A Moon for the Misbegotten

A MOON FOR THE MISBEGOTTEN

Part III- Cessation

It burned. This was not an especially shocking revelation to Blaise. After all, it was practically a brand, marking him forever as a disciple of the Dark Lord. And yet, despite all of his long harbored expectations, he was somewhat taken aback to hear the sizzle of crisping skin, and smell the stench of his own burning flesh wafting through the cold night air. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t even blink.

Just out of his line of sight, Bellatrix was watching him. He felt that he could almost see her mouth curl in a smile of triumph and pride. Faster than smoke on the wind, the circle of black cloaked figures which had stood in silent witness around him backed away and melted into the shadows of the silent graveyard. The Dark Lord himself was gone before Blaise could draw his first breath as a full-fledged Death Eater, the first one to be Marked in almost 16 years. Certain that he was alone now (had she just abandoned him, of course, of course, a test, everything was a test, everything, everything, even when she kissed him, drove him mad, ripped him apart), he fell to his knees and tried to breath deeply; his bare arm throbbed and stung in the chilled air.

Raising his head gingerly, he looked around. Everything seemed to be just the same as before. The stars shone above the pine trees that towered on the edge of his vision and the moon... the moon....

Natalie.

Her innocent face, those wide blue eyes opened wide with wonder and her hair shining like the moonlight, seemed to waver in his mind. He mused vaguely what she would do if she saw him now, sweaty and defiled, just like the first time they had met. Run away? Or would she come closer, drawn by the darkness she could never have felt until she met him?

The world seemed to give an especially hard lurch beneath him and Blaise buried his head in his arms with something remarkably like a choking sob. Feeling vaguely feverish, he pictured Natalie’s pale, slim arm Marked like his was now, the sharp redness surrounded by unblemished white skin. The vision was almost as beautiful as Bella’s eyes. Feeling the world tugging at him again, he pressed his inflamed arm so that it stabbed with pain and imagined Natalie’s bright blue eyes filled with the tears he had so fervently promised to elicit from her.

Watching from the shadow of her cousin Regulus’s gravestone, Bellatrix was becoming worried. Blaise, who had just shown such defiant resistance to the Dark Lord’s tests of pain and skill, was crouched protectively on the ground, weeping like a very small child. Despite her reckless methods of training, she did not want to lose her star pupil to madness as Clann had predicted. Bellatrix Lestrange, who had faced murderous Aurors, the dementors of Azkaban, and the darkness of her own worse nightmares without flinching, felt a tremor of fear. It would not do at all for her plans to be spoiled now.

He was close, close enough to touch, and distracted by the wailing of his own inner demons. She stretched her hand out from the shadows and pressed it lightly to his head, reaching into the darkness of his tortured mind. And there she was. Natalie.

Bellatrix did not know how the two had met, or when Blaise had learned her name, or how this small girl managed to torment her perfect recruit with such absurd ease. She had thought the boy untouchable, but things had clearly gotten out of hand, in spite of her own attempt to scare the silly child off. Still, perhaps the situation could still be salvaged. In fact, if all was done carefully and with skill, this disaster could even be turned to the advantage of her and her Master.

“Blaise,” she whispered, her hoarse voice cracking as she tried to keep it low and soothing. “Blaise, look at me.” He raised his twisted, tear-streaked face; she looked into his dark eyes and saw both the madness of a wild beast and the bewilderment of an abandoned child. The gaunt Death Eater ran an icy finger down his face and felt him lean into the cold caress. No, all was not lost.

“Blaise,” she murmured quietly, “the girl must die.”

ooooooooooo

After two days, Tally found that she couldn’t sleep. No matter what she did, her thoughts raced through her head and drove away any chance of peaceful rest. Only after walking her body to the brink of exhaustion could her animal instincts overcome her reluctant mind and send her into oblivion. So, that’s what she did. Wandering the dark halls for hours after curfew, she had had more than a few close calls with Filch, but somehow always managed to conceal her slight body (and it was growing slighter all the time, she noted vaguely; food tasted dry and bitter in her mouth) in little nooks and crannies until the prowling danger passed.

The boy’s face haunted her. Sitting in class or staring at her untouched plate during dinner, his cold eyes and blank face glared out accusingly from her mind. He knew what she was. He knew who she was. And he was never, ever going to speak to her again. She hadn’t even seen him around school since... then.

