Order Only: Last Night
Nov. 8th, 2009 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alt_poppyAs Paracelsus is my witness, yesterday was an awful day.
First there was that dreadful business with young Marvolo's broken arm. He had suffered a great deal of very nasty bruising, but I can tell you no more of the Bludger's effect because that imbecile Lockhart vanished every bone in the boy's arm. Vanished them! I hope never again to have to dose a child with Skele-Gro: it is an utterly brutal thing to regrow bone within living tissue. He was very, very brave, and under exceedingly difficult circumstances. As you know there were crowds of well-wishers, and even when I succeeded in evicting all of the young folk, the Malfoys insisted on staying close by, which meant the poor boy was forced to keep up a steely exterior all afternoon and evening.
When his visitors finally took their leave, my patient collapsed into a deep, much-needed sleep, and I thought to hear no more from him until morning. Alas, he was granted no such reprieve. Just as I began my two o'clock rounds, I heard the boy call out, so I cast a silencing spell to keep the rest of the ward from being troubled. But it was not, as I first believed, that he had been woken by excruciating pain in his arm; as I approached, I realised he was not alone! I was appalled to think that someone should have crept past me to trouble him in the night, but I was completely unprepared for what I saw and heard next.
Just as I put my hand out to pull aside the curtain, Marvolo said, 'It was you! You made that Bludger try and kill me?!'
I put my eye to the gap in the curtain and received quite a shock. Sitting atop Mr Marvolo on his bed was an elf, the most hideously misshapen elf I've ever seen.
'Indeed yes, sir,' said the elf, his great ears flapping madly.
'You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.' I believe the boy was trying his best to sound fierce, but the elf was unmoved.
'Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at Buckingham. You know that's true, sir. And Dobby isn't the only one He tortures, no. And you know that, too.'
I pulled the curtain ever so quietly aside until I knew that my young patient could see me, but he gave me a look that said I should wait, and so we allowed the elf to go on.
'Calls himself Protector, but does He protect? No! Say it, sir!! You must say it!!!'
'What?'
'Harry Potter must say he knows that He Who Must Not Be Named is not his father,' said the elf. 'Not his father! Oh, Harry Potter knows it, I can see it!! He knows!'
It went on like this for some time, all of it quite mad, but very true. And I believe the elf was right: the boy accepts that Voldemort is not his father, truly. He didn't deny knowing his birth name, either. But he was shaken when the elf's ravings became a litany of the horrors Voldemort has committed--Voldemort and Amycus Carrow. The elf seemed well aware that the boy condemns Carrow for his violence. It was very clever and equally cruel, what the elf had to say. Perhaps I should have cut it short, but it seemed to me that these are truths the boy does need to hear.
He himself brought it to an end when he had heard all he could stomach.
'What do you want from me?' he demanded.
'Harry Potter is the One, the Chosen. He Who Must Not Be Named knows this. That is why he stole Harry Potter and murdered his parents. And Harry Potter must not join Him. No! He must fight. Fight for us, the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! We who are treated like vermin! And Harry Potter knows, knows it is evil to treat creatures like vermin and people like animals. That is what Carrow does. And He Who Must Not Be Named! Harry Potter knows! And he must choose! He must say it!!! And if he will not--'
The boy seized the elf's arm with his one good hand.
'What! What will you do if I don't say-- what? What do you want me to say?'
'If you will not fight Him, you must die!! Fight or die!!!'
I moved as the elf shrieked these words, as quickly and quietly as I could, and caught hold of him. Only then did I see the long, vicious blade he held at the boy's throat, but the knife clattered to the floor as I dragged the elf backwards off the bed.
'Say it!!!' he screamed. 'Say it or die!!!'
I tried questioning him, but he was far beyond reason. When I asked how he could have come here if he served at Buckingham, I got only elf gibberish about being unable to answer things his master forbids and frantic efforts to punish himself, though it was a sign of his madness that he did not punish himself at any point in his conversation with the boy. However he has rationalised it, the elf has convinced himself that his mission to Harry Potter is beyond his master's will. I've never seen anything like it. I did try to persuade him that I agreed that Harry Potter is important to us all, and I suggested that the boy must be allowed to grow wise and strong, but it did no good. The elf lapsed back into his raving that the boy must choose now to fight or he must die. He grew frenzied and suddenly broke my grasp, disapparating from the room the moment he squirmed free.
In the silence after his departure, the boy looked at me wide-eyed, but even as I asked if he were all right, the alarm sounded on my fire. He nodded, said he was fine, and turned his head away.
He was asleep when I returned from seeing to Mr Boot. And this morning when I asked after him, he seemed disinclined to discuss what happened in the night.
First there was that dreadful business with young Marvolo's broken arm. He had suffered a great deal of very nasty bruising, but I can tell you no more of the Bludger's effect because that imbecile Lockhart vanished every bone in the boy's arm. Vanished them! I hope never again to have to dose a child with Skele-Gro: it is an utterly brutal thing to regrow bone within living tissue. He was very, very brave, and under exceedingly difficult circumstances. As you know there were crowds of well-wishers, and even when I succeeded in evicting all of the young folk, the Malfoys insisted on staying close by, which meant the poor boy was forced to keep up a steely exterior all afternoon and evening.
