Stairway to Heaven

The night was freezing, was Lucius was too preoccupied--and too heavily cloaked--to notice. Misty, on the other hand, felt the edge on the air as soon as the wailing wind hit her. Her dress billowed about her legs, causing her to stumble at first, and her hair whipped unmercifully at her face. The emerald circlet, however, did not even quiver upon her head, and Misty jutted out her chin defiantly against the storm, telling herself that she had survived worse in Wales.

The grounds were frozen in silence, the keening of the gales masking all other sounds. Objects came hurtling through the air at Lucius and Misty, but the man paid them no heed, so bent was he upon his own campaign that night. Misty flinched as a branch smacked into her cheek, slicing a cut from the bridge of her nose to her ear, but she did not cry out. She refused to give Lucius any satisfaction.

The hurtled down the hillside of the manor and into a small patch of writhing trees. Leaves flew up and entangled themselves in Misty's hair, while she seemed hardly able to keep her feet, and about halfway through the forest, she stumbled, losing a shoe and tasting blood on her tongue.

Lucius did not pause. A thought wild as the wind came into her head; that she could stay on the ground and perhaps he would not notice. But then she remembered the morals she had decided not only to hold to, but also to fight for. She remembered Draco, falling to the empty black floor. She remembered Owain Tewdwr, her ancestor, her kinsman, who would act as her anchor throughout the rest of her frenzied rush to the village.

She stumbled back up, her eyes fierce, and followed behind Lucius.

Misty didn't flinch again, even when she gashed her bare foot on a stone, or when the wind battered her with merciless tree limbs. She didn't allow her confidence to waver, didn't allow her faith in herself to be overshadowed by her growing dread and... fear.

Yes, fear, fright that she wanted only to deny and forget. But she could not; she could not help thinking that Lucius was planning a sacrificial rite, a ritual to pour her blood into their dead Dark Lord. Her mind wandered dangerously close to madness on the trek down the final hill, filling itself with unheeded visions of a chalice brimming with warm Welsh blood and the dark, metallic laughter of heartless Death Eaters.

Her fear of death evaporated, however, when she smelled the smoke. The village was ahead of them now, and Misty saw Lucius silhouetted against a land shining with powerful flames. She gasped involuntarily, unable to control the spasms that racked her body when the smoke blew into her face. The smell was vile enough to make her want to empty her stomach then and there--that and the fear that had frozen her mid-step.

Fire, her worst enemy, more villainous even that death's unwavering grasp. Her first fear, her greatest fear...

Lucius had stopped upon hearing her gasp, stopped for the first time since they left the manor. He whirled around, saw her face white beneath the blood and grime smeared upon it. Though he did not smile, she could taste it in his voice, feel his morbid amusement tangibly as he asked, "Something wrong?"

She swallowed, focusing the only sane thoughts she had left upon Owain Tewdwr and how truly great, how truly selfless he must have been. And that she had to be at least half that, for the good of posterity, lest this horrid man in front of her ever come to more than a filthy Death Eater scum. "I--do--not--like--fire," she managed, gritting her teeth against a wave of nausea as the smell of smoke filled her lungs once again.

All his previous haste forgotten, Lucius asked calmly, "Oh? And why is that?"

To admit that she did not want to reply would be to admit defeat. Before she could stop herself, the words burst forth, both defiant and despairing. "I have long disliked fire, but when I was thirteen years old and attending a magic school in Wales, my teachers confronted me about my father's past. They asked questions, prying ones, but I was naïve, and I answered them. I told them whom my father supported, whom he cast his honor away to, and they grew angry, sent me home. When my father learned of my... my treachery, as he called it, he chained me to my bedpost. While my punishment lasted, my teachers told others what I had so foolishly told them, and the most rebellious of my father's subjects ambushed our house in Aberystwyth, setting fire to it. My mother and sister were away on holiday, and my father was quickly able to get himself and my brother out. Rather than rescue me, though, he left me defenseless in my room, watched as the flames engulfed the floor." Misty shuddered, but her pride and pure hatred of Lucius kept her eyes dry. "It was not until after I was urned that he allowed the flames to be quenched. Magic healed me, of course, but I was sick with fever for days, and went through a long length of suffering because of that fire. To this day, I have never forgotten the toxic smell of smoke burning flesh..."

Lucius was studying her closely, and Misty knew that he was assessing her. "Did you not blame your father for it?"

