Blood in the Hall

CHAPTER SEVEN

Blood in the Hall

Wednesday 10 October – Tuesday 18 December 1990

Old Basford, Nottingham; Diagon Alley, London.

Here's blood in the kitchen,

Where the Lady did fall.

– English folk song: "False Lamkin"

Rated R for describing the Dark Arts.

Remus did not say a word of reproach, but he would not let Ariadne touch Blodhriki until he had checked it for hexes. After he had found an Echolalia Jinx and a Blood-Curdler, she agreed that he had a point.

"Didn't it occur to you that, written content aside, the book itself could hurt you?"

"Of course it did. But we were already knowing that breaking a centuries-old curse would involve danger."

"Well, just read your other book until I've finished stripping this one down."

Lockhart's account of his adventures with werewolves was a very easy and thrilling read. His writing style was vivid and fast-paced, and Ariadne was fascinated by the colourful pen-portraits of the scores of interesting people who had met Lockhart on his travels. The first section, Whistling for Wolves, gave a series of short episodes in which Lockhart had Stunned or imprisoned or outwitted some werewolf and held the danger at bay until moonset. In the morning the werewolf was always tearful and penitent, and the family or friends were tearful and grateful.

The only character who did not engage her sympathy was Gilderoy Lockhart himself.

This came as something of a surprise because she knew that Lockhart was the favourite writer of several of her friends: Hestia Jones, Mercy Wiggleswade, Felicity Campion – even Aunt Macmillan herself. Sarah Webster did not read, but she swooned over Lockhart's good looks and style ("He just drips pheromones! And the tailored fit of his taffeta dress-robes!"). Yet Ariadne found herself wondering how they had managed to ignore such passages as:

I wanted no payment for completing this dangerous deed.

"Remember only," I told the village chief, "that Gilderoy Lockhart has enabled your children to sleep soundly every night without fearing the full moon."

His eyes filled with tears as he begged me in his broken English to remain as a permanent guest in his house. "We hef nevair had friend lak you," he said. "Is hard to mak friend, den lose him again so soon."

"But other places also suffer from wild beasts and demons," I reminded him. "It isn't fair that you should enjoy my company safely while they face the horrors alone. It is my duty and destiny to share my talents with the whole world equally."

At this logic, he let me go. So another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.

Could other readers not see that the man was frankly conceited? If his perception of himself was so distorted, Ariadne had to ask herself how much of the rest was equally exaggerated. She turned to the copyright page, half expecting to find a disclaimer that the work was really only fiction and that the "Gilderoy Lockhart" on the page was an imaginary character not intended to resemble the real-life author. But what the disclaimer actually stated was:

The names of a few characters and places have been changed to protect their privacy. In all other particulars, this work is absolutely true. No character is imaginary and no event has been exaggerated.

So Mr Lockhart intended his readers to believe his stories. Ariadne hoped he would become more convincing in the second section, which was all about the Wagga Wagga werewolf. This incident happened several years later, after Mr Lockhart had studied under several learned Charm Masters (though it was interesting that he specified no names) and had discovered a more efficient approach to werewolves. One chapter was devoted to the perils and paperwork of travelling to and through Australia, and a couple more to the heart-rending distress of the inhabitants of Wagga Wagga as some unidentified werewolf rampaged through the town and attacked their cattle.

"Show a little compassion," I urged. "Of course the werewolf won't declare his identity as long as he fears your severity."

The aldermen blinked, as if the strategy of showing kindness had never occurred to them.

"But never fear," I continued. "Now that I am here, you will have no need to punish your werewolf, for I shall cure him for once and for all."

For once and for all?

She suppressed a surge of hope. His claim might be false. After all, if an Englishman could "cure" a werewolf in Australia, why were there still sixty-nine werewolves in the British Isles? Now Ariadne came to think of it, every one of Lockhart's werewolf encounters so far had been outside of Britain. And he had not even attributed a name to the Mayor of Wagga Wagga, a simple fact that any determined person could verify.

But half an hour later, she was picking up her skirts and fairly racing up the stairs to Remus's study. He was Transfiguring his Egyptian pots into models of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. He held out one arm to her and asked, "Did you read something interesting?"

She leaned against him and nuzzled her cheek against the top of his head while she re-opened the book. "It's here... Remus, what is the Homorphus Charm?"

"I've never heard of it. Does it... er... make a man change shape?"

