Vortex Blaster

Chapter 2: Vortex Blaster

"They're falling."

"I'm on it."

He waved his wand to levitate two shelves worth of books cascading to the floor, a gentle wave that scuffed no cover and bent no page.

For resale value – Lily Potter had high hopes of his reentering productive wizard society – they were building a set of bookshelves using non-wizard techniques. It would not do for a new owner to discover his books re-shelving themselves. Now, they were exploring the wonders of screws and glue. She had wanted to cover all the walls with shelves. He had talked her into starting with the smallest wall. After a few adventures with a drill and screwdriver, he had found it easy to persuade her that they shouldn't rush the job and botch it.

"Care for a claret, rhymes with carrot?" he asked.

"Don't tell me you're one of those sophisticated people who object to the proper British pronunciation of foreign words," she said.

"It hurts the ear," he replied.

The last two days, after the morning walk, they had had lunch at the local tea parlor and had returned to his house to put up two shelves. Today, she had been stocking the shelves to check for fit when they collapsed. He suggested a break. The lines on her face had become deeper this last week. Her resting between drilling screw-holes had become longer and longer.

"What if I fall asleep?" she asked.

"I can watch your son while you nap," he said, handing her a glass of wine.

She sipped half the glass, stretched out on the sofa, and fell asleep to the soothing melodies of Mahler's Fifth.

He tried to read his Zane Grey novel instead of watching her, and he tried to tell himself that thoughts of lily-white thighs were most inappropriate.

The next day after their walk, he was fixing tea in his kitchen when there was a shriek from upstairs. He hadn't noticed that she had left the front parlor. He dashed up the stairs to find her in a room of opened boxes of books.

"I was looking for your books on potions, thinking you would like to have them handy," she said.

Thinking of enticing me back to work, he thought.

"I didn't find anything on potions, but I found those," she said, pointing at a box of books that radiated a distinctive aura. She was glaring at him.

She had found his dark materials.

She looked at him. "I left my wand downstairs." She stood proud. "Are you going to obliviate me ... or kill me?"

"I'm going to finish making our tea," he said, returning to the kitchen.

He heard her opening more boxes as he poured the boiling water over the leaves, rummaging through the books as he filled the cups, and sorting the volumes as he located the sugar. She was still at it as he sat in the parlor and sipped his tea. He assumed she was either determining what type of dark wizard she had to save or searching for some evidence that his soul could be salvaged.

An exasperated lady clomped down the stairs, threw herself onto the sofa, swigged half a cup of tea, and said, "I found your latest set of research notes. Vortex blaster? Why conjure a spell for that? Why would one want to blast a vortex?" she asked.

"No, no, it uses a vortex to blast," he replied.

She did not look enlightened.

He improvised. "An area-effect weapon," he stated. "In case one is facing a horde of Death ... ." He stopped. The expression on his face said that he had committed an indiscretion.

Her eyes slowly changed from the fire of antagonism to the light of understanding. "Oh," she said.

"I was speaking hypothetically of course," he said.

"Yes, hypothetically," she replied.

"Speaking hypothetically," she said, "I had no idea you actively opposed you-know-who."

You-know-who? he thought.

"It's coming together," she said. "I feel like I've been slow witted – your funny pronunciation, your quaint clothes, your appearing out of nowhere, your regularly disappearing at night."

How does she know I disappear at night? he thought.

She continued. "You must work on the continent and use this place as a refuge. As for your choice of weapons, the people you work with simply have an attitude toward the conflict different from the people I know. Still, it's a shock discovering the side of light uses such tactics."

"Those who hunt the dragon become the dragon," he said.

"I hadn't considered that, but I should. I'm starting to worry about my husband and his friends," she said. "It's Remus, really, that's changing. I used to look into his eyes and feel an urge to become better, but now, his gentle eyes are cloudy. I never realized what it took to oppose evil. You probably do only what is necessary."

"Seriously misunderstood creatures, Dark Wizards," he said.

"I'm starting to understand you," she said. "For a while, I was thinking part of your soul was missing."

"It seems that way sometimes," he said.

"I've probably insulted you. I'm sorry," she said. "I'm ashamed; I've been thinking poorly of you when you're scarred by combat. It must be very hard scouring the countryside for his minions."

He stood, assumed a haughty pose, and pointed to his left.

They seek him here.

He lifted his nose higher in the air and pointed to his right.

They seek him there.

He formed binoculars with his fingers and looked around.

The wizards seek him everywhere.

He pointed to the sky.

Is he in the ceiling?

He pointed toward the ground.

Or below the floor?

He used his finger as punctuation.

That damned ... elusive ... Valdemort.

Lily laughed and then said, "That's not funny." She paused. "Should we check your attic and cellar?"

"I did the first thing this morning," he said. "One never knows."

The next two days were uneventful as she came to grips with his being a Dark Wizard. The middle of the day consisted of a walk, lunch, putting up a shelf, and a nap for Lily. Everything was fine except he was beginning to think about her all the time.

There was a cure for Lily. He told her that he would be gone for a week to consult with his banker about his investments. The break was not as clean as he had hoped since she was the one person in the village that he could trust to take care of his cat and watch over his house for a suitable fee.

"You called, my lord?" asked Bellatrix.

"I'm back for a week, and I need help catching up on finances," he said.