Misty gritted her teeth against a fresh onslaught of smoke. "I didn't then," she snarled, "because I was blind, faithful only to our blood bond of father and daughter." Lucius nodded, started to walk again toward the village. He stopped, however, at her next words. "Now, though, I have grown into my own mind, enough to know that punishment should be given!"

Unable to stop herself, spurred on by the memories of her disciplinarian father, Misty lunged forward and jumped on Lucius's back, throwing her arms around his neck to choke him from behind. He sputtered, startled, but quickly gained his senses and whirled around in a circle, throwing her off balance. She leaned backward, and their combined weights caused them both to topple over. Misty rolled away to gain time, but Lucius was on his feet in a moment, and he kicked her sharply in the side when she tried to rise. Misty collapsed, gasping for breath, and he seized the moment to whip out his wand and bind her hands in tight ropes.

Breathing heavily, Lucius still managed a grin. "Nice try, but not enough to waylay my plans. Now get up."

Misty spat at him then, but grudgingly began to rise, awkwardly using her bound hands to hoist herself up. She was dizzy, but she could walk, and she followed Lucius jauntily down the hill.

They were on the outskirts of the village, ravaged by smoke but not yet by flames, when Misty realized her stupidity. She had completely forgotten about the massive weapon at her command--her power! Pulling up her strength, Misty poured all of her most evil thoughts at Lucius, wishing him away with all her might. Every particle of her mind focused quickly on his destruction.

Nothing happened.

Misty panicked; frustration and impatience, not to mention the smoke, drove her over the edge. She growled and kicked at Lucius, causing him to swing around in irritation.

"Not this again!" He yelled. "You must obey me, and play out your part in tonight's performance."

"No! I won't obey any two-faced murderer in this village, least of all you!" She tried again, this time shutting her eyes tight and clenching her bound hands into fists.

Lucius was silent, to Misty's surprise, but he broke all her concentration when his laughter rose over the howling wind. "Sorry, Misty, but your power can't save you tonight!"

What? He knew?!

She opened her eyes, saw the look on his face, and gasped in amazement. How could this be?

"Your father was reluctant to share your little secret, but I pried it out of him eventually... it was then that I decided to teach you how to use your power. Of course, I couldn't do it when you were miles away in that blasted Wales, so Mathamach sent you over here under some cooked-up pretext." Lucius grinned. "Isn't it convenient that you're here tonight?"

"But you didn't train me at all!" Misty observed, still half in doubt.

"Ah," Lucius nodded, "I didn't have to. You were more powerful than we suspected, and as soon as you came to deliver that note from your father, I saw that you had already mastered your power."

"How did you know that?"

"You used it on me, remember? You wanted to sit down with us, to be treated as an equal. Of course, your wish," he snarled nastily, angry at being outdone, "was my command."

"Why can't I use my power?" she demanded.

Lucius's nasty grin came back, and Misty wanted nothing better than to smack it off his face. "I'm particularly proud of that accomplishment," he said, a smug curve of a smile lining his thin lips. "You see, it took quite a lot of research and time, not to mention Galleons, to make that emerald circlet. It was all worth it in the end, however, because as long as you are wearing that, you cannot use Domination Legilimency."

Misty immediately tried to knock it off her head. Beautiful as it used to feel, and as it still looked, it was now contaminated after playing its part in this monster's game.

Lucius just laughed at her, for it did not move. It stuck as firmly as if it were a part of her now. "It will not come off," he said confidently, and Misty vowed that she would break that confidence. She swore to crush the circlet until the dam of power broke and allowed her to stop Lucius's heart...

But not with him watching, not with him laughing. Searching about for another topic to focus on, she found herself observing the Muggle village closely.

Unfortunately for the villagers, the two story houses that lined the thin cobblestone roads were built primarily of wood; a few unlucky ones even had thatched roofs. As Misty and Lucius stumbled deeper into the town, they became bathed in the saffron light of the fire and cloaked in its smoke. Misty gagged and gulped to soothe her burning throat, reminded involuntarily of her last horrific fire.

The wail of the wind and the roar of the magically enhanced fire blocked out most sounds, but as they trudged closer to the village center, neither Lucius nor Misty could ignore the screams. The streets were mostly empty, because by that time people had fled, but as Muggle cries became louder, people rushed past them. Women carrying small children, whom Lucius ignored, and young men who feared for their lives, the first of whom Lucius approached savagely.