"According to Mr Lockhart, it cures lycanthropy." She pointed to the chapter. "He's claiming that he cast it on the Wagga Wagga werewolf... But I'm not sure that I'm believing..."

Remus ran his eye down the next three pages silently. Lockhart had been wordy in his account of the physical battle against the wolf but surprisingly vague about the actual process of casting the spell.

"It does seem odd," he finally offered, "that none of the lycanthropy experts whom my parents consulted ever suggested any such thing. If some kind of cure has been discovered since, why wasn't it front-page headlines in the Daily Prophet?"

Her heart missed a beat, even though she had been thinking the same thing. "So you're thinking that the story is maybe a fantasy?"

"I think I'd like to ask Gilderoy Lockhart a few questions." He ran his hand down her cheek and kissed her. "Don't look so sad; if the Charm turns out to be a fraud, we're no worse off than before."

"But what if lycanthropy can be cured with a charm? That would mean that we're wasting our time on the Wolfsbane Potion... that Healer Smethwyck should have known about the Homorphus Charm and has no excuses before the law... that he has no hope of mercy." She swallowed. "I'm supposing... that we're not helping Healer Smethwyck or the werewolves if we ignore the facts. Either way, we're needing to know the truth."

Letitia Greengrass's platinum head appeared in their fireplace at Hallowe'en.

"Thank Merlin I've finally caught you at home, Ariadne! Let me in, my dear; this fireplace is too draughty."

Ariadne spoke the charm, and Letitia stepped out onto their hearth, complaining, "I've tried five times to catch you. Where do you spend your time?"

"How annoying for you," conceded Ariadne. Obviously she could not tell Letitia that it was brewing week and she had been spending most of it at Sarah Webster's flat.

Letitia picked critically at the fraying cloth of their sofa. "Your husband isn't exactly keeping you in style, is he? Why do you stay married to him?"

"Is Claud misbehaving again?"

"To put it mildly!" Letitia accepted a mug of tea with a frown. "My dear, let me un-chip this cup for you – Reparo! Yes, Claud... His current mistress is a Muggle hairdresser... someone he can throw back into the gutter on a Memory Charm as soon as he becomes bored with her. I half-believe that if I sent my divorce lawyer in first, she'd give me all the evidence I needed of her own free will."

Letitia did not sound quite confident, so Ariadne prompted, "Are you wanting a divorce?"

She hesitated, pretending to sip at the tea; but Ariadne did not keep Earl Grey in her larder, and Letitia's distaste showed. "Claud might be a social parasite, but I'm a Malfoy, and we stand for traditional wizarding values. Ariadne, you know what the tabloid press is like; it doesn't allow a Malfoy to do anything in private. If I initiated a divorce, I'd have my good name plastered all over the front page of the Quibbler, and being innocent wouldn't save me from being tarred with the scandal. I'm sure you know why I couldn't do that to Lucius."

Recognising the element of real distress underlying all the fables, Ariadne made a sympathetic noise.

"Claud doesn't deserve to be married to a Malfoy. I'm the one who brought the money into this marriage, but he's never shown a shred of gratitude. I'm just virtuous, I suppose. Can you tell me one other reason why I would stay with him?"

The reasons were obvious to Ariadne. Claud made a very presentable escort to bring into high society. Claud, as Sarah would say, "dripped pheromones". And Claud would provide a respectable front should Letitia ever choose to have an affair of her own. However, it seemed unwise to spell this out to Letitia's face, so Ariadne allowed her cousin to continue emoting for the next hour about the traumas of living with an unfaithful husband.

After Letitia had talked out, she said, "By the way, Ariadne, a most peculiar character has knocked on my door to enquire after you. She was dressed in positive rags, hair all tangled, and she was covered in twigs and leaves as if she'd been sleeping with Bowtruckles. The old woman claimed to be a friend of yours, but she wouldn't give her name; she said she knew that I was a friend too, and expected me on the strength of that to tell her where you were this week. She wanted to know all about your other friends too, names and all. Have you any idea who this might have been?"

She sounded all too much like a Sylvanian spy, so Ariadne could truthfully say, "I've no friends of that kind. I'd... I'd not be wishing such a person to know my whereabouts."

"So I imagined," sniffed Letitia. "Don't worry, I didn't give the Truckle-woman your address, and it seems you haven't been home anyway. If she comes again, I'll call the Aurors. You bring it on yourself, you know; it's the company you keep. First you married that half-blood, then you went to work for that werewolf-doctor. But I did think you ought to know that disreputable types have been looking for you."