"You're not telling me what you're doing when you're away," she stated.

"A delicate affair," he said. "Isn't it enough that I trust you to help with the accounts?"

She had to begin at the very beginning since he hadn't paid much attention to his finances and he had never allowed anyone else to examine them. It took several days to make a list of resources and contributions. Some accounts were overdrawn, and some were untouched. She wondered what had happened to make him take a more rational attitude toward his campaign. Whatever the motive, it benefited his cause. People who had thought they would never see the money they had loaned him became useful references and sources of information after Bellatrix had paid them back with interest.

He made no overt move, but let the shared activity and proximity and his open appreciation of her help have its effect.

"My brain is numb, and I'm dusty from all those old ledgers," she said at the end of the second day. "I'm going to have a bath and a sherry. Maybe I'll have a sherry, a bath with a sherry, and another sherry."

"You do need to relax," he said, standing behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She gave a small start which she tried to hide. He hadn't touched her in some time. Was his current considerate attitude an attempt to mislead her and make the coming cruelty sharper? But as his fingers tended the taut muscles in her shoulders, neck, and upper back, she relaxed despite herself.

He extended mental tendrils.

You will have power. You will be by my side, and all will know it. Together we will ride across the sky of destiny and paint the world in our colors. We will have a dynasty that eclipses all other.

He leaned down, kissed her neck, and told her she was as competent as she was beautiful.

She stood and wrapped herself around him. "I missed you so much," she said.

"Make love to me. Make love to me as I take you," he said.

Oh, kinky, she thought.

He emerged from the bedroom an hour later, considered his choices, and virtuously opted for sherry instead of brandy. He should go easier on the tendrils – he didn't have to found an entire dynasty that afternoon.

A week after he had left for his cure, he was back at his restored mansion. He saw the pram as he entered the front door, and he heard Lily bustling about in the kitchen. He declared himself to be home and walked down the hallway. Lily burst out of the kitchen, squealed, and had him in a clench.

His cock almost burst out; his tendrils almost reached out.

You will be my salvation. This is my life, and I can do naught else, but you will be between me and the precipice when there are no other barriers. You will pull me back from the utter depths when there seems no hope. You will restore me when I am damaged beyond repair. My existence will be dark, but there is a ray of sunshine, and my life will not be wasted.

Commonsense prevailed.

"Did you leave me any tea?" he asked.

She stepped back, sniffed, and smiled. "There are times I'm certain you have lost most of your soul, but it's for the best, I suppose."

She had her earnest days.

"Don't you think about what you are doing? I'm certain you're smarter than the people who hire you," she said.

"I expend my intelligence on surviving the mission, and I've lived longer than anyone who's hired me," he replied.

"But you could be making your own plans. Trying to do the world some good," she said.

"I may not be the planning type," he said.

"Maybe if someone encouraged you," she said.

She had her sentimental days.

"Oh, I think you'll like this," she said, handing him a small box. "It's special jasmine tea. I found it in the local shop. I couldn't believe they had it, but when I saw it, I had to buy it just for you."

She followed him to the kitchen where she watched him prepare the brew and helped him prepare the platter of teapot, cups, sugar, and biscuits. After the first cup, she looked at him intently.

"Everyone needs somebody," she said. "Really needs somebody. Somebody who is there – to talk to, to do things with, to fight with, just to be around." She sighed. "I think we whither if we don't get the companionship we need. We slowly die inside. The world may think we're going about our business and leading a full life, but the days drag on and on and everything loses its sparkle and the hours become grey blurs. And we find ourselves doing anything just for some company, some interaction with another human being."

He poured her more jasmine tea.

"You're a good looking wizard. You must have someone somewhere," she said.

"I seem to have bad luck," he said. "I keep getting involved with inappropriate witches."

She put her cup down and walked behind him to massage his shoulders.

"You should relax," he said.

"This is relaxing," she said.

Her hands ran over his shoulders and his neck. Her hands ran through his locks and then over his chest as her cheek snuggled his hair. It must have been true that it was relaxing, for when she finished, she had a glow about her. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and fell asleep.

He watched her. Part of him wanted to finish the bookshelves with her; most of him wanted to make certain she got a decent lunch and her afternoon nap, but he didn't think he should wait to finish the bookcase with her. She would want to celebrate and all that that would imply. After she woke, gathered the pram and her stuff, and headed home, he finished the bookcase and packed. He had trouble sleeping because of visions of Lily with her husband and her enjoying every second of it.

When she approached the house the first morning in September, she knew he was gone. The mansion on the corner lot was an assemblage of wood and stone and hollow windows. It was an empty place. His vitality had left with him. She entered, hoping for a memento and cursing herself for wishing such a thing from a hard-headed wizard. Then she saw it, and the world bloomed again inside her.

Stuck to the fireplace mantle by a bowie knife, was a Persian slipper. She appreciated the subtle hint of a mystery and wondered if he was hinting at a smoking shag. Inside the slipper was a note.

If I should not return, think this in sleep:

That there's some part of an embattled land

That flowers for us and is ours to keep.

In that far earth, now richer than sand,

A wizard lies who became aware

There's a Lily to love, such life to spare

That death cannot end something so rare.

---

Author's Note: The obvious parodies are from Doyle, 'The Scarlet Pimpernel,' and Brooke.