For Who Am I: Unbecoming

For Who Am I: Unbecoming

Chapter Two

BRUTUS All this? Ay, more: fret 'til your proud heart break.

Go show your slaves how choleric you are,

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?

Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch

Under your testy humour? By the gods,

You shall digest the venom of your spleen

Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,

I'll use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter,

When you are waspish.

CASSIUS Is it come to this?

BRUTUS You say you are a better soldier:

Let it appear so. Make your vaunting true

And it shall please me well. For mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Severus Snape looked up from his book as Lucius Malfoy strolled into the study of the ODE mansion. It appeared as if he wanted to say something before he caught Snape's eye in time. Not now, the look Snape gave him seemed to say, and Lucius understood well enough. In the last three days, hardly a word had passed between them; none had needed to. Consequently, Lucius turned on his heel and walked out as quickly as he had entered, leaving Snape, once again, alone.

It had been two weeks since the Dark Lord had returned, only to disappear again. No one had any conception as to where he could have gone. Everyone had their theories of course, but none of them seemed to mesh properly with what they did know.

With a heavy sigh Snape closed his book and laid it on the table before him. On impulse, he stood and moved hurriedly out of the study. He had no conscious memory of where he was going, only that he wished to be somewhere else. As he wandered aimlessly among the diverse corridors and stairs of the mansion, he found himself standing at the bottom of a long, chilling staircase. It was chilling not due to cold or dark, in fact it might have even looked inviting to an outsider. No. This tower brought morbid pensiveness to those familiar on account of the memories it held within its dank, granite walls.

It was hard for him - for all of them - to think about the years when one Morrighan Moriana Branwen inhabited this wing of the mansion. She was a charming young woman, fresh from school, intelligent, powerful, beautiful, and was therefore naturally an asset to anyone and everyone with which she worked. Especially us, he recalled bitterly.

He started up the stairs, unconsciously dragging his feet. With every step it seemed to him that his feet became heavier and the stairs steeper. He continued to ascend, up and up, higher and higher, and yet higher still. First like a constant stream, then a torrent of water gushing down the narrow staircase, a flood of memories began to overwhelm him. He struggled to fight through it, but the weight of the past pressed itself upon his shoulders step after step.

After what seemed hours he finally came to the top of the stairs. Three doors surrounded the space before him. The one straight ahead was open, leading to a balcony and a view of the grounds and surrounding countryside. As he made for the open door, he felt as if something was drawing his attention to the door on his left. He tried to pry his eyes off the knob, but he could not. He seemed frozen, transfixed, by the calling from within the room...

He felt his feet take him over to the door, but they did not make him enter. He did that of his own accord. Without a second thought he turned the knob and opened the door. He stood his ground as the door swung open, and then, cautiously, he entered.

His eyes swept over the room for the first time in sixteen years. Everything, the floor, walls, furniture, was coated in a thick layer of ice. Magically applied for preservation, he recalled. The diffusion and reflection of sunlight through the ice gave a light blue tint to the room's white walls. His eyes drifted upwards toward the turreted ceiling. Although the enchantment was supposed to negate the effect, many rather large icicles had grown from the ceiling over the years, and this being summer, appeared dangerously fragile and ready to fall at the least provocation. He shivered from the cold as he looked back down, watching his breath drift out in small white puffs. After momentarily studying this summertime phenomenon, he reluctantly forced himself to move before halting where he stood. Just a couple of steps... His feet slipped on the icy floor and he again froze. Or not... He surveyed the room once more. It wasn't anything grand, really, just the usual in this place - a desk, dresser, shelves, and opposite the door, a-- bed...

The bed, a beautiful, mahogany four-poster, stood against the northeast corner. Heavy white linen curtains were drawn around it, stiff from the ice, creating the sense that this was not a bed, but a ridiculously large ice chest. He stood, motionless, staring at it while all sense of time passed from his mind. He felt his feet take control again as they gracefully guided him over the ice. Not quite knowing what he was doing, or why, he stood at the head and threw the curtain back, the ice shattering, disturbed for the first time in years. The falling shards cut his knuckles, but he took no notice of it as he stared.

Lying on the bed was a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. Her silky, raven black hair fell over her shoulders, disappearing behind her waist. She wore a black turtleneck and sapphire robes lined with white, tightly fitting her figure and falling open around her knees, revealing a pair of black bellbottoms. Her face was deadly pale with luscious, yet blood-drained lips, partly open; slate grey eyes stared blankly at nothing...

All preserved under the ice.

He quickly drew shut the curtain, overcome with a sudden feeling of nausea and disturbing memories of his past. Careful not to slip, he skated to the far side of the room to another door. Opening it, he walked onto the balcony, enjoying the warm air and cool breeze which seemed to relieve his sudden illness. He leaned on the railing, looking out over the grounds. The scenery filled him with a peculiar strength quite the opposite of what he had discovered in that room.

The mansion was located at the base of a mountain, in the midst of a forest, which opened up into a small clearing beside a lake. Looking around, one feels almost as if he were in a fantasy. The mountain was before him to the west, the sun glittering off its snow-peaked summits. These were the times when he was glad he was a spy again. It surprised him at first when he had found out how much the Dark Lord surrounded himself with beauty - natural beauty. With time and increasing knowledge of him, however, he had gotten used to such things.

As he looked down, he realized just how far the tower really reached. He was in the tallest tower, at the highest accessible point (the only way one could get any higher was to climb onto the roof by way of a ladder someone had installed a short stretch above the balcony). He stared down at the hardly visible paths below. If Voldemort doesn't come back now, we won't have the power required to bring her back, and all hope will be lost all over again... and if all hope is lost, I will have no purpose to them - not here, not now.

*~*~*

Velasca looked up at the clock on the far wall. An hour late. Men. Having finished with it, she set her book down and picked up another. While exploring one day - which was strictly forbidden, for one never knew what one could find in this place - she had discovered what was most likely Voldemort's private library. For three full days she had been engrossed in the books she'd encountered that evening. Surprisingly, there was only a very small section set aside for the Dark Arts. The rest of the collection was dedicated to literature, wizarding and muggle alike. She had become particularly interested in the marked differences between the two versions of Hamlet and A Tale of Two Cities. The discrepancies were absolutely fascinating to her.

