Juliana Leffoy de Marigny (standingwave) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2008-10-29 23:56:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | pissed off |
Wednesday afternoon, 16 September 1942, in the Slytherin/Ravenclaw common room at Hogwarts Castle...
Liane Malfoy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could do this. These people did not have the power to harm her. She would hear from Michel soon and he would be there, in the morning. She just had to get through the rest of this day.
“You can do this,” said her cousin Charis, echoing her thoughts. “You can do this, and you will do this, and if Jeannot tries anything stupid, I’ll hurt him.”
“That’s the one who was looking death at her?” Moruith asked sharply. “Because I will not hurt him. I will kill him.”
Liane opened her eyes and shook her head. “No,” she said, “don’t.”
Moruith stared at her, anguish written all over her face along with the runes and flourishes. “I cannot let them treat you like that. Do you not understand how it makes my blood boil?”
Liane winced with guilt. “I’m sorry. I am. But they’ll send you away at best if you kill someone over their words, and nobody here really cares what I am except Goyle.”
Charis shrugged. “If you don’t want to be like Keresek,” she said, “don’t be like Keresek. You’re a bard, Moruith. Satirise them.”
Moruith nodded, still frowning. “All right. It is what I am supposed to do. I only fear that my satires may be too subtle to sting these people who insult one another so crudely. At any court of the Gentry, they would have died long ago for their insolence.”
Liane frowned. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to bring Moruith here, but she had insisted. “Please? For me?”
“As you wish,” said Moruith, and curtseyed.
Liane flushed red. She didn’t think she was ever going to get used to that. She glanced at Charis. “Where’s Valeria?”
“Coming!” Valeria called out, running down the hall to catch up with them. Endymion Dashwood was following at a leisurely pace, talking with the boys who had defended her at luncheon, Martial Casaubon and Ambrose Lovelace. They were trailed by their younger sisters, Mercuria and Callista, and a group of their friends, which included Lucius and his friend Kathleen, and Endymion’s brother Jonathan. Liane did not know the rest of them.
“Endymion thinks we should all go in together,” Valeria said breathlessly, “although I’m not sure that it’s the best thing for Callista.”
“Callista will want to know Miss Malfoy when she’s feeling more like herself,” said her brother Ambrose. “Count on it, Miss Zabini.”
Liane smiled, still blushing. “This is starting to look a bit like a war party.”
“What makes you think it’s not?” said Valeria, grinning, but then she frowned. “Liane…if there’s anyone who deserves to be treated that way, it’s me. I was actually in the service of the Axis. Voluntarily. Until I learned a few things.”
Liane’s eyes narrowed, and she studied Valeria thoughtfully. “Didn’t I meet you once?”
Valeria nodded, red-faced. “I thought I remembered you. But we weren’t introduced.”
Liane nodded back. “Albrecht didn’t introduce you to the furniture, either, I’m sure,” she said sourly, and shrugged. “He cared more for me than his footstool. I think.”
“Enough of that,” said Endymion in a firm voice. “I will walk down with you into the Pit, ladies…and gentlemen. But as soon as I see Hadrian, we’re off. No offence, but while you have my full and unqualified support…”
“You want Hadrian,” Valeria teased. “We all know.”
Endymion shrugged. Liane could imagine how hard it would be for him down in that room—she remembered that he could read minds. “It’s all right,” she said. “Go to Hadrian.” She followed Charis through the door into Slytherin House, which seemed to have been aptly named the Snake Pit.
Hadrian Kyteler was waiting for them on the landing. “You’re not even going into the common room,” he told Endymion firmly. “Sorry,” he told the rest of them.
Ambrose Lovelace began to protest, but Valeria shook her head. “No,” she said. “We understand.”
Liane smiled at her. “Go,” she told Endymion. “You’re the last person who ought to get yourself mixed up in this.”
“Oh, I already am,” said Endymion, taking Hadrian’s arm. “But this isn’t my role in this passion play, and I do have a previous engagement.” He kissed Hadrian’s cheek. “Behave yourself, Jonathan,” he told his brother, and the two of them walked away.
“Dash hates this kind of fighting,” Martial Casaubon observed as they trooped down the stairs and into the common room. “He always has. And look, there’s Moody and Mulciber. Looks like they’re already in the thick of it.”