Sarah always looked dazzling. Tonight, with her golden hair elaborately draped over her ears and her designer robes elaborately draped over her figure, she looked ready to attend a reception as guest of honour rather than to remain at home all evening with a pack of werewolves. But nothing would have drawn Sarah out of her home on the night of the full moon. She was fascinated by the ordinary-looking people who lived with such dark secrets Flooing into her living room. She had learned most of their names over the past week and she had flirted outrageously with Tiwaz Longpelt.

Fortunately she accepted Ariadne's word that everybody had now been medicated, so it was time to withdraw from the living room. Matthew and Elizabeth were already asleep in a Conjured cot in Sarah's room, so Sarah took Ariadne and Joe to sit in her office. This was the room that had once been Ariadne's and had later been Richard's. After Richard had left to marry Felicity, Sarah declared that it was too much trouble to find decent tenants, so she had turned the vacated room into her office. Joe still lived in the third bedroom, and any boyfriend of Sarah's who could not understand that situation did not last long as a boyfriend.

"So tell me about Gilderoy Lockhart," said Sarah.

"He did not really reply to my letter," said Ariadne. "He just sent me this."

Sarah held the winking, waving photograph of Lockhart almost reverently. "Stunning! If you don't want it, may I keep it?" She took far less interest in the letter, which didn't matter, because all it said was:

Dear Ariadne,

I'm so glad that you enjoyed Wanderings with Werewolves. I think it showed my skills to great advantage, don't you?

I have enclosed a signed photograph of myself in the hopes of making your heart beat a little faster when you glance at your mantelpiece.

Very warm wishes from your friend,

Gilderoy Lockhart.

"But, really, if you want to meet the man, Ariadne, you're going about it the wrong way. He probably has a secretary who answers his fan-mail in bulk. Why should he take any notice of one more adoring sycophant? No, if you want to meet him, you have to give him the desire to meet you."

That was easy for Sarah to say; men were always wanting to meet her. "What are you advising?"

"I'd exploit something that I knew interested him and use it to lure him out to some place where I'd be. Then I'd make sure he wanted to meet me again... Listen, don't bother. I'll see to it. Accio!"

A pamphlet sailed out of one of Sarah's drawers, apparently an invitation to some Muggle fashion show. Sarah slid it into an envelope, addressed it to Gilderoy Lockhart and tied it to Thangalaathil's claw. "There, take it to Mr Lockhart, but don't wait around for a reply." She turned back to her friend. "Those Muggle evening gowns aren't so different from wizards' robes, Ariadne, and the tailors are used to... well... men with unusual tastes in clothes. You don't want to know. Suffice that, if Lockhart should decide to order from one of them a dress that I've modelled, they won't bat an eyelid. Don't worry about it – I'll make sure you meet the great man."

For the merest fraction of a second, Ariadne caught Joe's eye. He almost looked as if he too would like to spend an evening with Gilderoy Lockhart. She could not imagine why.

"Veleta, we've discovered something very interesting." Ariadne did not know whether Veleta still Watched her in the evenings. Veleta had contacted her only twice in the last three years, and the most recent time had been eighteen months ago. If Ariadne had important news, she usually delivered it every evening for a month and just hoped that Veleta found out eventually. Indeed, she hoped that Veleta was still alive.

"We've been reading a book on Blood Magic. It's taking us some time because our Runes are a little rusty and we have to keep referring to the dictionary. By the way, the reason you know the Futhark alphabet is that you once studied two terms of Ancient Runes yourself. Anyway, this book is in Elder Futhark and it's all about Blood Magic, which is apparently a very Dark Art. Once I knew I was looking for something from the Renaissance that would only be sold in Knockturn Alley, I found it easily enough. I'm not yet convinced we have a perfect translation, but I was thinking I'd read this part out loud to you. It explains a great deal."

She lifted up the book so that Veleta, if she were listening, could see the cover, then began to read in English from the parchment that she had inserted next to the Elder Futhark chapter on "Famous Examples from the Fifteenth Century".

Our hero Donald Macnair cast a spectacular Blood Spell in 1430. He despised his daughter Rinalda for being a Squib and was overcome with rage when she abandoned her father's roof to marry a local Muggle laird named William Cardney. This then incited the furious father to cast three Blood Spells that would prevent any similar disgrace befalling the Macnair family in future. These are the conditions to which the Macnair blood magically binds its carriers.