Brought abruptly back to reality, Velasca jumped as the study door burst open. She looked up to see a hooded figure enter the room, grunting loudly as he dragged a large steamer trunk behind him through the door. His grip suddenly slipping, he dropped the trunk as a lock of silvery-blonde hair fell from behind his hood. Ignoring the book that fell to the floor, Velasca sprang from her seat, sprinted towards the hooded figure and threw her arms tightly around his neck. He lost his balance but quickly regained his footing before both could fall over. Not used to receiving this kind of welcome, he tentatively placed his arms around her waist, returning her hug. "I missed you," she muttered into his neck before pulling away. She smiled up at him as he took a step back. "Only you would be stupid enough to drag your trunk around instead of levitating it."

Draco Malfoy lowered his hood and smiled down at his sister. "Indeed..." he muttered quietly. His voice was noticeably deeper than the last summer they were together. Actually, he had changed a lot since she'd seen him last. He had grown a considerable amount, almost three inches. His hair was no longer slicked back, but rather left down, clean of any product it appeared - although it was obviously annoying him, falling into his eyes and all. His features were more defined, finally looking like a respectable, young Malfoy, rather than some stuck-up little rich kid. The family looks were becoming quite evident in his face, she noticed...

Lucius entered the room and promptly collapsed into a nearby chair, shutting his eyes. Velasca moved reluctantly away from her beloved brother and knelt beside her father as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "He won't return yet. He's not ready..." she muttered quietly as possible. By now she had learned the signs of her father's headaches and felt it best to try not to aggravate it further. Receiving no response, she rose, moved behind the chair, and began to massage his tense shoulders. "Snape departed as soon as he left me here," she whispered. "He didn't say anything - to me at least. He's probably not coming back for a while. We'll just have to wait before we... put anything into action."

Draco watched the proceedings with interest as Lucius snapped to and wheeled toward Velasca. Without a word, though, he sighed and slowly lowered his head. Velasca smiled down at him, moving her hands from his shoulders up to his neck. "Relax," she said, her voice soft and soothing, "We just have to be patient, that's all. And in the meantime, keep your mind off Narcissa!" She growled this last part, digging her thumbs into the sensitive areas of Lucius' neck. He yelped and pulled away from her.

Draco sighed once he realized his father wasn't going to retaliate, at least for now, and seized his trunk. "Where am I to stay?" he asked, openly. He glanced questioningly back and forth between his father and sister.

Lucius lowered his head for a moment in consideration and pain as he shook his head as to clear other thoughts from his mind. "West tower," he mumbled after a while, "All the way to the top. There should be an extra room..." With this he stood and left, evidently overwhelmed by his thoughts and the effects of an increasingly painful migraine.

Draco looked around, seemingly perplexed. "What is it?" Velasca asked, dropping herself down where Lucius had been sitting. "Did you lose something?"

"Yeah, Father's sanity," he muttered, quietly, in case Lucius was still in range.

"Alas, poor Lucius. I knew him, dear Draco. A man of infinite dread!" she managed to get out before she was overcome with laughter.

Draco shook his head. Not being familiar with Hamlet, he therefore did not understand the obvious reference. Hesitantly, he continued. "Actually, ah, being as I'm in a foreign mansion, standing in a room with no windows, which way would happen to be West?"

"What makes you think I would know?" she asked caustically. With a warning glare from Draco, she shook her head, smiled and pointed to the door behind him. Smiling back, he nodded, and left the room, dragging his trunk loudly behind him. Velasca lifted the book that had fallen to the floor earlier, Julius Caesar, and started reading it. Again...

*~*~*

The distant mountains, the cool breeze from the lake, the crescent moon slowly rising over the trees far below. No creature roamed the forest, no bird ruffled its wings, there was not a sound to be heard. It was so peaceful, he almost couldn't stand it, really.

Snape sat on the edge of the balcony, his back against the wall, hanging his left leg off the side of the tower. Any sudden movement would surely cause him to fall, he was so precariously balanced. It wouldn't be so bad, really. I could knock myself out before I hit the ground. No - don't think about that! He reprimanded himself, hitting his head - hard. He tried to let the peaceful nature of his surroundings slowly take control of his thoughts, relaxing into a comfortable numbness as the moon rose far above...

Okay, that didn't work.

He had been sitting in the West tower for the whole day, attempting to sort his mind. So far, the entire process had been a waste of time. Nothing had been "sorted", of course, and whenever he tried to think through a problem he only discovered twenty more. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and swung his other leg over the rail. He couldn't even think without confusing himself even more. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. Coming up here was, without a doubt, a mistake. That was the pure and simple answer. He could've stayed in the study and read As You Like It again.

Oddly enough, he began to relax. His exhaustion finally seized hold of his body and mind, much due to his lack of sleep the last two weeks. Just before he dozed off in this awkward position, he heard a noise from the room to his left; a short series of 'thumps,' like a stack of something falling over. He slowly opened his bleary eyes and turned his head toward this new distraction.

Eyes locked on the door, he contemplated as to whether or not he should investigate. It was probably just a bird that flew in the open window, nothing more. He closed his eyes and lowered his head again, but then it hit him. No bird can get past those wards. In one swift movement, he swung his legs back over the edge and stood, stalking toward the room and drawing his wand. The door burst open as he threw it out of his way and almost off its hinges.

There he stood, centered inside the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the frozen room again, this time in detail. He saw nothing misplaced at first - on the contrary, it looked perfectly normal. He took a step further into the room, the area behind the bed slowly coming into view.

Books? Books, indeed. There was a small pile visible behind the bed now, a few scattered a little ways away. Moving forward again, he saw a foot. He gripped his wand tighter and stepped sideways, poised for attack. What he saw almost made him drop it.

