither of them did. How could they? Not even Draco or Eustace could understand, and they had been there. No-one who hadn't seen the horrible pictures in her nightmares-her father, become a soulless fiend; her mother's broken heart, broken mind; herself, failing, crying out, pleading-no-one could understand, but certainly not Blaise Zabini.

Blaise, who was so pretty, with her long-lashed deep brown eyes. Blaise, with the full lips and straight white teeth and perfect ears, like sun-baked shells. Blaise, who was friendly and sweet and flirty by turns, who never seemed frightened or angry or pained. What could Blaise know of nightmares and duty to the Dark Lord?

Livia had once decided that, if she could be anyone in the world, she would be Blaise Zabini.