1. They are invisible to every non-Macnair who stands outside the boundary of Macnair Castle.

2. They cannot leave the boundaries of Macnair Castle without a Releasing Charm from the Spellmaster (a power that is inherited by each of Donald Macnair's heirs). Permanent Releasing Charms were generally granted to Macnair daughters at the time of their (condoned) marriage or to younger sons who (with their father's permission) sought their fortunes elsewhere so that they and their descendants were not confined to the Castle walls. Temporary Releases might be granted under other circumstances, for example, to attend Hogwarts or to fight in a war.

3. They cannot die by means of any spell or artefact originating inside Macnair Castle.

This spell was binding on every individual who would ever be born in Macnair Castle bearing the Macnair name, and on all their descendants born outside the castle for three generations.

There was only one flaw in Donald Macnair's incantation, which we highlight as a warning. His spells failed to bind Rinalda Cardney because she was no longer named Macnair at the time they were cast. However, the Blood Spell bound all her siblings and it has continued to bind future Macnair daughters even after they were married, up to this very day.

"'Up to this day' means 1506," Ariadne explained. "This book is anonymous, but it's seeming it was written in reaction to the Wizengamot inquiries of the 1490s. Whoever commissioned this book was wanting a record of the secrets of Blood Magic in case they would ever again become useful in the future. Anyway, we've no reason to believe that Donald Macnair's Blood Spell was ever revoked. Aunt Keindrech told me how Macnairs cannot be harmed by any object in the castle; you've mentioned the invisibility yourself; and it's certainly true that I could see your children from across the boundary when Remus and Kingsley could not. It's reasonable to assume that the whole spell is yet in force. I have to say, I have not found anything in the book about the Banning of Macnair enemies; that's maybe a separate spell. Remus..." She hoped Veleta would not think her rude to address Remus but, however vividly she managed to picture her friend, in the end, she always became aware that she was speaking to empty space. "If I'm subject to the Blood Curse, should I not be invisible once I cross the Macnair boundary?"

"To non-Macnairs outside the boundary, yes, you should."

"Then why was I not invisible, that summer we first saw the castle, when I crossed the boundary ahead of you?"

"I think you were," said Remus. "It's hard to tell, because I was only one second behind you and once I'd crossed the boundary too, you'd have become visible again. But I do remember not being able to see you for a moment."

"You did not mention it."

"We had quite a number of other things on our minds – and it was only for a moment. I didn't think anything of it because it was such a bright day that I assumed it was just a trick of the light." He took the heavy book from her, and she remembered that Veleta might still be watching them.

"Veleta, if this is right, it explains why your bairns are bound to Macnair territory. They carry the Macnair blood and they cannot leave the boundary without Walden Macnair's permission. Anyway, we've been reading how the spell was cast. The details are... not pleasant... but this is the basic idea."

Ariadne felt slightly nauseated, and not only because she was pregnant again. Even though she could tell Veleta a sanitised version of the spell, she could not completely forget the details she had read in Blodhriki.

"First you carve your incantation into a yew rod. All the incantations in this book are in Elder Futhark, but it's probably not mattering which language you use. Place your rod in a cauldron. Then you take a knife of solid silver and... release the blood. You have to be positioned so the blood will drip into the cauldron and soak into the carving. Once the rod is covered, lift it out with silver tongs and burn it with purpurata fire. The blood remaining in the cauldron is poured into a crystal phial and sealed with an Unbreakable Charm. The spell takes effect as soon as the yew is completely burned, and it will remain in force as long as the blood exists."

She handed the book to Remus.

"That's maybe enough for now. Because this book used Donald Macnair as an example, we're close to certain that that's what he did. He soaked a carved stick in blood, burned it in purpurata fire, and then stored the blood in a crystal phial. Since the spell is still active, the crystal phial has to exist yet. We have not yet finished reading about the Counter-Spells, but what makes sense to us is that we'd have to destroy the blood in the phial. So first we'd have to look for the phial, but we're not knowing how much more we'd have to do after we'd found it or how dangerous it would be to know about it. I've no idea where to start looking... But you're a Locospector, so can you find it?"