There lay the Dark Lord himself, his back against the wall and his legs sprawled out before him, barefoot. He was asleep, an open book laying in his hand off to his side. He had evidently kicked the small pile of books over in his sleep. Only one thought ran through Snape's mind at that moment, He has his guard down. He realized he could only suppress the urge to grin by looking away, and that he did. He surveyed the room again, noticing a few things he hadn't before. The flowers on the nightstand were fresh, and the bookshelf was alphabetized - something Morrighan would never have done.

Noticing a wand on the dresser, Snape scrutinized it from a distance before realizing whose it was. He had never had a decent look at it, really, and from where he was, he still didn't. He took a step, grabbing it quickly as if being watched. He stood, contemplating it for a moment. It appeared to be a Yew of decent length, somewhere just over a foot he supposed. Yew, he mused, Flexible, springy, Death's tree... One could make a miniature bow of this if they wished. A classic weapon, how ironic...

He heard it softly at first, a low creaking noise settling above him in the rafters. He peered up at the noise as his eyes met with a particularly menacing icicle poised directly above him. As he stared the frozen stem gave way, Snape shifting deftly out of its way before it shattered into a hundred glittering shards.

With a sharp intake of breath, Voldemort's eyes flew open, and the sight to which he awoke startled him at first; Snape standing before him, his thirteen and a half inch, single phoenix feather, Yew wand clutched in his grasp. Snape's head snapped up, locking eyes with his Master, shock evident in the deep pools of black that some would call his eyes, others windows, his face void of expression.

Voldemort watched with detail as Snape snapped out of his shock, glancing down at the wand before him. "I, ah, have your wand," he said, his voice shaking a bit as he tossed it to him, apparently still flustered. Never breaking eye contact, Voldemort snatched it from the air and pocketed it. "It's beautiful," Snape added, attempting to break the tension.

Indeed, it is, Voldemort thought for a moment before others took over. He wondered less of why Snape had come to the tower than why he hadn't before. He considered this for a moment, and, coming to no conclusions aside from the fact that Snape would always be a mystery to him, returned his attention to the one that had been in his thoughts more often than any other since he had returned.

Snape stood at attention, waiting for the Dark Lord to speak, following proper Death Eater Protocol for the first time in nearly twenty years. He stared ahead of him, spine straight, shoulders back, arms at his sides. His left foot, which was always slightly turned out, Voldemort noted, was parallel with the other. There was nothing to critique. There was nothing to say except the one thought in Voldemort's head at the moment.

"You've found me."

"Yes, I suppose I have," Snape immediately bit his tongue, literally, realizing that, one, he spoke before he thought, making the comment sound much too sarcastic, and, two, he hadn't followed DEP, speaking when he wasn't asked a direct question. He was prepared for the worst; he always was. He braced himself...

*~*~*

"This seems a lot heavier going up stairs," Draco thought aloud as he lugged his trunk up the staircase of what he hoped was the west tower. Surely, it couldn't have been; he was so lost (he had been walking around in circles for half an hour before he realized the grand fountain was the same one he had passed numerous times). The mansion, to put it simply, was large and confusing, thought not so much as Malfoy Manor. How Velasca could have learned the layout of the place by now was beyond his understanding. As far as Draco knew, she had only been living with Lucius at the manor for the last few weeks.

In fact the one thing more confusing than the mansion at the moment was his sister. It was impossible to find the right words to describe her now. She was happy, carefree, and had even hugged him! Draco was a little worried about her, at least more so than usual. True, she wasn't like their Great-grandmother Lucretia, - Lucretia had gone into severe depression after her "one true love" disappeared only to return fifteen years later, married. After she was told of his situation, Lucretia became anorexic, insomniatic, even more depressed, and went so far as to banish herself to the east wing of the Manor. This, of course, after she had been married to Licinius Malfoy for ten years and had two children, Grandfather Lyceus and his brother, Flavius - but Velasca never ran around all "happy-go-lucky" like Cousin Carus, whom Draco preferred not to think about at the moment. To give her some credit, though, it seemed no one was acting normal, whatever passes for normal around here at any rate.

Narcissa slept all day and was out and about all night. No one knew where she went each evening except Dai, her personal house elf, who by means of this title had no responsibility to even acknowledge the rest of the household. Dai even had the gall to spit on Draco on more than one occasion. Needless to say, Draco didn't like her.

Lucius, however, had very quickly returned to his coffee drinking, insomnia-induced day-sleepwalking, fidgety, work-a-holic, paranoid ways of old. This, Draco noted, was exactly how his father had behaved before he became the Dark Lord's favourite, save the coffee (at least that's what Uncle Clodius had told him). No one really had any idea when Lucius had started to drink coffee.

Every now and again, Snape would disappear from classes for a day or two, and Draco wondered if the reduced social favouritisim with the Gryffindors had led to Potions quickly becoming, somehow, more civilized. True, the Slytherins and Gryffindors would have their own little wars when the substitutes were brought in, but those who realized what was happening knew it was no laughing matter. While he was there, Snape made sure of that. Though he didn't singularly pick on the Gryffindors, and he yelled at both Houses equally, he had a different attitude toward those he knew were directly related with this whole ordeal. Granted, the punishments were worse, and it would likely be back to normal next year, but it was an interesting change. Snape knew, perhaps more than anyone, what was happening and, more importantly, what needed to be done.

With a sigh of relief, Draco came to a small landing. There was a door on either side of him and an open one ahead, leading to a rather large balcony. He trudged on, dropping his trunk in the doorway. It was a beautiful night, he realized - the sun had almost set, a few stars were peeking through the red and purple sky to the east, the eerie voices off to his left were echoing through the tower, the black mountains rose in the distance. Voices?

Draco crept over to the door and pressed his ear against it with the grace and silence that was the pride of the Malfoy family. He listened intently to what was being said on the other side.

"You know what needs to be done?"

"Yes, I do."

The first voice came as a shock to Draco, though he recognized it in a heartbeat; it was that of Professor Snape.