"What are you doing?" Lucius demanded, his diamond eyes wild.

"Running," the auburn-haired youth said simply, and Misty was surprised that he could be so at ease with what most people who call his craven nature. "You should be also," he added.

"What's going on?" Now Lucius sounded pleased, and Misty knew why: invoking fear had been one of his minor goals for that night.

"Rioters," the boy replied breathlessly. "I must get help."

Ah, so he's acting the hero, Misty realized, but she thought it without contempt for the boy. Lucius, on the other hand, became suddenly angry--no help should be given or gained for these worthless Muggles.

The older man whipped out his wand, and the boy stepped back in both confusion and fear. Misty, however, was not in the least confused; she knew what Lucius was planning to do, knew the intensity with which this wizard could hate.

"No," she said sternly, pushing aside the wand tip with her bound hands. In the second that Lucius's fury turned upon her, the boy sprinted away, leaving Misty to face the consequences.

"Obviously, you are not the one to give orders," Lucius flung at her.

"I'm a lot more qualified than you," she replied briskly, glaring.

"Really? Perhaps you have not noticed that I am in control of this situation?"

"You are not," she countered, "in control of anything, least of all me."

"Yet you are the one in chains," he observed dryly.

Misty could not deny it; she chose to remain silent. But each poisoned word Lucius spoke would be flung back into his face.

~*~

The first ordeal came with the flames. Misty had to fight every instinct of her heart and mind not to run when she saw them; she had to remind herself of all the innocent lives that could be lost. Eventually, she forced herself to close her eyes, to say the alphabet backward as she stumbled through the rubble of destroyed houses.

All past knowledge of perseverance became worthless. By the time they reached the center of the village, which had already been burned and left behind by the eager flames, Misty's integrity had become awesome in itself. Her determination in life was forged anew that night after a mentally strenuous march through her greatest fear.

And just as Misty was allowing herself to be relieved after having passed the wall of ruthless fire, the second ordeal began.

The village center may have been empty of flames, but it was filled with people. They were veterans of a cause that, to the misfortune of many, had not died with its Dark Lord. Black cloaks and pale masks swirled in Misty's eyes as they rushed to Lucius. Some men and women began to talk gleefully, while others simply smiled, flourishing in their own arrogance.

Lucius raised a hand and they stopped talking at once, focusing on him as if he were a leader.

He has no right to be a leader, Misty thought, but she also knew that these people deserved the pathetic leader that they got. Anything to lead them into ruin.

"Followers of the True Code," Lucius began importantly, "let me introduce Myfanwy Tewdwr."

Misty glared at them all as the ghostly masks turned to stare at her with hollow features. Defiantly, she stared them down, until each one slowly turned back to Lucius.

"What is she here for?" a woman's voice inquired.

Lucius cleared his throat before smiling sinisterly. Obviously, he was quite pleased with himself; Misty thought the look on his face closely resembled that of a cat after stealing the cream. What was he about to spring on them all?

"Myfanwy is a pureblood witch, born and bred in Aberystwyth, Wales... daughter of Mathamach Tewdwr." There were several approving nods at these words, and murmurs of recognition; Misty wanted to throttle all those who had reacted to her father's horrible name. "She has been raised like all of our children, bred to continue our ways. But there is something special about Myfanwy, something different." He glanced smugly her way before turning back to the crowd. "She was born with Domination Legilimency." There were a few gasps before whispers broke out. Lucius stopped them with another raised hand. "We are weak!" He shouted suddenly, causing several heads to look back at him sharply. "Leaderless! Our Lord has been defeated, and he took some of our power with him. But not all of it!" There were shouts of agreement. "We still have strength left to rid ourselves of Mudblood inferiors, and we shall!" More shouts. Misty gritted her teeth to keep from lashing out at them all. "But we cannot do it," he admitted, "without a leader. We need someone to give back the power that faded with the Dark Lord."

At those words, Misty forgot her anger. She forgot her outraged disbelief. She forgot the hatred, so strong that it was nearly tangible. She forgot it all and focused only on the clammy dread lodging itself in her stomach.

Lucius was facing her now, twirling his wand between his fingers casually. The crowd of Death Eaters swiveled their masks until they were riveted upon Misty's face. "We need," he finished quietly, "Myfanwy Tewdwr."