That was enough information for anybody to digest, so Ariadne moved into the kitchen and began to boil up an infusion of yamwurzel and spearmint. There had been no need to tell Veleta that the amount of blood required was in proportion to the strength of the spell. The blood of a rabbit or squirrel would do for a simple spell, such as finding a lost handkerchief or keeping fish fresh. If the spell-caster wished to remain in control of the results, however – if the lost handkerchief or the decaying fish was required as his own exclusive possession – then he needed to add some of his own blood. The translation that she had made for Veleta had omitted this sentence:

To cast these spells, Donald Macnair slashed his breast with a silver dirk, and bled a pint of his own blood into his cauldron.

Most certainly, there had been no need to dwell on the fact that a spell powerful enough to bind the entire Macnair family for all time required three gallons of human blood, all of it from members of the Macnair family. Because one of the three spells had power over life and death, it necessarily required that somebody should die. There was a whole paragraph that Ariadne had no interest in showing to Veleta; she only hoped that no similar activity would be required in order to break the spell.

He had a young nephew and an old aunt who were both Squibs. Using his authority as the family Spellmaster, he now required the old lady to remove all her clothes and stand in the cauldron while the boy stood watching. Donald Macnair took the silver dirk and slashed the old lady's skin into ribbons. Since the blood gathers strength if it is acquired with pain, he kept slashing at her until she had no skin left and she collapsed into the cauldron with all her blood spent. He then threw out her corpse and did the same thing to the boy.

In case she was in any doubt about the accuracy of this account, the chronicler continued:

After hiding the crystal phial securely, Donald Macnair boasted in detail to his steward of what he had done and dared the man to report his crime to the Wizengamot. But the steward was terrified and did not breathe a word to anybody for more than sixty years, after which he confided the whole to me.

The author apparently specialised in extracting such confidences from proud practitioners and terrified lackeys – he was probably a Truth Potion expert. The stories seemed to agree with the few surviving accounts in fourteenth- and thirteenth-century manuscripts, so Ariadne could only assume they were correct.

Ariadne managed to recite the sanitised account of Donald Macnair's Blood Spell dispassionately for every night of the month. Matthew learned to tie his shoelaces, and Elizabeth learned to walk. In December the werewolves camped at Sturgis Podmore's house. Mrs Ponderator reported two "burglars" loitering outside the Lupins', but it seemed that the Wolfsbane clients were, for now, yet a step ahead of the Sylvanians.

A week before Christmas, Sarah announced that they were going out to dinner with Gilderoy Lockhart. "Leave the children with Hestia and meet me in The Plum Tree."

"Sarah, how did you persuade Mr Lockhart to meet you?"

Sarah indulged in a superior smile. "He came to that fashion show – we were displaying exactly his kind of robe. I made eye contact with him in the audience, and by the time I'd paraded the catwalk three times, he was already planning to meet me. Ariadne, he's a man. If he's at all heterosexual, he'll be panting to meet a glamorous blonde who's been eyeing him off. So at the reception afterwards I made sure to ignore him until he had shoved aside two important photographers and a top designer, and then I gave him a distant smile, as if I was perfectly friendly but had forgotten who he was. We hadn't spoken more than three sentences before he invited me to dinner. We've now had dinner five times, and he's tried to seduce me twice. No, it's all right, I deflected his Persuasion Charm, and he very gallantly told me that he didn't duel with ladies. So Gilderoy's about ready to meet my oldest and dearest friends. Have your list of questions ready and start asking them quickly – I've a feeling I may need to break up with him before the evening's over."

"What? You have him thinking you're his girlfriend?"

Sarah shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. It's no real hardship; I stand by my original assessment that the man drips pheromones - and a great deal else too. And I haven't yet exhausted my amusement at his conversation; I can cope with one evening more. But I defy any woman to fall as much in love with him as he is with himself."

She lifted her chin until her nose was pointing almost straight up at the ceiling. Her hands mimicked Gilderoy Lockhart's flamboyant gestures. Her voice became suavely baritonal.

"'I can tell you admire my robe. Fifi Couture designed it – with a few hints from me, I must admit. She's very deferent to my advice. If I tell Madame Couture that you're a special friend of mine, she'll give you preferential service and perhaps even make up a set of dress-robes according to my own personal design. Not that I was wearing robes like these when I tamed those trolls in Scandinavia – oh, no, it took more than exquisite tailoring to wrestle them to the ground! I'll tell you all about that when we dine at The Plum Tree. I'm a special favourite of the Li family because I taught them the only way to roll out a won ton pastry!'"