~*~*~

950703

Today was perhaps the worst day of my life. It seems Voldemort has been hiding away in Morrighan's old room. In retrospect it makes complete sense. I agree it is a tad odd that only I was revealed the secrets of her return, but one must admit Voldemort would not have returned her to us at the proper time. No, he would most assuredly have brought her back immediately, ruining her plan, the prophesy, and the family.

Young Malfoy practically fell through the door while we were having our little conversation. Though it was amusing when it happened, it couldn't have been worse timing. It was, however, at once fascinating to see those two together, face to face. Voldemort seemed almost startled by the boy's appearance, one most similar to a young Lucius.

I led the boy to his room at the bottom of the tower; he seemed not to mind its red and gold décor. We came across Nagini in the stairwell. Draco apparently shares his father's intense and irrational fear of snakes. I do hope he will at least get used to her, if not the others roaming throughout this place. I believe I heard him shriek on his way to the kitchens. Yes, he'd better get used to the rest of them.

The boy is worried, as he very well should be, about what is to happen now that the Dark Lord has returned. He's full of questions. Both sides. He was worried for both sides. I do have concerns for him, this is true, but I hope beyond hope that he stays true to his blood. However, he compelled me to think over the matter. I believe this is how the conversation went:

"What's it going to be like? Similar to last time?"

Here I glanced at him:: "From whose side?"

"Both," he said, shrugging.

I was silent for a moment until I gathered my thoughts. "For us, it will be a time of secrecy and unknown, of pain and pleasure, of threats, orders, plans, and deceit. Up until now we have been running blind without a leader, doing whatever we could for the cause without consequence. Now that he's returned, we have order, and we have consequences for our wrong actions. We'll be given our own operations, sworn to secrecy even amongst ourselves. With every operation, there come threats. Regardless if you make a mistake, you'll be tortured; if you don't finish in time, perhaps someone close to you will be killed; if you can't perform the task yourself, you will be killed... of course, those higher in the ranks will have the pressure of having to deal one-on-one with the Dark Lord; but if anyone under their command fails their task, they must answer for it. Their punishment will be great, though most likely not death. They will still have their uses to him. The underlings, however, will suffer certain death, that is, unless the Dark Lord sees something in them. Or they have family ties. Frankly, Draco, if your father wasn't a Malfoy, he would have been killed more times than you can probably count."

"Do explain..." For once my student was paying close attention to what I said.

I ignored his last comment, however, and continued. "Many of ours will die, but it will be nothing compared to the deaths of our enemies. Their times also will be ones of secrecy, operations, and the like, but also of hiding. We will not have to hide; we will have the upper hand. They will be scattered, communications weakened, hiding in some of the most godforsaken places on this earth. The others... they will be frightened, horribly frightened. Not for themselves - no, they're never frightened for themselves, only for their family and friends. They'll see their chums dying left and right, one after the other, and they won't care a whit for their own lives. It's so pathetically Gryffindor of the lot. They'll always be trying to discover our plans, but they'll fail. Their own plans we will uncover and use against them. They'll never see it coming, either. They never do..."

We were silent for some time after that. I knew he wanted more; he was positively itching to ask one last question. He finally asked what I would deal with. I gave him the simplest, most straightforward answer I could. "I have the worst of all destinies in this war. I suffer for both, from both, from friends and enemies. I carry the weight of both sides, and my self's objective."

I've found myself pondering this last comment for some time since. I am the only one to deal with this at such risk. They don't know what it's like to be faithful to both yet give up all I obtain. That's why I keep most of it for myself. I can take down both of them if I only had reason to. Save the world? I've heard that one too many times. No, I couldn't save it. Destroy Voldemort and I'll destroy the only true intellect that lives in this idiotic world and complete morons - like Potter, the Weasleys - will rule... But... Destroy Dumbledore and I'll destroy the only true kindness in the world, and idiots like the Malfoys would rule. No, I cannot save the world. Either they have to battle it out in the end, or I take out the lot of them.

My decision is not made.

~*~*~

Third July, AD 1995

It is very fortunate that I have Miss Malfoy in my midst. I met her on the staircase when I finally decided it was time to leave the tower. She has been a great help to me; she makes an excellent informant. She is, however, frightened. She won't look me in the eyes. Her fears are indeed well founded, though I wish she would learn to trust me, rather than fear the consequences. She is very similar to Snape, except he was never outwardly defiant of me. No, Snape was very meek as a new Death Eater.

Lucius was surprised to see me at first, but he was obviously quite relieved. Snape, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less; he only wants to bring Morrighan back; that is his goal after all.

We set straight to work. Snape, as well prepared as he always is, had the potion bottled in his chamber beforehand. It didn't take long at all, really, though I'm not sure what I expected. He warned me of the risks, the possibilities; he listed all that could go wrong during our ascent of the tower. It could take anywhere from ten seconds to ten months he told me. And there are so many things that could go wrong in ten seconds... No, I made sure I walked into the room with no expectations. And I walked out still not knowing what was to happen, Snape and Morrighan staying behind.

I don't know... I really don't know anymore. I've had too much time to think things through and not enough time to do anything! I've become overly-analytical over these years, and it will most assuredly be my downfall. I am unable to do things the old way; no, I need all the resources I have here.

Morrighan seems to have lost her memory - to some extent at least. She now knows that Snape is Snape, and Lucius is Lucius, but she doesn't know them. She doesn't know who they are. It's sad, really; it seems she can't remember much of anything at all.

It's been such a long time since we've worked together. I'm worried it won't be the same. So much has changed these years I've been away, and more has changed since she has been dead. The poor thing doesn't even know I was gone, let alone that her precious James had a son! It's going to take a long time to ease this - all of this to her. She likely won't understand at first; the Potters, Snape, Black, Pettigrew... but she's a bright girl after all; she'll struggle at first, won't believe us, but in the end she'll come around. She always does.