But the most amazing thing to Tally was that no one had noticed. No one asked her what was wrong or tried to cheer her up. She wasn’t entirely positive that they knew she was there. Her teachers had long ago given up asking for her assignments or calling on her in class; in Quidditch, the Captain was talking about replacing her if she didn’t start making goals, or at least, as he put it, “bothering to stay the bloody hell awake during matches”. She felt bad about falling off her broom during the match with Slytherin and losing the goal, really she did, but she had thought that she saw the boy’s face, staring up at her from the stands, and it had distracted her more than somewhat. But she hadn’t been asleep, no matter what Ron said. Except during that early practice yesterday. She might have dozed then, just a little bit. Just for a minute. But she’d stayed in the air, so the Captain really had no right to be threatening her so.

She ought to be trying to forget about him. What was done was done, that’s all there was to it. She ought to be getting her life back to normal. But when what little sleep she got was filled with wistful dreams of mad, shifting colors and cold agate eyes, well, she just didn’t rightly see how it was possible.

ooooooooooo

She was sitting perched on a window-ledge, staring out at the lake. The brilliant moonlight illuminated her hair and left her face in shadow, much like the first time he saw her. From his shadowed position down the corridor, he couldn’t see her eyes; he closed his own and there they were, glowing blue and bright. Holding on tightly to the shining image, he ran his hand over the stone wall beside him until one edge sliced a tiny cut. He pressed at it with his fingers until he could feel a single drop of blood fall to the floor.

“Natalie,” he called out softly, in an almost singsong voice. She turned. Her eyes were wide as she searched for his shape in the shadows and they were just as he had remembered. He lowered his hood and knelt down, regardless of the dirty stones against his robes, and she slid from the ledge and ran to him like a child. Which, now that he thought about it, she was.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered over and over again, her tiny bright head buried deep in the rough fabric and her hands splayed out against him, as though desperately searching for some reassurance of his presence. Her breath was coming in heaving gasps and she clung to him as if in fear of falling.

After some minutes, her agitation began to die down and she raised her head to stare at his narrow face.

“But you came back,” she said, her voice soft with amazement and a small smile of relief came creeping onto her trembling mouth.

“Not for long, little girl,” he told her quietly, but firmly. He resolved ever to use her name again. It was like trying to name a star after some stupid Muggle myth: pointless and inaccurate. She was the little girl and he was the boy, and so it would remain. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“I will,” she told him earnestly, and proceeded to curl up against him and go to sleep.

Looking down at her peaceful face and the spread of her pale hair on his black robes, Blaise wondered quietly if the world had gone mad. It had started quite simply, he knew that for a fact. Little girls couldn’t be trusted to keep secrets. He was at a loss to explain anything that had happened after that. It bothered him, and he decided to ignore it as much as was humanly possible.

But the night was so quiet and her body was so warm curled up next to his, like a cat... Blaise yawned once and fell quite thoroughly asleep, bent protectively around a slumbering third-year Gryffindor in the middle of the Charms corridor.

Looking down at the two still figures, Bellatrix felt obligated to admit that all was not going precisely as she had hoped. It was, to say the least, irritating. Damn that stupid little girl for endangering everything that she had lived and fought and killed for during the past fifteen years. It was a simple matter of magical balance and ritual that she have under her domination these three children whom she had so painstakingly brought together. Draco, Ginevra, and Blaise were like pieces of a puzzle: utterly useless apart, but complimenting and enabling each other to virtual perfection when properly placed. And now this foolish child was attempting to pervert and and otherwise corrupt her flawless protégé. It was all the child’s fault, and the child would pay. The time was drawing near to see where the boy’s power truly lay: in the eyes of a weak little waif, or in the mind of the Dark Lord’s strongest and most loyal servant.

ooooooooooo

When Blaise suddenly awoke, quiet suddenly, his first impression was one of darkness. Inescapable, stifling darkness. There was no light, no air, no space for movement. He would have cried out, but knew that it would not be allowed. A test, came the thought. Everything is a test. He looked down. A stream of brightness burned below his eyes, cutting through the imprisoning darkness like the sun. He blinked. Natalie, he thought, and it all came back. The spell (or had it merely been a tortured projection of his imagination?) fled.

Bellatrix, he realized, was standing above him. There was no indication in her expression or her stance to suggest how long she had been there, but he suspected it was her incriminating stare that had jerked him from sleep. Not wanting to wake the little girl, but not wishing to anger Bella, he paused for an interminable moment, then scrambled to his feet after carefully sliding the little girl’s head from his chest to the floor. Amazingly, she didn’t wake. Bellatrix’s expression did not alter as he stood up and faced her; her eyes were the same depthless black and her mouth stayed in the same hard, straight line. After a silence that would once have made him squirm, she spoke.

“I trust, my young apprentice, that you have not forgotten what must be done.” He bowed his head.