“They always are,” Charis grumbled. “Liane. You know what to do?”
Liane nodded. The room fell silent as she walked into the centre of the common room, where tea was being served. There were several girls serving, and they looked at each other in confusion, but one of them smiled at her nervously.
“Demetria,” said Colette Saint-Germain from her table.
Charis looked sharply at Colette. “Dimity doesn’t like to be called that. As her best friend, I would think you should know that, Colette.”
Dimity swallowed. “What would you like in your tea?” she said quietly. “Yvon mentioned you in his letters, but he didn’t say what you take in your tea.”
Liane smiled at her prettily. “Sugar and cream will be fine,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder to smile at Colette. When Dimity had given her teacup and saucer, she nodded, and then walked over to Colette’s table, sitting down right across from her.
Aurélien Jeannot, who was sitting beside Colette, looked up from his newspaper. “Congé, salope,” he said in a bored tone of voice.
“I’m not here to speak to you,” Liane replied coolly. “I just wondered if Mademoiselle Saint-Germain would prefer to address me directly rather than starting another fuss in the Great Hall. I was told that was not done here.”
Colette looked right at Liane. “I have nothing to say to you, putain.” Her brother Reynard buried his face in his hands, and another boy winced.
“Five points,” said Charis, yawning. She covered her mouth, and then shrugged. “For swearing in the common room during tea. And that’s a switching for you, I believe.”
“Fine,” said Liane. “Does anyone else have anything to say to me?”
Aurélien snorted. “Your reputation has preceded you. Rosenthal, Saint-Germain, Albrecht Grindelwald, Peter Dolohov, Hans Martel and Austin Parkinson. Is there anyone that we’ve missed?”
Liane chuckled. “Dozens,” she said with a wicked smile. “How is it you know so much about my love life?”
“Jeannot makes it his business to know who the sluts are,” said one of the boys sitting close to the fire. “We have a theory, you see. Conservation of harlotry. Greenwood leaves, and now you come to take her place.”
“Watch your language,” said one of the girls who was serving the tea, an older girl.
“Dream on. I like smart men.” Liane laughed at the boy by the fire, shaking her head. She was becoming, slowly, the girl she had been at Albrecht’s court, the one who had just laughed everything off and pretended to be as debauched as the men who were playing with her. She did not even like this girl, and she hated becoming her. But tomorrow Michel would be here. She was always herself with Michel.
Liane glanced back at Aurélien, remembering his namesakes in Gallia, who’d visited Albrecht’s court in Armorica often enough. “Jeannot, is it? The only one of the Jeannots who was ever worth a sou was Thierry, and he died for the cause. I see what this is about. You’re embarrassed because your uncle Maurice is such a collaborator. I believe he may even be worse than Domitian, whom I don’t call my father. He must be the one who told you all of the stories about me.”
Aurélien’s eyes widened. “We don’t speak to Maurice,” he hissed. “We’ve been here since the last war—”
“Oh,” said Liane. “You’re from the side of the family that ran away. At least I managed to do some damage before I left.” She wasn’t sure where the cynical tone in her voice had come from. It sounded like something she might have borrowed from Sevvie along with a blouse.
“I find that difficult to believe,” said one of the other boys, who was looking at her with an expression she found chillingly familiar. “We all know where you did your best work. On your back or your knees, beginning when you were in school.”
“Shut up, Dolohov!” said Alastor Moody, standing up at his table. “I told you before—”
“Moody, sit down,” a young man with a full beard and a pained expression said softly. “Don’t listen to that. And twenty points for saying those things in front of the first through third-years, Dolohov. And also from you, Ashford.”
“I’ll back that up,” said the Slytherin boy sitting next to him, who had his arm around a much younger girl.
Liane winced, and then burst out laughing; there could only be so many Dolohovs. “Dolohov? It figures. I thought you looked familiar. You’re just not as pretty as Peter. Or smart.” She rolled her eyes. “I was in the Resistance. That’s why I’m here. If I’d been happy with your cousin and Albrecht, I’d still be there with them. But I sabotaged something important, and after that, I had to get out!”
Martial Casaubon chuckled. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Miss Malfoy. He’s just still trying to impress Colette.”