~*~*~

Fifteenth July, AD 1995

I know neither what to say, nor what to do. She has returned, and I am now lost. She is yet to see me, though I have seen her. She has been asking for me, though I will not see her until I am ready. It is scaring her, I'm certain, but so this must be if she is to learn. She has been in Snape's company ever since she awoke. It uneases me; the possibility that her memory may never return. Did Severus know of this beforehand? He would never let it slip. He has learned too much these past years. Though he is an asset, he is now also a threat to the syndicate. His ancestors would indeed be proud...

I have been in the past, I exist in the present, I have seen the future, though none of it makes sense to me. They are a blur of images, red and black, and I recognize not the land. I wish to analyze what it is I see, yet I cannot tell what it is. What I can describe out of the confusion is that image of a sinister knight drawing nearer and nearer. He carries a great black broadsword, with single rubies centered on either face of the hilt. Time after time the vision becomes more detailed from the mass of blurs. I've never been one to believe in dreams, but this one has meaning. This one is prophesy.

I see it every night, and it is beginning to worry me. I worry not for myself, but for the others, especially those of us who cannot yet properly defend themselves. My solitude has helped somewhat in my thoughts, yet it was somehow not sufficient for my mind to be at ease for even a moment. The Knight is looming in my mind; I know not whether he is for our good, or ill. Is he against us all? Is he a being, or a representation? Perhaps the past must be brought back in order for the future to be proper. Perhaps... I must return. I wish not to, but I may. After all, it is my proper home. I will be considering this possibility. Perhaps, next year in

- - -

My thoughts were just severed by the entrance of Miss Malfoy into this library. She was returning my copy of Julius Caesar to its shelf when I caught her off guard. She obviously didn't realize I was there as she quickly snatched the book that was nearest her and spun to face me. I cannot recall the exact words I used to surprise her, but I do believe they went something along the lines of "Though Three Jiggers of Vodka and a Book on Social Psychology is quite an interesting concept, one would suggest one should try Macbeth or King Lear even, especially if one's consistency of the Tragedies is going to remain in one's mind ere the next moon." When she turned I noticed she had seized my first-edition Cymbeline: King of Britaine in her rush. Cymbeline is also a great work - being a comedy - but it wasn't what she was after.

She stammered out a few words, something about being sorry, not realizing I was there. As she turned to leave, I realized how very much like her father she was, though she obviously had her mother's lack of regard, but not respect. No, she had plenty of respect, and in that moment I knew how she was going to show it: by constantly being inferior and meek in my presence. If she was to be in my company on unofficial terms, that had to change. She had to be taught the difference between a Death Eater and one of my followers. The following I can recite verbatim; the following was her first lesson:

"Prithee, why doth thou do so?" I asked as she walked by.

"I..." She paused, thinking with a shake of her head. "It's your private library. I have no right to be in here. I-" Here I lifted my hand, Cymbeline in my grasp. She had no idea I had taken it from her. She glared at me. "Give it back," she demanded. I gave her a questioning look, cocking my head slightly to one side. I held onto the book tightly as she tried to take it from me; I used one hand as she used both in an futile attempt to pry my fingers from the book. She quickly gave up with a "humph" and placed her fists on her hips, scrutinizing the object in my hands.

I lowered Cymbeline to my side and narrowed my eyes at her. "You fear me at times but not at others. I do believe I shall ne'er quite understand you, Velasca Malfoy. Do explain said fear."

She had been analyzing the situation, trying to understand what was happening;. I could tell: while she watched the book, I was watching her eyes. Now, she was quite contemplative; more open minded to the situation. I believe at this time she was starting to realize I was teaching her something. She gazed up at me with a questioning little gaze, looking into my eyes for the first time. "You were not going to punish me for being in your library, why would you punish me for taking a book from you?"

I kept my face void of expression as I explained. "There is a difference between going to a library and utilizing the resources while there, and removing said resources from the premises," I said to her authoritatively, returning the book to its proper place. "You need not permission to use the library for research. However, you must be a member to sign out any materials..." I made sure I never broke eye contact with her.

She lowered her head and gazed past my ear to the wall behind. She looked... sad. Yes, sad. Not at that she was in trouble, no, but that she hadn't done what was right. She doesn't fear the punishment; she simply wants to be the best she can. One of these days, she will truly be great. "Don't blame the others - they didn't know I was in here, ever." Her voice was quiet, meek - it was something a true Malfoy's could never be: prideless. She was ashamed in what she had done.

"I'm not going to punish you," I told her quietly. She looked up at me. She was confused as it was with everything going on, and this didn't help her understand any more. "Ah, you're too young to understand me yet. Besides," I turned, grabbing a book from the shelf behind me, "You didn't have the book you wanted anyway."

I handed her Macbeth. The poor child; it turns out, though she has read Hamlet thirty-seven times, Julius Caesar nineteen times, and King Lear twenty-three times, she has never read Macbeth. It seems, however, that she has a bit of an obsession with my Dickens novels. We had a rather long discourse concerning Great Expectations. I do wonder if there is still a Muggle literature-- any literature class offered at Hogwarts anymore. I know for a fact they don't offer one at Durmstrang; and I doubt Beauxbaton would even bother. Yes, she will be a great addition to the ranks.

*~*~*

1995, the month of July, the twentieth day.

My father is a strange man, very strange indeed. We "vacationed" in the Manor, far away from Voldemort and Severus, not to mention Narcissa. The house elves are gone, the rooms cold and empty, everything cleared out. Lucius found two bottles of wine and a flask of gin he had cunningly hidden and just enough supplies in the kitchen to make a sandwich. Soon enough we came across a suitable room void of any sort of furnishings save a small fireplace. Father opened the windows as I sat against the wall and cut the sandwich in half. Though the bread was quite stale, the turkey was rather good. We relaxed for a while, enjoying the cool summer breeze and discussing all sorts of matters from school to the Ministry to Muggles to sport. It was lovely just to talk like we used to. I miss those days when we would do things together, the whole family, just talking. We were so close back then. Whatever happened to us?

Come late evening we closed up the room and lit a fire, sitting across from each other. Father opened the Chardonnay (and his gin) and we talked some more. I told him all about what I had been doing since the semester ended. Needless to say, he was a little confused.