“Of course not, Bella.” He took a long reluctant breath. “But she is... very fond of me.”

Bellatrix smiled coldly. “So was your puppy dog once, I imagine, Zabini, before you used it to practice the Killing Curse.”

She had, he was forced to admit, a point.

“Come,” she said imperially, “it is time. Say good bye to that thing, if you must. We haven’t the time to deal with it now.”

He stared down at the little girl curled up on the black stone of the corridor, her blue eyes hidden like stars behind a cloud. Feeling foolish, but oddly compelled, he knelt beside her, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensation of Bellatrix’s impatience issuing from behind him. Brushing the bright hair away from her face and feeling it run through his fingers, he was struck by a thought. Drawing his knife (he distinctly heard Bellatrix suck in a breath as he did so. Twisted old harpy.), he held the gleaming shine away from her face and cut a lock. He stood, sheathing the black and bloodied knife, and raised an eyebrow mockingly at Bella, very nearly daring her to comment.

“How... quaint,” was her only remark, said with a peculiar twist to the lips.

He supposed it was. An odd thought. Him and the little girl, quaint. Very odd.

ooooooooooo

When Natalie woke, the boy was gone. Her immediate reaction was panic. He was gone, he was gone, he was never coming back, replaced several seconds later with determination. She was not a stupid little child. She was not, and she would deal with this calmly and maturely. After all, breaking into the Slytherin common room was mature, right? Well, maybe. Sort of, anyway.

After three years of careful observation, Tally knew where all of the entrances to all of the Houses were. But when she stood before the blank stretch of wall that marked the entrance to the heart of Slytherin House, her mind was suddenly quite blank. She didn’t know the password. She didn’t even know if a password was what would allow access. It was the standard method for most of Hogwarts, but trust Slytherins to be mavericks, just to feel special. Despite all of Tally’s strong-minded intentions, a small groan of frustration escaped her throat and she slid to the cold stone floor. She could not fight it any longer.

“You won’t get in that way,” came a tiny voice from above her head, with a hint of a snicker.

She sat bolt upright and stared around wildly.

“Over here,” said the voice, now sounding bored by her idiocy. A tiny silver snake was wrapped sinuously around the torch-bracket above her head. It was obviously laughing at her with its flickering metal tongue.

“Like I said, you won’t get in by whimpering, but I don’t know why you would bother, anyway.”

“Well, it’s important,” she retorted angrily. How dare this little reptile mock her? It wasn’t even flesh and blood!

“No,” it said nastily, “I’m something much better.”

What in the...

“That’s right, I can hear you. So keep your materialistic besmirchment to yourself.”

“But I have to...” she began desperately, feeling the boy slip farther and farther away with each second she delayed.

“You’ll have to wait, that’s what you’ll have to do, little brat. They’re gone, every single one of them, and good riddance.” It was gone in one smooth glint of polished metal, slithering around the torch and out of sight.

Not bothering to wonder why a snake, even an exceedingly rude metal one, might be glad that the Slytherins had disappeared, Tally despairingly pressed her hand against the rough stone beside her... and stumbled and fell hard as it dissolved beneath her touch. Not in any state to appreciate the fine, dignified, and intimidating architecture of the Slytherin dungeons, the first thing she noticed was that it was empty. Completely, echoingly empty.

Gone. Well, she supposed numbly that it was really no more than she deserved.

She curled up warmly on the ancient green rug at the entryway to the cold stone room and gave herself up to exhaustion.

ooooooooooo

The tiny silver bell fought its way through swaths of cobwebs and dirt accumulated over more years than anyone cared to count and gave a pathetic tinkle, quietly announcing the arrival of a customer. Like most of the shops in Knockturn Alley, no sign proclaimed its wares or services. But then, like most of the shops in Knockturn Alley, its reputation in the right circles was more than advertisement enough. Any substance or potion to be provided, for a certain price, and never any questions asked. Besides, Bella was more than willing to give business to family, provided they knew what they were doing; no one alive knew poisons like Renata Lestrange. But there was an uncomfortable amount of mystery surrounding her sister-in-law and Bellatrix preferred to keep their visits short.

As the slim young woman came from behind a tall shelf, wiping her hands on her skirt, and saw who her customer was, Bella knew that the feeling was mutual. Meeting those empty looking eyes, reputed to have seen death and beyond, Bellatrix felt unaccountably uncomfortable. It made her sharper than she probably should have been.

“Renata, I need to obtain a poison.”

“Ah, so this is not a social call. What a terrible, terrible shame.” That odd, sweet smile crept across her face and Bella itched to curse it off, despite how much it would upset Rodolphus. And that mocking voice, pointedly emphasizing the falsity of her cordial manner... Still, Renata would have what she needed. Would have it or would get it, as sure as she, Bellatrix, was still a Black at heart.