Liane glanced at Colette. Colette’s eyes were wide; she looked frightened and uncomfortable, and Jeannot didn’t even seem to notice, but her brother and the other boy who’d been so upset by the things she’d been saying came closer to her. Liane smiled at Reynard. “I never knew a Dolohov who could recognise a lost cause,” she said to him with a shrug, and then she glanced back at Colette and Jeannot. “Are we finished here?”
“I certainly hope so,” said the girl who had told Ashford-by-the-fire to watch his language. “Amalthea, are you really going to let this go on in front of the underclassmen? Malfoy has never had the least bit of sense, and Ianthe is as coarse as rock salt, but this is hardly uplifting conversation, and all of you should be ashamed of yourselves! If Barty were here—”
“We know, Cynthia,” said Amalthea, who was sitting at a table full of younger girls. “I’ll also back your twenty points, Antonin, and Ashford’s too. But Colette’s points…” She sighed. “I am ashamed of this House today.” She looked up toward the door, where Ianthe Pritchard had just come in. Liane smiled nervously at Ianthe.
“Ianthe,” Amalthea continued, “and Charis, this has to end. The two of you are coming up to the Prefects’ office with me, and so are Miss Saint-Germain and the new Miss Malfoy.”
“I am also going,” said Moruith.
Charis said nothing, but took Liane by the arm and led her up to the prefects’ office. Moruith followed. Colette followed Ianthe Pritchard, and for all her hatred, she seemed at least pleased to be away from the local Dolohov.
Amalthea stopped at the door and frowned at Moruith. “Malfoy,” she said sternly, “I don’t see why I should permit that other person to come in—”
“Because she will anyway,” said Charis. “She’s sworn to Juliana. She’s here as a liege woman, not a student.”
“She threatened me,” Colette said angrily. “She was hissing at me all through luncheon!”
“Because she thought you were threatening me,” said Liane indignantly. “I’m still not sure you’re not, you know!” She was not comfortable in the prefects’ office, and the racks of canes and switches were disturbing; there had been nothing like that at Beauxbatons, or if there had she’d never seen it.
“Enough,” said Amalthea angrily. “Miss Saint-Germain, you will refrain from threatening either of the Misses Malfoy. Why should I simply not just turn this matter over to Goyle? If she is not loyal to Armorica or Britannia, he will know what to do with it.” She looked right at Colette. “I can call him here, you know.”
“He too is something of a liege man, no?” Ianthe wondered aloud.
“Not mine, my cousin Dracaena’s,” said Liane very quietly. “If people believe that I am a collaborator or an infiltrator or a spy for the Axis, then of course they should turn me over to the War Bureau directly at once. I would not mind that a bit. But you should all probably know that I have an interview for a position there tomorrow, and God willing I will quit this place.”
“Well then?” Ianthe asked Colette with a shrug. “It would probably be more constructive than starting a duel in the common room.”
“You have an interview with the War Bureau?” Colette said, gaping. “You?”
Liane rolled her eyes; the Colette she had known had been brighter than this. “Your brother wouldn’t be half so shocked,” she said, and took a handful of letters out of her bag. She handed one—the first one—to Flint. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to read it,” she said, “but you can see the seals. The man who sent it has known me since I was a child. You can verify the interview with Magistra Scalara, though, it’s been arranged through her office.”
Flint looked at it. “I’ll do that.” She handed the letter back to Liane and sighed.
Colette glared at Liane. “I wonder if Rosenthal knows what you’ve done.”
“Why don’t you come tomorrow and tell him,” Liane said breezily. She glanced at Ianthe and smiled a little. “I’m sure Colette would have chosen to be killed in my place. It was the easy choice…and I have never known her to make a difficult one.”
Colette seethed and stared at her hands.
Liane frowned. It was much too easy to say these things, and to figure out what she needed to say to make people look like that. Where had she learnt this?
Ianthe raised an eyebrow. “So,” she said. “Is blood going to be spilled in the common room, or not? If not, are we done?” She shrugged at Liane. “It seems like letting all of this lie would have been her easier choice.”
“She lived with Grindelwald’s son,” said Colette, shaking her head in disbelief.