- So, let me see if I understand this.... You spent the last of Hogwarts' term with Snape, sharing his quarters, and traveled with him when he came here...?

- Yes.

- During the time you were here, you confined yourself to the West tower and our Master's library?

- Yes.

- Though none of us knew where he was, you, Snape, and even Draco had seen the Dark Lord in the same day nonetheless?

- Yes.

- Snape found him doing whatever it is he does while alone, Draco walked in on the two of them while he was looking for his room, and he actually came across you later that evening while you were gazing, because he thought you might've been Snape?

- Yes (though he could have worded that a tad better, no?).

- I've it right so far? (He was completely amazed.)

- Yes.

- So you've befriended both of them.

- That all depends on what you mean by "befriended."

- You're on first name terms with Snape, and you call the Dark Lord "Tom" to his face. Neither care.

- So I've befriended them. So what?

- And have you befriended *her*?

- If by *her* you're referring to Miss Branwen, then, no I have not. We still haven't met, actually.

- You live in the same tower across from each other, and she hasn't left Snape's side since she's returned. How could you not have met her?

- First, I haven't been around Severus since she's returned; rather, I have taken to hanging around with Tom. Second, because she's always with him, by the time she goes to bed, I'm already out gazing, so I never see her then. I keep the door closed at all times. Also, she and Snape are finished with breakfast before I even arise.

- (Here he drank some of his gin. He apparently is quite shaky on this subject.) Velasca, if you plan to delve into the inner workings when you join with us, you're going to need friends in much deeper places that just the Dark Lord, Snape, and myself. Specifically Morrighan, Stonier, the Voddmers, and Bellatrix Lestrange, just to name a few.

- Frankly, I don't see how any others could ever be of influence, especially Lestrange...

- (He was quiet, hesitated for a long moment.) It's a long story, but well worth it when told.

- The night is young, and we've nowhere to go.

- I was hoping you'd agree. It started back in '57 - No, let's start back with the Founders of Hogwarts...

And so his explanation began.

*~*~*

950723

I have come to the conclusion that Voldemort has no concept of what damage he is doing to Morrighan, none whatsoever! The poor girl is frelled up enough as it is with her dire memory loss. He is keeping his distance from her, as far away as he is able. She wants to see him; she wants to speak with him; he is the only person she can fully remember! She has even threatened to kill herself soon if she doesn't gain her right to see him. I can't bring her back twice! How can he do this to her? Why does he do this to her?

I have been trying to explain things, trying so very hard to succeed in getting her to soon come around. She believed I was my brother Trajan at first as she still thought this is 1980. Once I was able to convince her of my identity, she began to slowly accept everything else. She is finally able to come to terms with her length of... hibernation. I can't begin to imagine what it must be like, to miss fourteen years, to skip ahead. She has caught up on her history rather quickly, though her past is another story.

She is blaming herself for all that has happened. Lord, let her come around...

*~*~*

1995, the month of July, the twenty-first day, continued from the twentieth day.

I have never realized before what a great storyteller Father truly is. Over the next twenty-four hours he explained to me in the finest detail the vast depths of Voldemort's history and the forming of the Most Innercircle. We sustained ourselves on the wine alone, though there were parts where even I needed a taste of the gin. Just as we were finishing, everything falling into place, and I managed to form the root of all our complications into one sentence, Severus silently appeared through the fire momentarily throwing Lucius into a fit once he realized he'd been listening in on his story. It turns out after all that Snape really is a stickler for the Death Eater Protocol and was perfectly ready to wipe my memory of all I was just told. The nerve of the man! Just because I have been aware of the rules since childhood does not mean I have to follow said rules! However, I do understand his point: as far into the loop as I have managed to get, I am still - technically - out of said loop. "*That* could be readily changed," I had told him. He slowly came to terms with my comment and disapperated, throwing Father once more into a fit. You did not remove the wards, my dear Lucius; Severus is simply able to do just about whatever he pleases.

*~*~*

"Gáni, vi loáni, vi cánro, vi saúch..."

"I 'ate yeh."

"You don't. You misunderstand me."

"But I 'aven't fergotten yeh... why? 'Oo are they to meh?"

"Have you no memory of them?"

"No, nune. Me guard - was I friends with 'im, with Sev'rus?"

"..."

"Well?"

"Not exactly. You fought quite often. Lucius on the other hand-"

"Malfoy? Why is 'i avoidin' meh?"

"Yes, him. You were inseparable, the best of friends..."

*~*~*

Log of the Knights of Walpurgis, July, AD 1995

Our time is already growing short. We have no plans of action, yet the Order of the Phoenix has met every night since the evening of my return. It disturbs me, quite frankly, that while they speak of plans, we discuss the latest books we've read. Why have we not yet taken any action? We simply don't have everyone we need. Here we have only the Voddmers, Stonier, Morrighan, Wormtail (whom I have heard is being confined to the dungeon for reasons known only to Snape), and the young Malfoys. Lucius has been at work in the Ministry, and Snape has been returning to Dumbledore on a regular basis.

I am indecisive as to whether or not I should trust Snape as much as I do at this point. He has not proven his loyalty to me, only his to himself. He tells me nothing of the OP meetings. Scratch that, he doesn't tell me anything. He speaks only when he must during our gatherings. Morrighan has been avoiding him since our chat, fortunately. Lucius is glad of this, too. If he lost another of his companions at this point, he would probably get drunk, pass out, and awake three days later to find himself in Vancouver tied to a dead moose.... Again. Snape has basically been sulking. I've found him leaning dangerously over the balconies more times than I would like to imagine. If I lose him now, the syndicate will fall. He has learned so much over these years. I never thought of him as being a skilled assassin, but there you have it. He is. Verily, seeing him beat Lucius sent chills down my spine. The look on his face when John was mentioned... he appeared nearly broken. His eyes were blank, his jaw slack, shoulders slumped dejectedly. True, he and John were never on good terms, technically, but I suppose the link between them was too strong for even death to break.