When his visitors finally took their leave, my patient collapsed into a deep, much-needed sleep, and I thought to hear no more from him until morning. Alas, he was granted no such reprieve. Just as I began my two o'clock rounds, I heard the boy call out, so I cast a silencing spell to keep the rest of the ward from being troubled. But it was not, as I first believed, that he had been woken by excruciating pain in his arm; as I approached, I realised he was not alone! I was appalled to think that someone should have crept past me to trouble him in the night, but I was completely unprepared for what I saw and heard next.
Just as I put my hand out to pull aside the curtain, Marvolo said, 'It was you! You made that Bludger try and kill me?!'
I put my eye to the gap in the curtain and received quite a shock. Sitting atop Mr Marvolo on his bed was an elf, the most hideously misshapen elf I've ever seen.
'Indeed yes, sir,' said the elf, his great ears flapping madly.
'You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.' I believe the boy was trying his best to sound fierce, but the elf was unmoved.
'Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at Buckingham. You know that's true, sir. And Dobby isn't the only one He tortures, no. And you know that, too.'
I pulled the curtain ever so quietly aside until I knew that my young patient could see me, but he gave me a look that said I should wait, and so we allowed the elf to go on.
'Calls himself Protector, but does He protect? No! Say it, sir!! You must say it!!!'
'What?'
'Harry Potter must say he knows that He Who Must Not Be Named is not his father,' said the elf. 'Not his father! Oh, Harry Potter knows it, I can see it!! He knows!'
It went on like this for some time, all of it quite mad, but very true. And I believe the elf was right: the boy accepts that Voldemort is not his father, truly. He didn't deny knowing his birth name, either. But he was shaken when the elf's ravings became a litany of the horrors Voldemort has committed--Voldemort and Amycus Carrow. The elf seemed well aware that the boy condemns Carrow for his violence. It was very clever and equally cruel, what the elf had to say. Perhaps I should have cut it short, but it seemed to me that these are truths the boy does need to hear.
He himself brought it to an end when he had heard all he could stomach.
'What do you want from me?' he demanded.
'Harry Potter is the One, the Chosen. He Who Must Not Be Named knows this. That is why he stole Harry Potter and murdered his parents. And Harry Potter must not join Him. No! He must fight. Fight for us, the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! We who are treated like vermin! And Harry Potter knows, knows it is evil to treat creatures like vermin and people like animals. That is what Carrow does. And He Who Must Not Be Named! Harry Potter knows! And he must choose! He must say it!!! And if he will not--'
The boy seized the elf's arm with his one good hand.
'What! What will you do if I don't say-- what? What do you want me to say?'
'If you will not fight Him, you must die!! Fight or die!!!'
I moved as the elf shrieked these words, as quickly and quietly as I could, and caught hold of him. Only then did I see the long, vicious blade he held at the boy's throat, but the knife clattered to the floor as I dragged the elf backwards off the bed.
'Say it!!!' he screamed. 'Say it or die!!!'
I tried questioning him, but he was far beyond reason. When I asked how he could have come here if he served at Buckingham, I got only elf gibberish about being unable to answer things his master forbids and frantic efforts to punish himself, though it was a sign of his madness that he did not punish himself at any point in his conversation with the boy. However he has rationalised it, the elf has convinced himself that his mission to Harry Potter is beyond his master's will. I've never seen anything like it. I did try to persuade him that I agreed that Harry Potter is important to us all, and I suggested that the boy must be allowed to grow wise and strong, but it did no good. The elf lapsed back into his raving that the boy must choose now to fight or he must die. He grew frenzied and suddenly broke my grasp, disapparating from the room the moment he squirmed free.
In the silence after his departure, the boy looked at me wide-eyed, but even as I asked if he were all right, the alarm sounded on my fire. He nodded, said he was fine, and turned his head away.
He was asleep when I returned from seeing to Mr Boot. And this morning when I asked after him, he seemed disinclined to discuss what happened in the night.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 03:02 am (UTC)So much of what the elf said was well informed that I had difficulty discerning whether the elements with which I was unfamiliar were things he'd made up or things he knew that I did not. Merlin knows, there must be many things I don't know about the boy's history. It's undoubtedly true that elves are uniquely positioned to know their masters's secrets. It's possible that he knows something significant about the Protector's motives and plans for the boy. (And that makes me wish he'd said a good deal more!)
As for Mr Boot, I do, at least, know a Potion we can try. Horace, Pomona and I have put our heads together and have decided that we must rest our hopes on a Mandrake restorative. But I'm afraid it will be spring before it can be made. That is a very long time to keep Mr Boot in a hospital bed. On the other hand, he is safe here from anything worse Carrow might think to do.
I don't know what to think about the culprit. I know he is capable of harming the boy, and I suspect he would not hesitate to harm other creatures or even students. Mercy sake, he used Crucio on a student last year! What gives me pause is the ghost. I can easily imagine that Carrow knows spells Dark enough to cause this sort of petrification or transformation of living creatures, but a ghost? Perhaps I'm merely ignorant of the real substance of which ghosts are composed, but I know of no wizard's magic that could have such an effect.
Minerva and I haven't had a chance to discuss it. We've both had our plates rather full today.