“It was that or die,” said Liane. “Domitian presented me to Albrecht Grindelwald and that was the end of it. I could have said no, but they would have probably killed me. And if I were a collaborator, I would be a professor at Durmstrang now, Colette. I would have given them my work and they’d have used it, here, on you. Instead I pretended to be a useless slut who wasn’t able to produce any sensible work in the absence of her thesis advisor, and allowed them to draw their own conclusions.” She glanced at Ianthe and at Amalthea. “I’m sure you will appreciate that I cannot explain to you what my research is about.”
Amalthea sighed and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Why are you even here?”
“Ask Dion Fortune,” said Liane. “She insisted Lady Dracaena send all of her heirs, and apparently I am accounted one.”
“This really does seem like a matter for the War Bureau if anyone,” Ianthe said. “Loath as I am to say it, with all this good information with which I could manipulate the odds on the book that has undoubtedly already been started. And it does rather sound like they might already be aware of it.” She looked at Colette. “I don’t think I’d have chosen to die,” she said in a thoughtful tone.
Colette shrugged.
“I got out,” said Liane, and walked over to Colette, wondering what had happened to her in the past two years; it couldn’t have been good. “If I were the happy bride of the heir apparent, why wouldn’t I stay?”
“I don’t know,” said Colette. “I’ve never known why you do anything!”
“That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said about me,” said Liane in a soft voice. “You don’t know because you’re not me. You don’t know what I had to protect…and you don’t know what I thought I had to avenge.” She glanced at Ianthe and Amalthea. “May I leave, or am I to be turned over to the Inquisition until morning? I promise not to lay hands on Colette. I don’t believe she will lay hands on me. I am far more worried about Jeannot and Dolohov.”
“You shouldn’t be,” said Amalthea. “You’ve castrated both of them with your tongue.”
Liane made a face. “I would rather not think of my tongue anywhere near their equipage.”
Amalthea groaned. “I think you should stay in Charis’ room tonight, along with your cousin or sister or bodyguard or whatever she is. For your own protection. And I hope this Rosenthal or whoever he is does take you away in the morning.”
“Rosenthal is her lover,” Colette said under her breath. “How old were you when it started? Eleven?”
Liane raised an eyebrow. “Michel and I were not lovers,” she said irritably. “I let the Nazis think so, but only because it made them think I was stupid. I am so tired of hearing people say those things—”
“That can go on the back of the toilet doors, can’t it?” Ianthe asked, shaking her head. “You can make space by erasing the stuff that’s there about me, although, you know, some of it is quite inventive. If the question is ‘is blood going to be spilled in the common room?’, aren’t we done?”
Liane laughed and sat down again.
“We’re done,” said Amalthea.
“Should I take notes?” Liane asked Ianthe. “I am afraid they will write worse things about me…and that some of them will even be true.”
Ianthe smiled slightly. “I can make my lies better,” she said. “And beat your truths. Whatever they are. But the cost might be high.” She looked uneasily at Colette.
Liane frowned. Colette thought Ianthe a friend, it was clear, and felt very betrayed. “I would consider it a favour if you did, Miss Pritchard.” Liane glanced back at Colette, and her voice softened. “I know what you are thinking. I did leave your brother because Michel Rosenthal wanted me to. But we never got the chance to be anything other than teacher and student. I don’t even know if he wanted that. There was this matter of a war.” She sighed. “I don’t hate you, Colette.”
“You should,” Colette said quietly, and stared at her hands.
“No point in it,” said Liane, shaking her head. “I’ve been hurt a lot worse by people who were trying much harder.”
There was a knock on the door, and the boy who had backed up the twenty points taken from Dolohov, the one with the very young girlfriend, came in. He looked down at Liane. “I’m James Warrington, Miss Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Goyle sent an elf down with this. Post for you, from the War Bureau.”
Liane took the letter. “Thank you, James Warrington.” She smiled, and when she looked at the letter her expression grew soft and fond. “I’m leaving now,” she announced. “Charis, would you be so kind as to show us where we will be sleeping tonight? I would very much like to lie down for a minute or two.”
Charis smiled at her, and nodded to the others. “Good afternoon,” she said stiffly. “I still want the fourteen points from Colette.”
“And I want world peace,” said Amalthea. “Colette’s humiliated herself more thoroughly than you could ever do with a switch, Malfoy. Take your cousins and go.”
Liane waited in the doorway with her letter. Charis threw up her hands. “Come on, Moruith.”