I cannot find the right words to describe Lucius. He still loves Narcissa. That much is evident in everything he does. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, if only because he is so broken over the divorce. He seems... distracted. He works constantly, only to avert his attention to something other than Black..., and that she will always be to me, just another Black. Blacks and Malfoys were never meant to be together, for none have ever gotten along. Andromeda, Narcissa, Bellatrix... you can even fit Regulus and Sirius into their category. Even Lyceus couldn't get along with them. Why did Lucius trick himself into believing he could change that? He doesn't think through anything he does anymore. I doubt Snape is better than him at all, it's simply his distractions. He couldn't prepare himself. I suppose he didn't believe Snape would come back at all, let alone the first night. Morrighan is good company for him. While they're together, he slows down, stops overworking himself. That's what he's doing, essentially. He can find nothing better to do, therefore he works. Half of the day he works for the Ministry here; the other half, he works for us at the Ministry. He is making good progress, but he needs to back down soon. He is losing touch with his children. I was aware a long time ago that this would happen. I warned him. I really did. I told him not to marry Black, if only because she would simply drag him down to their level and beat him with experience. She has now rejected him and their children, spitting upon the name of Malfoy. Had Lyceus still been around, he would have stopped his youngest from performing the heinous crime. He would have beaten the honour of the name of Malfoy back into Lucius until he once again acted as one. Even Snape saw through Narcissa. What else would you expect from one with such a name, I ask you?

It is true, though. Morrighan calms him greatly, and he her. I am relieved that they have revived their friendship, and she has cut herself off from Snape entirely. Her memory has not gotten any better, though I cannot say it has become overly worse. Verily, she remembers people, a few associations thereof, but no pure history with anyone save myself. I do wonder if she is fabricating parts of it, if not the whole thing. I would not put it past her to do so. There is no way of finding out, however, except by asking her. Even then she would lie right to my face. No Veritaserum or Veritas will work on her, even Imperius is hard to control anymore. Somehow through her time away from time she has become stronger. Her resistance is exceptional, spells more potent and effective, will beyond valiant. What happened while she was dead? She refuses to tell me, leaving only jumbled ideas to roam in the middle of my mind. She has memories, she has told me as much, but nothing more. Who am I to trust if not even she will tell me what happened? She tells me everything else. Every evening we sit together in the study, each with a glass of wine, and discuss the day. We converse over many topics, sometimes even comparing opinions on the deeper insights of modern muggle technology. An odd topic for us, indeed, but at least it's something of interest to us both. Better than trying to speak to Snape. When Morrighan is not with Lucius or myself she remains in her tower, pouring over history books of the last decade or so. I'm surprised I'm not all that interested myself, but I do know more than she does at this point. She learns fast, though, and will probably know just as much as Snape by the next log. Melosa bet Lucius and Velasca twenty galleons on it.

Ah, yes, Velasca Melamin Malfoy. Though she is but a child, she is the greatest astrologer/astronomer I have ever known. Including myself. Her gift has become her obsession, unfortunately, though it is very useful to us. Every evening she can be found in the west tower, gazing. She will fall asleep up there sometimes, having let her mind wander too far while staring into oblivion. She has claimed the vacant room adjacent to Morrighan's for this reason. By the time she's finished, she is much too tired to attempt to walk down that seemingly never-ending stairwell. There are nights when I accompany Morrighan to her quarters (Gani having drunk a little too much wine during our evening's discussion), and I catch a glimpse of Velasca sitting against the wall, talking. Now, just about every one of us here does that sort of thing, but we talk to ourselves. She wasn't. Oddly enough, she was carrying on a conversation. There was no one else there, that's a fact. Other times she just sits there, eyes unfocused, humming. I wouldn't put it past someone as intelligent as herself to be half crazy at her age, Merlin knows I was, but humming is just uncalled for. That is insane, not crazy. Near to none recognize the difference.

Fact: Velasca intends to attend Hogwarts in her fifth year.

Probability: She will be promoted to sixth year.

Impossible: She will break Snape's O.W.L.s record.

But: She may beat Morrighan's.

Note: I must teach her what not even Snape can.

Velasca believes she is going to like Hogwarts better than Durmstrang. It is possible. When Snape returned to the school after the first night, Velasca went with him to see the castle. And stayed until term was over. Considering the conversations she and I have had, there's an oddly strong understanding of each other's territory. Velasca goes nowhere near his wing; he goes nowhere near the tower. Aside from that, they're almost always in the same room together. She must have won him over easily with her knowledge of literature. It's amazing how greatly their eyes shine when such topics are brought up. I wouldn't be surprised if mine did, also. I take that back. I would be quite surprised. One talent I take the most pride in is my ability to keep my eyes void of expression. But they must have at one time or another. I saw her reading Tolkien the other day. Oddly enough, I've never read any myself. It must have been one of Snape's books; I know no one else who has read such things. Her eight days of living in Snape's quarters must have really connected those two. Snape lets no one touch his literature. Then again, Miss Malfoy has that affect on those of our sort. True intelligence is hard to come by these days, and when you find it, you feed it. I never would have let even Morrighan get away with taking my Shakespeare. That's a Malfoy for you. Draco (who, might I add, is at Malfoy Mansion with mail-order house elves waiting on him left and right) takes after his mother, Velasca, her father, who took after his, and so on. Draco's the result of Black blood poisoning the great Malfoy lineage. Velasca is the epitome of Malfoy, by miracle that there is no sign of Black heritage whatsoever. Well, there is the hair colour, but that's it.

Fact: I have given Velasca full use of my library.

Probability: She will read everything by this date next year.

Impossible: She'll misplace a book upon return.

But: Upon returning during the winter holidays, she will have forgotten one.

Note: Restore personal summoning charms on all objects in the library.