“Tears of the Thestral,” she said curtly, and was pleased to see the woman’s pale eyes widen and come to life for a moment with surprise.

‘My, my, aren’t we particular?” She stepped away from the counter, and seemed to vanish, but her voice came floating back to Bella from one of the underground storerooms. “Let us see now. I don’t suppose that manticore venom or the Moonstone Draught would do instead, my dearest sister?”

“It certainly would not.”

“Of course not.”

A delicate sea-green bottle, surrounded by the gently glowing mist of a shielding spell, floated up from behind the counter. It was followed shortly by Renata herself, guiding the poison’s progress with her wand.

“It’s not to be wasted, Bellatrix,” she said, her mock-scolding voice concealing a threat just below the surface.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied the Death Eater coldly, holding out her hand for the bottle.

“Oh, but I simply can’t make such an exception, even for beloved family such as yourself.” She held her own hand, like a large pale moth, out for the money. Bellatrix conjured it from somewhere within her tattered robes (the same she had worn since Azkaban) and dropped it loudly on the counter before sweeping out with her purchase.

Family could be such a bore.

ooooooooooo

“Won’t the other two notice? Won’t they suspect?”

“They are busy tonight, Blaise. You have nothing to fear. This is not their concern, but yours, and yours alone.”

“It’s their Marking, isn’t it.” A statement, not a question.

Silence.

“Well, good luck and congratulations to them, I’m sure.” As he walked away from her, she wondered where her cold, clever, cruel, and, above all, devoted, apprentice had gone. But she knew that the end of this farce would bring him back. It would. She was certain. Her Master’s power had never failed her before.

And yet, foolish as it was, she had to admit she was... not concerned. Never that. But... troubled.

Down the corridor and locked away in her Tower, the little girl felt the pull of his command and jumped from her bed before he had even finished the calling. Resembling an extremely immodest ghost in only her thin nightgown, she slipped from the portrait hole and practically flew down empty corridors and the darkened stairs, into the Great Hall.

He was nowhere in sight. But then she looked up.

“Boy,” she breathed, but he was much too far away to hear; only between the bright, shifting illusion of clouds and stars could he faintly be seen, standing in the rafters of the Great Hall itself. She thought for one swift moment, and then drew her wand and pointed it at one of the chairs. Swish and flick.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she whispered happily and perched on it as it soared upward.

“Very clever,” he said, the usual small mocking smile hovering on his lips as she landed lightly beside him on the narrow beam.

“Not half as clever as you are!” she exclaimed quietly. “How did you manage to come back? Your whole house was missing, and Ginevra Weasley as well!”

“I know,” he said quietly, not meeting her gleeful gaze.

“Oh.” A long pause. He could picture the hurt in her eyes, like an abandoned puppy. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I would have stayed quiet. I could have helped you, just like always.” So eager to prove her worth.

He knelt down in front of her and looked at the bottle in his hands, then into her face.

“Little girl, will you do something for me?”

“Anything you want,” she replied instantly, gazing down at him, her eyes practically glowing with love. Devotion. Trust. No, don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just the test.

He pressed the bottle into her hand. She gazed at its delicate beauty in awe for a moment, and then held it up in the false moonlight coming from below their feet to admire the play of light through the glowing glass.

“Drink it,” he whispered, and she, carefully unscrewing the top so as not to spill a drop, obeyed.

But as the coldness began to creep through her limbs and chilled her very blood, she gazed again at the empty shining bottle and back at him with a forlorn look.

"Boy," she whispered through the ice that was filling her throat and mouth and making it hard to speak, "are you coming with me?"

He stared into her bright blue eyes, the eyes of an angel, and found he could not lie.

"No, little girl. You are all alone."

One tear, catching the light and glistening wetly, welled up as she stared at the demon boy who had brought her to life and killed her again, who had shown her indescribable beauty and filled it with ineffable darkness. The tear fell, and Blaise caught it and brought it to his mouth.

"Your soul," he whispered. It could have been a promise, a plea, an expression of dying adoration. Bellatrix did not know. Nor did she care.


Every school has its secrets. Some have hidden rooms, concealed passageways, or mysterious ghosts. Hogwarts has its very own guardian angel. She watches, her bright blue eyes filmy with death, from behind an illusion of sky and stars. But her soul is elsewhere, flying through the shadows of night in the heart of a boy, a man, a monster. A demon with a soul; who ever heard of such a thing?

ooooooooooo

Darkness. Devotion. Death
A Moon for the Misbegotten