I do wonder in which House she will be placed. There is a high possibility she will be sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin. Why? Her Malfoy attitude is, unfortunately, an act. In that sense she is very much like Morrighan - if she could pull it off, she would act herself and wear a shirt that says "I'm evil, that's why." It would speak enough for her. I wouldn't put it past a Malfoy (or Morrighan) to do such a thing. She has more the "curse now, talk later" mindset. The lack of snide remarks makes a much more formidable foe. Draco, I've noted, frightens nobody. He's all talk. It amazes me how these siblings can be so different, yet still maintain such a strong bond between them. My best guess is that they had only each other for support while growing, and now that they're older, they're more friends than siblings. If that bond sticks through Hogwarts, they will have Draco's snappy comebacks and Velasca's curses. No one would dare fight back. I'd rather like to see that, Velasca throwing curses left and right, Draco cowering behind her, popping up now and then to make some clever insult. Quite unfortunate Draco turned out the way he did... That is how it'd be, though.

There are those of us who believe the only good diviner is a dead diviner. I loathfully admit that, at one time, I also believed such a thing. But that was a long time ago. I have discovered their many uses, but also why others see only their destruction. To say it simply, I have seen the best and worst in Melosa's mind. Fortunately, she has not prophesized since my return, except the random "Lucius is going to finish off the last of your Jamaican Rum," which any of us (except Lucius) could plainly see. Her interpretations, however, have been helpful, indeed. I told her of my dream, which she annoyingly refers to as my "premonition." I notice more and more details every night. Along the blade there are letters, familiar, but unrecognizable to me.

I read it, and apparently understand, for I then speak to him, saying, "Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar, manka lle merna, 'ksher. Gurth gothrimlye". He nods, and sheathes his sword. This is where it had ended when I spoke with Melosa. I showed her the letters I have transcribed here, the copy I wrote the moment I awoke. She could neither make head nor tail of it. She suggested showing it to Snape, but since he's on a no speaking basis with me, I shall wait until he comes to his senses. I have not had time to tell Melosa what I have seen these last couple of days. Last night, the dream appeared to me as far as I had mentioned, then the image blew away, and all was dark. I then head a voice. I should recognize who it was, but I can recall no one. It spoke airily, as if in a trance itself. This is what it said:

"Where the forest-stream went through the wood,

and silent all the stems there stood

of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark

with mottled shadows on their bark

above the green and gleaming river,

a windy whisper through the still

cool silences; and down the hill,

as faint as a deep sleeper's breath,

an echo came as cold as death:

'Long are paths, of shadow made

where no foot's print is ever laid,

over the hills, across the seas!

Far, far away are the Lands of Ease,

but the Land of the Lost is further yet,

where the dead wait, while ye forget.

No moon is there, no voice, no sound

of beating heart; a sigh profound

once in each age as each age dies

alone is heard. Far, far it lies,

the Land of Waiting where the Dead sit,

in their thought's shadow, by no moon lit.'"

Upon hearing the last line, I awoke, still hearing voices. I momentarily discovered it to be Velasca and Snape walking to the library outside my door. "You think too much; such women are dangerous," he had said to her. I heard her laugh quietly, saying, "Et tu, Sevre?" Having fallen asleep at my desk, I immediately wrote down the poem. Having written it, I thought about what Snape had said. I believe I sat there 'till dawn, and by that time I had decided not to dwell on the dream any longer, or at least until I had some real answers.

It's not just answers I need; minds alone do no good in battle. I need swords to swing with our battle cries. Legiones redde. Lucius needs to sit up out of the gutter and get the ball rolling again, along with Macnair and whatever underlings we still have. Snape needs to become my infiltrator once more. It's times like these when I wish we still had Wilkes, Rosier, Black, Crouch. It's truly a shame we have to lose Karkaroff; he was very useful in his day. Perhaps we can give Velasca the job of dealing with him... Why do we have Crabbe and Goyle on board? Are they simply there to flank Malfoy? For such idiots, they seem to posses the amazing ability to remain alive during raids, along with the Voddmers. Ah, we'll get rid of them down the road. Avery, Nott, and Travers work unusually well together. I need their teamwork and..., well, there's only one word for it, their creativity with their murders. Jugson's our assassin; he's the slyest we have and can get into any stronghold under any circumstances. Wormtail has apparently done nothing but slink around the Mansion all this time. That is his job, however, and I must admit, he's quite good at it. Sometimes I believe Mulciber's talent with Imperius goes beyond even that of mine. Sometimes. In our first movement we will need his specialty greatly if we are to succeed. The sheer bloodlust of Dolohov and Rookwood will not be needed for quite some time yet. Though, when he and the others are released, perhaps I will allow them an evening of free rein. In China. We don't want the Ministry to actually believe I'm back, now, do we? I need Morrighan's influence. The Voddmer's ability to confuse - the basic murders are just right for them. Stonier needs to... now that I think about it, she really doesn't serve much of a purpose, does she? I'll just set her on decoding that text... But above all, I need the Lestranges back. All five of them. This is going to be a confusing time, isn't it? I can't refer to all of them as "Lestrange," but it's not proper to call each by his or her given name. Below is the Key of Lestranges:

The Brothers Rodolphus and Rabastan

Lestrange Bellatrix

The Lestranges Bellatrix and Rodolphus

The Other Lestranges Jesse and George

All Lestranges Honestly now, need I say?

That is basic enough to remember, no? I'll soon inform the others of it. In closing, within this next year, the Order of the Death Eaters will be complete once again. The Knights of Walpurgis shall ride anew toward a quest I trust not even to write here.

Tenna' telwan.

... Why did I write that?

TMR

Clarifications:

"Lucius Malfoy strolled into the study of the ODE mansion."

ODE stands for Order of the Death Eaters. Most things in this story will either take place here, the Malfoy Manor, or Hogwarts.

"following proper Death Eater Protocol"

Death Eater Protocol will for now on be referred to as DEP. The same goes for ODE.

"She believed I was my brother Trajan"

Don't worry, this *will* be fully explained in further chapters, maybe even the next!

"Legiones redde"

from "Vare, legiones redde," meaning "Varus, give back my legions." (A frequent exclamation of Caesar Augustus when he thought of the defeat and slaughter of Quinctilius Varus with three legions by the Germans. Often used of a commander who has recklessly sacrificed troops, or of a financier who has wasted funds.)